Behold the Unloved King (Part 6)

Log Info

• Title: Unloved King (Part 6)

• GM: Whirlpool

• Characters: Aryia, Harkashan, Ravenstongue, Telamon, Seldan

• Place: A Branch of the World Tree

Woods.

The shadows of tall trees loom over you, impossibly tall and covered in a ring of strange birds -- like an owl crossed with ravens. They sit admiset the branches in a vast ring about you, as if they expected your arrival. No doubt they did, their forms visible amongst the vividly covered autumnal leaves. Immediately, some of the birds descend upon Cor'lana and Telamon in warm greeting, covering their persons.

Despite the warm welcome, it is no doubt unwise to remain loing, and so the second part of the journey is soon underway, a vividly recollected teleport based on the mental image of a dead celestial sharing it with you.

You sense movement as the teleport takes hold.

... you don't make it directly to your destination.

You tumble out of the teleport, crashing into wooden ground. It takes a moment for you to gather yourself.

You stand upon an impossibly large, withered and dead branch, the blackened limb of an impossibly large tree. The branch serves as bridge, leading you to another impossibly vast tree, in which a dreary castle is build upon, around, and over the trunk.

The sad stone edifice is covered in ivy-wrapped stone, dead and dying in the chill wintery air. Snow falls. Patches of ice on the branch

If ever there was a king unloved by all, this would be his home... ahead of you, across the withered branch, up an impossibly vast set of steps to doors that are wide open, a welcome to one and all that none have taken up on.

Despite the relative quietude of Seldan's armor at most times, the crash into the ground is - anything but, a clattering and clanking of metal that tells anyone within half a league that the group has arrived. He remains sprawled out for a minute or two, gathering himself, and slowly picks himself up to his feet, lips set in a thin line.

Once to his feet, he checks the bow on his back for damage, and, finding none, replaces it and looks around him. "Let us see what is within. "

Cor'lana's eyes are wide as she looks around the place. Dead branch. A very large tree.

"Are we... on the world tree?" Her words are signed in a faltering, almost anxious manner. It's clear that that this has meaning to her. "If this King was created as a weapon and we are _here on Yggdrasil's limbs_, what does that mean for us?" <Handspeech>

But then there's Seldan's words. She takes a small breath. She centers herself. "Yes. Let's go." <Handspeech>

It's not often Telamon's transport goes anywhere near 'awry'. In fact, he can't remember the last time his gift for translocating has done anything more than move him and his companions from one point to another across Ea. But this? This was unpleasant. This was like those first days when he wasn't as sure of himself, when the warp and weft of space and time were a lot more unsteady in his hands.

He lands with a thud and a startled, undignified yelp, sprawled out on his face like one of the humorous cartoons that occasionally grace the pages of the Tribune. After a moment, he lifts his head, looking dazed. "I think... I think something tried to misroute us. Maybe. It felt like it." His face is flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. "Guess someone really didn't want us coming here," he mutters, as he climbs to his feet.

Aryia stumbles and staggers out of the transposition, rolling and popping up to her feet. Ready for whatever was before-

Her hands dip. Only to reach up and pull her shades down slightly to look over the rim with brows raised so high they nearly touch her hairline.

She gives a low, impressive whistle. Checking with the others and wincing as Seldan gets his feet underneath him. A slow nod leaves her, agreeing with moving forward, but she pauses slightly at Cor'lana's mention.

World tree? She looks around, taking in the massive tree up and down. She continues staring up, taking in the scene as she takes a step forward.

GAME: Harkashan rolls Knowledge/The Planes: (12)+22: 34

As the shift warps and angles anew, there's a different place before them. Some place Harkashan has not seen before, yet... something within him recognizes it. A vague memory of a traveler long since gone. Just at the edges of the mind, yet something that makes him speak a word in old Sildanyari. "Home." He rumbles, not even knowing he's doing so.

A flick from his tail, a deep gutteral sound, and a moment where he tilts his head away and shakes it a bit. Trying to shake off that strange emotion that isn't his. Emotions that are not his - and instead 'theirs'.

"The World Tree, or a reflection there-of. We should be wary, many Fey travel within this place. And powerful beings use this as a way to travel from plane to plane." Harkashan warns with a deep clicking trill in his voice. He adjusts the straps on his buckler and re-casts some of his magics in order to bolster his own defenses.

"But it appears we are being welcomed." He then adds - stepping along with Seldan.

