Chapter Zero: Approach to Bardosylvania

[The Widowed]

[Enter, Antinidia Zaumtor.]

[Antinidia begins as he is, a 5th Level Necromancer with all accompanying equipment. He shares a communal cottage with several other Vesperanti mages, but he may not be there for long....]


The town of Blosgärd, in the Wildlands of former Karkova.
January 3rd, 1377 SE

Master Vorokai settled into his chair, a small throne crafted from a peculiar medley of dark wood and bone. The letter from Lord Darrovan of the House of Ainsley lay unfurled on the table before him, the candlelight sputtering from its nearby corner of the table and casting a wan light on the paper contours. Journeymen Belogi and Anyanka attended him, waiting to either side as he considered the matter.

"This letter preturbs me for some nameless reason," muttered Vorokai through heavy moustache and aged visage. "Our people did indeed benefit from Lord Heward's aid in the years following the war. He buried our dead, he rebuilt our homes, he offered jobs and wages to our starving and desperate workers. But then Lord Heward died very suddenly, and--one year later--he was joined in death by his son and his successor, Lord Darrovan. Or so I had heard. So imagine my surprise when a messenger from Bardosylvania arrived bearing this letter."

"I too had heard of the great slaughter which befell the Ainsleys," Belogi offered, ignoring Anyanka's incessant flipping and shuffling of her well-worn Vistani divination cards. "Could this possibly be a grim joke, or perhaps a hoax to excite our attentions?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps it is. But we dare not ignore this request, for the chance exists that the message is earnest. We owe a great debt to the House of Ainsley, and it now appears that they wish to collect on that debt."

A brief pause followed, a silence marred only by the candle's crackling tongue and Anyanka's dancing cards. One card fell into her waiting hand, and she stared at the card with grave realization as Master Vorokai resumed.

"But I fear that getting the Vesperanti involved in the fate of the House of Ainsley will not end well. If I gather Lord Darrovan's meaning, the next graves we dig could be our own. 'A clash between the holy and the unholy, the mortal and the immortal'...is that not what I read before me?"

"It would seem that your fears are not unfounded, Master Vorokai."

Vorokai and Belogi turned their eyes to Anyanka, who rolled a single divination card between her fingers. The Death card.

Anyanka, the master realized, had rarely been wrong with her premonitions before. And he cast his decision with affirmation. "Very well. We shall send but one of our necromancer adepts--and three aspirants to attend him--to the Bardosylvanian forestlands, to the crypts of the Ainsley family. But we shall not commit our foremost necromancers, no, not in the face of such grim portents."

He rose from his chair with purpose, his autumn body still firm with the musculature of his youth and his eyes burning with insight. "One of our necromancers shows great promise, but I fear that he harbors evil leanings. The task before him is as loathsome as his suspected lusts for the dead, yet it is necessary that the task be addressed. And through this errand shall the drow elf prove his mettle and decide for us if he bears the worth to be Vesperanti. He possesses diligence and an unrivaled intellect, true. But does he possess the temperance to work with death and the dead and walk away uncorrupted? Or have I judged him truly?"

He seized the Book of Names from the maple bookshelf behind him and took up the inked quill from the table, jotting in the book's pages furiously.

"Belogi, send for Antinidia. Anyanka, gather the aspirant laborers Jorgi Marravek, Piorr Fachaldo and Mayna Rubini. I shall personally attend to the details of his preparations for the journey. We shall congregate here in the Council Hall in half an hour's time. That will be all."

And as one thought, the three hale mages strode from the chamber to see to Lord Darrovan's request.

• • •

The dinner table had been prepared in mock fashion, with a portion of cured ham, a thick slice of pumpernickle and a half-filled goblet of Nellowswannian merlot carefully arranged on either end. The woman seated at the far end sat silently as her dark host lifted his goblet to his lips and sipped deeply. "A savory wine this is, my dear...vintage 1365. Only the best for us, my sweet. What do you think of our dinner arrangements, hmmm?"

His paramour could offer no reply, so stilled was the breath within her body. Undaunted, he strode with a genteel air to the window and gazed out across the mortuary's yard, watching the snow fall and blanket the land.

"A lovely evening this is, yes. I hope that your husband doesn't mind our torrid affair; It was he who left such a beautiful blossom as you in my gentle care, after all. Would you like more wine?"

She did not drink, or eat, or speak, and she never would again. She could only stare through her long cornsilk locks at the warmth of the fireplace's maw with her glassy green eyes and slack lips, painstakingly dyed a ruby shade as only a mortician could. The consumption had taken her life two days prior, and the drow mortician had found her pallid skin to be a most enticing hue.