GAME: Harkashan casts Protection From Evil. Caster Level: 13 DC: 18

GAME: Harkashan casts Magic Vestment. Caster Level: 13 DC: 20

GAME: Seldan casts Protection From Evil. Caster Level: 8 DC: 21

GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/the planes: (17)+19: 36

Cor'lana seems rather comforted that it is not _the_ World Tree, but rather a piece, a reflection of it. She does tend briefly to Telamon, mostly making sure that his pretty face is okay and not rearranged from his face-first port. "We should go," she signs.

She offers Telamon a loving little smile as she flattens down his hair. It won't do to have any of it out of place when they go to deal with the Unloved King. "There. All better." She offers Telamon an affectionate kiss on the cheek before turning her attention back onto the group. "Shall we? Seldan and Aryia in the front?" <Handspeech>

Once he's upright again, Telamon brushes himself off briefly before following. "If it's just a reflection--" He then pauses, and shakes his head. "No. Never mind. I should know better. Just because something isn't -real- doesn't mean it has no power." He sighs, reaching out to take Lana's hand as the two of them follow along.

"I really hope we don't have to fight anything though. That we can just... somehow set this right without bloodshed."

"Oddly, I'd like to do this with no bloodshed either," Aryia signs over her shoulder. "I'd like to not get cursed for all of eternity by decking a sad man." <Handspeech/Tongues>

GAME: Seldan rolls survival: (18)+25: 43

GAME: Telamon rolls survival: (1)+24: 25 (EPIC FAIL)

GAME: Harkashan rolls Survival+2: (4)+13+2: 19

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Survival: (7)+2: 9

GAME: Aryia rolls survival: (17)+7: 24

GAME: Telamon rolls survival: (10)+24: 34

The silence hangs heavy here, unlike the welcoming forest you began with. It is desolate and bleak. Oppressive. It weighs down on you. You step along the vast branches and limbs, carefully measuring your footsteps as you make your way to the distant castle. You walk across bridges of tethered, along rain-slick abandoned roads of wood. They sway and creak in the howling wind that kicks up, filling your ears not unlike the Desolation you began your journey in today.

Finally, you reach the section in which the castle rests, and inded, it looms over you too. Big as legend.

"As do I," Seldan replies in low, even tones to Telamon, but as the silence begins to press in, he, too, falls silent, picking his way among the rocks and slick tree limbs with the surefootedness of a gazelle who knows every inch of this place. An unusual thing for a man in full plate armor to do, to be sure, but he speaks a word, and the ordinary metal look of the plates dissolves into a quiescent sheen that is the armor's true form, a thing he does not often display on Ea.

Once they approach, his eyes travel up - and up - and up the walls, studying them thoughtful. "A reflection out of what lies within."

Though Harkashan lacks the grace of others of his kin, there's a certain familiarness with this place. Treelimbs, leaves, branches and boughs are what he's known for decades of his life, so stepping through this region isn't too problematic for him. Taking his time, observing the castle as they get closer and closer.

"A castle and its walls in the softskin lands would suggest a place in need of protecting from the outside. Walls to hold back one's enemies." He rumbles. "What could a being like this need to defend themselves from?"

"Themselves," Seldan answers absently, without turning his eyes from the walls, an answer that is only half-aware that it was spoken.

Telamon helps Lana make her way, as the group travels onward. This place feels wrong -- too quiet, too dull, too static. The further they go, the more Telamon has to restrain himself from making some kind of noise just to break the heavy silence.

But soon enough, they stand at the castle, Tel's gaze sweeping over it. "Walls aren't always to keep something out, Hark," he says quietly. "Sometimes, they're to keep something in." He nods to Seldan's single word comment. "Besides, people will put up walls sometimes even when there are no enemies, because the foes they fear exist in their hearts and minds."

The way is perilous for poor Cor'lana. There are many things that describe her, but graceful in physical matters is not one of them. When she does make it out on the other side, thanks to Telamon's aid, she offers a prayer to Vaire and Ni'essa both, the goddesses that have kept her safe, and a look of appreciation at Telamon.

"It is as Seldan says," Cor'lana replies. "Sometimes, when you believe you are a monster, you seal yourself away, believing yourself to be a threat that is great and terrible. Grandfather does that far too often. As my husband says... Sometimes the greatest foe is in the heart and in the mind."

Aryia carefully walks across in step with the others, trying to not get an ankle twisted on a rock. Her scowl deepens as they progress, the oppressive nature making the fussy mute even more fussed. The whipping wind doesn't help in the slightest, throwing her hair about in a tossle.