The snowlight cast a thin sheen across his bald pate as be lowered his gaze into the belly of his goblet, grinning with joyous expectation. "Oh, but our time in this world is precious, my love, every passing moment of it. And how much of this precious time we waste with words. Let us leap ahead to this dinner date's most likely outcome, shall we?"

The goblet fell from his hand and bounced across the tilework floor, denting the tin and splashing the dark red wine wildly as the mortician turned from the window and dashed at the deceased subject of his erotic attentions. With spidery gray hands he violently slung her dinner settings aside, and a perfect white slipper fell from her feet and tumbled away as he heaved her comely corpse onto the table and seized her burial gown at the shoulders, popping the buttons and tearing the garment away to leave her lifeless breasts bare....

"Adept Antinidia!" Adept Korski barked from behind the door opening into the room. "Master Vorokai wishes to see you at...oh."

Korski's startled eyes met Antinidia's wary eyes somewhere in the middle of the wake parlour where they stood. Antinidia's long and sweaty hands still grasped his half-denuded charge. And a heavy, awkward silence followed.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Wids, you're far better than I at writing high society pompousness, so definately keep it up! Though, Antinidia may be a bit less verbose when not entertaining himself. Anyway, great job!

As for what Antinidia will do, before dealing with the point of the message he's going to try salvaging the situation by trying as hard as he can to put all the awkwardness on the messenger, through whatever airs of authority he can. Once the messenger is sufficently embarassed and face is saved, then he will handle the message itself.

[The Widowed]

[Antinidia -- untrained Diplomacy check (DC 10): Passed (12)]

Composing himself as best as he could, Antinidia deftly returned his charge to her seat and straightened himself to address Korski's intrusion, showing no hint of meekness or fear as he did.

"Adept Korski. As you can clearly see now, I am entertaining a guest. Can you not perceive her soul and see how bitterly she rues the lack of affection she received in life? I can, and I only work to lay her spirit to rest. Yet in you so boorishly storm to interrupt me without so much as a knock on the door...."

Korski seemed emotionally unseated ever so slightly. "Pardon the interruption; I should have made myself known first. Perhaps I too have known the willing embrace of departed consorts, but our place in this world...that makes such appetites no less unwelcome. And Master Vorokai suspects you of such liaisons with the dead, Antinidia."

The moment lost, chagrined Antinidia returned the lifeless woman's garments to where they had been. Korski averted his gaze and continued, "And Master Vorokai has immediate need of your service. He wishes to see you in the Council Hall. Please, conclude your business here as soon as you can, and do not keep him waiting."

Timidly, Adept Korski closed the wake chamber's maplewood door behind himself as he left. Antinidia tore a small hunk of cured ham from his plate at the table's far end and devoured it, glaring into the blazing hearth with pronounced disappointment.


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Well, now that the mood has been completely ruined there's no fun in this! Being the spoiled rich snob that he is, Antinidia will likely throw a tantrum of some kind before cleaning things up (expect a lot of the food and drink to go into the fire), and then he will go see Master Vorokai.

[The Widowed]

A violent barrage of meat, bread and wine rained across the burning belly of the fireplace as Antinidia snarled his frustration. The fire sputtered briefly before igniting the alcohol and redoubling in fury. And the necromancer glowered as he stared into the lapping flames, his drow eyes seared with a prodding blindness which served to isolate his mind and lure it back into focus. What ever could Master Vorokai want this time?

In the cloudy water of the dish barrel, the used earthenware plates were stacked neatly atop the dishes from the last wake feast, and the goblets were set gently atop them. Composing himself, Antinidia returned young Miss Mera's corpse to her bier and drew the burial shroud back up to her shoulders. The wake had ended that day and she would be buried tomorrow morning, and it slightly panged him to leave her.

But Master Vorokai would not be kept waiting.

• • •

Of those gathered to greet Antinidia, only Master Vorokai wore the dark, silver-trimmed robes befitting the esteemed office of a necromancer. The Vesperanti did not hail from the vaunted halls of the intelligencia, nor were they steeped in pomp and formality. But what the Vesperanti lacked in written lore and mystery they made up for in pragmatism and work ethic. The Dark College of Morribord had deemed the drow elf too base and untrustworthy for their ranks; old prejudices do not die easily for historians. But the Vesperanti accepted him and provided him a releasing avenue for his peculiar tastes. And so he stayed with them...at least for now.

Belogi, the grim-faced, towering half-orc clad in gravedigger clothes which were contrarily pristine, waited on Master Vorokai at his side. Anyanka, fair in face yet dark in heart, led Antinidia into the chamber. Strong Jorgi, thick-bearded Piorr and portly Mayna--their garments reflecting their heritages as peasants and workers--followed the two in shortly after.

Without a word of greeting, Vokokai briefly regarded Antinidia with weary eyes, then held a crisp scroll before his eyes and began to read aloud.

"Dearest of all my friends, I truly hope that this message finds you in good health. Would that I could savor the same. By now you have quite certainly heard of the fate of my noble House of Ainsley...are you familiar with the House of Ainsley, Adept Antinidia?"

"Only passingly. They were the families of lords and ladies governing the dread province of Bardosylvania, but their mansion was sacked by a small army of unknown beasts and brigands, and the entirety of the House of Ainsley was put to death, including Lord Darrovan, the presiding lord of the land. The brigands have never been identified, much less found. And Bardosylvania has since been cast aside by the Empire; without the Ainsley family to lead them, the province has since fallen into a state of gloom and anarchy, with isolated pockets of order limited to the cities and villages."

"Correct," Master Vorokai answered with a thrust of his finger, "but I discern that there is more to the story. Centuries ago, Lord Bardos Ainsley--exiled from Konegheim--conquered the land which would become Bardosylvania. But untimely death was commonplace in the land: death from pestilence, death from beasts, death from villains stalking the roadways. Populace and nobility alike turned to the death goddess Wee Jas, stern yet merciful in her reign from the Underworld. Gradually, death eased her hand; mortality was still more realized in Bardosylvania than in any other province of the Empire, yet soon her people began to prosper regardless of the wolves, the diseases, the murdering bandits. But the House of Ainsley changed as well; the firm hand of governance turned cruel and corrupt. People were unjustly oppressed and punished, and many died horribly in the dungeons, the torture chambers, the dark woodlands. The people's faith in their divine matron began to falter as death returned not at the teeth of beasts or the knives of highwaymen, but by the spears and implements of their own lords and soldiers.

"But that too changed in time. Lord Heward Ainsley took the throne upon his father's demise, and his reign was a gentler one. The old ways of fear were torn down, and Lord Heward built many a shrine or temple to the Witch Goddess who judges the dead. He restored the people's faith in Wee Jas, her priests rejoiced and prosperity returned to the land. But then Lord Heward suddenly slipped into a coma from which he never awoke, and Lord Darrovan succeeded him. Lord Darrovan believed that his father had squandered the coffers on tithes and temples. He ended the tithes, closed the temples and drove many of Wee Jas' priests and paladins from the land. The money built new roads, repaired crumbling cities, armed Bardosylvania's soldiers and fattened Lord Darrovan's pockets, but Wee Jas' faithful were allowed to slip into ruin.

"But that only lasted one year. Lord Darrovan Ainsley and his House were killed exactly one year after his coronation. His body was found with the heart carved out of his breast. He was interred in the Ainsley Crypts at Saturninity Hill, his sarcophagus was closed and the crypts were sealed fast. And yet he delivered this message to me five days ago. Have you any notion at all what this could mean, Adept Antinidia?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Time for Antinidia to show off his intelligence. Clearly he's been raised for someodd reason, or someone has done an excellent job forging the late lord's handwriting. If it's the latter then the fact that it was sent to us would clearly be a trap. Though as for who would want to lay a trap for us and why, you know your setting better than I do Wids. Antinidia's first instinct may be to suspect a drow trap, but it doesn't look like this would be a sure strategy to lure him out, assuming they know he's specifically here (so he'd probably omit mentioning that line of thought). If it's the former, then it's a genuine need for aid (I'm assuming you only paraphrased and they read the entire letter aloud) although the specific kind of aid would be highly questionable; or at least could be interpreted in many ways.

This then leads to the question of why they brought Antinidia in for this as it seems to be rather serious and they're showing it to an adept. Which he would specifically bring up.

And if they were looking for an emotional response of any kind to the Ainsley history, there was none.

[The Widowed]

((Man, I have to do all of your in-character speech? C'mon, be a roleplayer. ))

"This peculiarity could signify one of three scenarios," Antinidia answered dryly. "The first consideration is that the message could be a forgery. An old letter of correspondence could yield a sample of Lord Darrovan's handwriting from which forgeries could be drawn to fool the most familiar of acquaintences, and the lord's signet ring could have been plundered from the Ainsley crypt by grave robbers, who then proceeded to employ the ring for the illicit purpose of falsifying wax seals and missives of office. The most conceivable purpose for doing so would be to lure the Vesperanti into a trap. And do the Vesperanti not have enemies, Master Vorokai?"