Finally in front of the castle, she glances between Hark and Seldan, nodding once before looking- craning her head upwards. Up. Up. She shakes her head and rolls her shoulders. "Trust me, I know a thing or two about being yourself up," she gestures, continuing to stride forward with the others, holding her pony tail to keep it from slapping her face. <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Those places are called a 'Prison'." Harkashan rumbles to Telamon, "And this looks like a castle..." Though as they get closer; "Though it looks like nobody has been maintaining this place for a long time." Harkashan rumbles, glancing aside to Aryia, giving her a nod.

Seldan does not comment further as he approaches the doors to the castle, the oppressive silence perhaps influencing him in some way that remains unseen. He does not comment, and his outward demeanor - that sober steadiness - does not alter. Only once does he look back to see if others are with him, before he starts towards the open gates.

GAME: Telamon casts Mind Blank. Caster Level: 20 DC: 27

GAME: Telamon casts Overland Flight. Caster Level: 20 DC: 24

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Mind Blank. Caster Level: 19 DC: 26

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Overland Flight. Caster Level: 19 DC: 24

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 19 DC: 19

Telamon shrugs at Hark. "Prisons come in many forms." He tucks Lana's hand into his elbow, gallantly. As if they were on a stroll through the Theatre District, not wandering this bizarre reflection borne of fey wishes and madness.

"The question is did someone else lock him away, or did he do it to himself?" he muses quietly.

The oppressive wind is gone as you make your way into the castle gates, sheltered from it, perhaps, by the overgrown courtyard you now find yourself in. You are surrounded on all sides by a phalanx of faceless statues, improbably large and standing guard.

A cobblestone path leads towards a fountain, circling around it and then towards the gates to the keep itself of this place. It's drawbridge is lowered down over a dried out, moss grown moat. The fountain, similarly, has no water within it.

It is all ... large. In this plce, you are small. So *very* small.

"Let us pray that this is unlike the last grand but time-shattered home in which I found myself," Seldan murmurs, loud enough for those closest to him to hear as he picks his way among the statues to the fountain, with only the briefest of glances at Telamon. He slows as he approaches the fountain, peering within for only a moment to satisfy himself that nothing lies within, before turning to the keep.

Cor'lana is somewhat used to being small. It comes with the territory of being sil-blooded. After all, she has to lean up onto her tiptoes to kiss Telamon. This, however, is something else entirely. Her eyes sweep over everything.

"We... are out of our element." That's like saying the grass is green, the sky is blue, and archmage-wizards shouldn't summon demons in the Alexandrian countryside.

The remark from Seldan puts Cor'lana on edge. She's heard, of course, about Seldan's ancestral home, Ivyhold Manor, from Telamon. "I hope so, too," she says gently. Giant fey kings-as-weapons are one thing. Void anchors are another.

Aryia glances to Seldan, a green hue tinting her face. "Please no. Not that fucked place again," she signs towards him, speaking of a different time and place. Finally, the wind stops, and she's able to get her hair fixed before-

She stops, looks up, around, down. "... I know I'm short, but come on," the mute complains to no one in particular as she makes her way forward, passing by the fountain and warily eying all the faceless statues. <Handspeech/Tongues>

emit "A home to giants..." Harkashan rumbles as they step inside. For a people that would wish themselves to walk amongst dragons, Harkashan does feel a certain kind of awkwardness as he steps amongst these halls and walls. Staring up at the faceless statues.

"Their faces, featureless. No ears to hear, no eyes to see, not nose to smell, no mouth to taste." He rumbles to those with him.

Black clouds form overhead. It starts to rain almost immediately.

A sigh escapes Seldan as the skies open up, bright hair quickly dampening. "It seems that we are wanted inside." With that, he turns from the fountain, surveying a statue on the way. "Let us pray that you are right, Mourner," he tells Harkashan.

Telamon sighs at the rain. "Of course. Musn't keep them waiting." He follows along, boots sounding softly on the stone floor. "We've been out of our element ever since we started adventuring, Lana. What matters is that we find a way through it."

He gives Seldan a pained look. "I was trying -not- to think about that, Sir Seldan. We have enough trouble with the ley lines. If time itself is starting to kick the traces we're all in for a bad day." Glancing around, he wonders, "Were the statues made without faces, or were they, well, defaced? The distinction might be important."

Aryia gives a look back at Harkashan, worry plaguing her face for a moment before her head turns back up the the statues.

And then rain slams into her face.

A titanic sigh escapes her as Aryia slicks her hair back, and rummages around for those earplugs. Just in case.