"We have several convicted enemies," admitted Master Vorokai, "but there are many far more convenient ways of luring the Vesperanti into harm's way than the theft of a signet ring and a forged message. Remember our duties as the Vesperanti; if we are handed something as simple as a request for a seance or a funeral, we go to where we are needed to answer the call. And that call could quite possibly lead into the teeth of an ambush."

"True," Antinidia countered, "but for those services we send Vesperanti of lesser rank. What if someone intended to catch you--the master of our conclave--and thus strike a truly telling blow to the Vesperanti? A wise way to lay such a trap would be to pose as a nobleman who knew you--a dead nobleman who would hence be unable to defend his identity, preferably. Invoking friendship and calling on an old debt would better ensure that the one who answered the call would be none other than Master Vorokai himself. But, anticipating this possibility, you would naturally wish to test the waters by sending someone more expendable...a lesser Vesperantus who would venture first to Bardosylvania and take measure of the situation at hand. And that tactic is where I come into play, correct?"

A nonplussed gaze fell from Vorokai's eyes. "Correct. Most astute of you, Adept."

"Thank you. The second scenario," Antinidia continued without hesitation, "is that the message is genuine, and Lord Darrovan no longer lies among the dead. It could be that he is alive once more; it could just as easily be that he has joined the ranks of the undead. And if Wee Jas and her clergy were involved, then the latter would seem more likely. The third scenario is that the first two scenarios I posed are, in fact, one: rival necromancers--and I, for one, would suspect those devious knaves of the Barrow Flame--raised Lord Darrovan into undeath, so that he might serve them as bait to lure the Vesperanti into enemy hands."

"But could rival necromancers wield power enough to curse the very land of Bardosylvania?" the master retorted. "We have many accounts from many who were present at the mass funeral which spelled the end of the House of Ainsley. And we have good assurance that, the very moment Lord Darrovan was interred, the midday sky fell to darkness and gloom, the winds howled and the land around the cemetery began to wither and die. And recently, merely one year after the House of Ainsley was laid to rest, a dark fog rose from the borders of Bardosylvania. The messenger who brought the missive to us confirmed that this is true, that to cross the border out of Bardosylvania he rode through a mist which was so dense that he could only guide himself by watching the road beneath him. He was most ill at ease when we greeted him yet quite content to be outside of Bardosylvania; I've rewarded him for his trouble by paying for his weeklong stay at the Broadleaf Inn and Tavern. That should be quite enough time for him to decide where the road should take him from here. But I daresay that road shall not lead him back to Bardosylvania."

"Master Vorokai, I would like for you to read the rest of the letter to me, if you please."

"Very well," Vorokai conceded, returning his eyes to the letter. The words fell gracefully from his tongue, so many countless messages he had read in his time.

"...They should travel to the Ainsley family crypts in the cemetery of Saturninity Hill, in the heart of Bardosylvania. There I shall greet them personally. With great anticipation, Lord Darrovan Ainsley of the House of Ainsley." The message returned to the table as Vorokai regarded Antinidia pensively.

A brief still in the air was broken by the drow elf's words. "So...supposing that this curse is true, this 'clash between the holy and the unholy, the mortal and the immortal'...."

"...And that's the question, Adept Antinidia. And that is why we ask you to go to Bardosylvania, to speak with Lord Darrovan--if indeed he is no longer dead--and gauge the truth of the matter, so that I may involve myself if needs be. You are one of our most intelligent Vesperanti, perhaps the most intelligent, insightful and well-learned of us all. Your thirst for knowledge preceeds you; perhaps this errand is yet more knowledge for you to gather."

"And if I perish in the learning?"

The master paused reflectively. "If our necromantic profession teaches us anything, Antinidia, it's that we dance on the edge of death's knife every day of our lives. We should not fear death; it is simply another facet of our existence."


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

Hey check it out, I'm finally getting back to this!

Antinidia is both perturbed and intruiged by this assignment. Perturbed because of the potential danger the masters are throwing him in, and intruiged for obvious reasons surrounding the case. However he knows better than to even think there's any way to change their minds, so he'll have to go with it. But that doesn't mean he should charge in empty handed, so he's going to see how much he can get out of this.