She follows forward with the others, a hand covering her eyes.

Cor'lana grimaces at being rained on, but she looks over at Aryia and nods. "Earplugs are a good idea," she says, finding hers and putting them back in while she's following along, arm-in-arm with Telamon. It doesn't take long, thank the gods.

She opens her mouth, just a little in thought, before she posits, "Are statues without faces already defaced? Or is it... just within the eye of the beholder?" She expects that someone is going to throw a tomato at her soon enough.

You feel the thunder rather than hear it, for the most part, but the flashes of lightning across the darkened sky are all too familiar given you were just in the Desolation. Just like home. Perhaps that's not surprising. Wind, rain, thunder and lightning. Reflection like source.

You push your way across the drawbridge and into the keep, finding yourself within a darkened great hall. A vast banquet table sits, flavored for a party for giants, but abandoned. At the head of the banquiet is a great throne, fit for a king, and sitting in that throne is ... something humanoid... ish.

It's hard to be more exacting than that. It's sort of an ... incomprehenisble blur, but each of you can sense the despair, the lonelyness. A party for which none attended, even abandoned by the guards that surely would have once served him. His hands cover his face, stained red with blood, elbows on the table. His body shakes soundlessly.

The Unloved King lives in lonelyness and despair, and each of you can feel it radiating off him in such waves as to assail your senses.

GAME: Seldan casts Light. Caster Level: 16 DC: 20

The despair radiating off the Unloved King causes Telamon to rock back on his heels, his hand to reflexively grasp Lana's. The only solace is the knowledge that no matter the intensity, it's not his loneliness, his despair, his anguish. He takes a deep breath, centering himself, before looking to the others.

He signs with his other hand. "Well, we found him. Now how do we get him to stop sobbing?" A pause. "I didn't bring any wine, but I know I have a deck of cards in my haversack."

Seldan's eyes lower at the wash of despair, of loneliness, the emotions striking him to the soul. No stranger to these emotions, he, and for a moment, or. two, they threaten to overwhelm. He turns away from the others, silent in the doorway -

And then, a moment. _Vengeance is not the duty of a knight, and there is mercy in the Light._ The images that accompany those words, too bright to look at -

Bright. That's it.

Without thinking, he looks up and draws a sigil. A simple cantrip that anchors a blue-silver-white glow to the bow on his back.

"Does the Desolation reach into this place?" Harkashan wonders out loud as they proceed across the drawbridge and into the keep and find...

Something. A being that makes Harkashan stand up straighter than usual, and his tail to start whipping nervously at the ground.

Despair.

Mourners know that sense all too well. That sense of dispair and loneliness that he's often found in those who mourn the ones that have passed. His jaw tenses but he does not speak in that moment. For he does not know nor understand the source of this one's despair. And he isn't sure this is the time to ask.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perform/Oratory: (10)+36: 46

Aryia shakes herself off and wrings her hair out as they find shelter, remembering how Desolation was not too long ago as she peers out from where they came. But her attention swivels forward as she sees the banquet hall laid out before them her brows raise, furrow, then soften. She looks back to Cor'lana for guidance, these kinds of emotional assuages are most assuredly /not/ the pugilist's expterise-

But light draws her attention to the fore, seeing Seldan conjure up something so simple. A ghost of a smile draws across her lips. He's got something figured out. Her confidence is bolstered.

A light. That beautiful blue-silver-white glow on Seldan's bow gives Cor'lana inspiration. She knows well the despair of her fae ancestor, and seeing the Unloved King's despair reminds her well of it. It could have been Grandfather on that throne, despondent. Alone. Unloved. All alone in the dark.

She opens her mouth.

       "A light comes to open the way:

       We spring forth from the night

       And bring close this tired play

       With a hope that burns bright."

Her voice carries loud and clear, inspired by Seldan's light, violet eyes that glow softly with the permanent spell afixed to them to perceive the invisible.

"We greet you, O Noble King. Hello, Your Majesty." They are said in her grandfather's tongue, and Cor'lana curtsies as she ought.

The sobbing is almost louder than the thunder was outside.

And then it stops. A presence has recognized you. A presence *Sees* you. The fingers over the face slowly spread, just enough to reveal one terribly bloodshot eye and a dark ring beneath it. He's big as legend, too.

Cor'lana has his attention.

Even through your earplugs, you can *sense* that all has gone quiet, now within the hall. The ground no longer shakes with the force of hsi despair.

But now he sees you.