"Due to the nature of this task you have gifted me as well as the dangers should it prove to be an elaborate trap, am I to presume that I will be supplied means to defend myself beyond a quick wit? Or am I to presume your most apt of students should take a considerably dire interpretation to the acceptance of his own death?"

Either way, since his fun earlier was ruined he doesn't have much reason to linger, so it'll be a fairly quick matter to pack up and head out. Antinidia is ready to begin as soon as need be.

[The Widowed]

[Antinidia -- Untrained Diplomacy check (DC 10): Passed (15)]

Master Vorokai lowered his narrowing eyes in thought. "Hmmph. Acerbic though your tone may be, you make your point well. We may lack centuries of trappings and artifacts, but we do have some useful supplies to spare. Belogi?"

Bowing respectfully, Belogi turned to open an elderwood chest and retrieve two cotton-wrapped vials, their brass stoppers protruding through the wrappings and catching the sheen of passing candlelight. "Two vials o' holy water consecrated t' Pelor and Evening Glory," he explained as he sauntered heavily to Antinidia, "with which to blast the spawn o' the dusk."

The vials were thrust into the drow elf's waiting hands, and his skin recoiled at the sharp sensation of warmth as the glass and cotton touched his palms. The vials' touch was tolerable, but their nature was unmistakably less than welcoming to their new bearer.

Anyanka was three steps behind Belogi, cupping two vials spun from black glass and stoppered with crude iron. "And for times when benevolence and malevolence bleed together across their bounds in that dark land, two vials of unholy water consecrated to Afflux and Vecna. Be most careful with these, Adept."

Anyanka slipped the vials into Antinidia's hands. The chill which raced from fingers to elbows was a tangible cold rooted somewhere beyond the physical. He removed a vial from its wrapping--its cotton blackened by an unseen malignance--and noted the wisps of sickly grayness which swirled through the unholy water of their own momentum.

"But not all of Bardosylvania's monsters stem wholly from the undead or the unearthly," Master Vorokai exhaled, taking up a quarterstaff from the mantlepiece and leveling it before Antinidia. Either end bore a stout metal cap with an argent shimmer, each cap riveted five ways to the durable ironwood beneath. "This quarterstaff is shod with premium silver, a substance proven baneful against many a darkling in centuries past. You are a necromancer, true, and spellcraft is your foremost art. But keep this weapon close at hand; beasts who draw too near will give no quarter for your prestidigitations. In addition..."

The spindly crystal vial seemed to fall from the lining of Master Vorokai's sleeve and settle between his thumb and his forefingers, where Antinidia beheld the thick, transluscent oil rolling within. In the dim light of the chamber, a spectral luminescence could be seen creeping across the vial's glass, betraying the fluid's necromantic nature.

"...unenchanted weapons such as your newfound quarterstaff can do nothing against the spirits of the restless dead. This oil can change that. Coat your weapon with the ghostoil and it shall smite ghosts and spectres as surely as it strikes flesh and bone. Alas, like most things in this world, the ghostoil's power will not serve forever."

[Antinidia receives two vials of holy water, two vials of unholy water, a vial of ghostoil and a silvered quarterstaff.]

"And now, Adept, your laborers will help you prepare for the journey. You may find their talents and experience useful. Old Piorr is an experienced mason who has taken a turn as a sculptor of headstones. Jorgi is a gravedigger and a capable excavator, and Mayna has expanded her carpentry talents into the peculiar art of bonecrafting. Their bodies are strong, even if their minds lack the grasp of the transcendent needed to take their first steps into the harnessing of necromantic potence. Are you now prepared in will for your passage to dread Bardosylvania?"


Antinidia >

[Knightward]

((Yay minions!))

Antinidia will nod respectfully after taking the supplies. That is the extent of his gratitude: a formality. He may speak a word or two of thanks, but it wouldn't roll off his tongue as most of his verbosity does. Either way he got something out of it, so it would be best not to press his luck and continue on.

"My mind is ready for the journey ahead, and soon my body will follow, and I will eagerly pursue the question at the heart of it to whatever end. The aspirants who will attend me have likewise been informed of this task, have they not? I will prepare my things and shall be off once they are ready. Their strong arms combine with my strong intellect should make for an effective team. Until the next, my masters..."

And with that Antinidia will depart with a rather elaborate bow, probably one of the kind that was done fairly often in the Underdark. After that he's off to pack his things, unless he's still needed for something.

EDIT: Doh! Had him bowing twice, the first has been changed to a nod.