| 
  • If you are citizen of an European Union member nation, you may not use this service unless you are at least 16 years old.

  • You already know Dokkio is an AI-powered assistant to organize & manage your digital files & messages. Very soon, Dokkio will support Outlook as well as One Drive. Check it out today!

View
 

FR - 5E - Taken

Page history last edited by Jon Goranson 3 years, 11 months ago

Taken

 

4/16/2020  

 

"Olva, we have been over this.  This is what the All Father wanted," the voice says from the statue in Olva's room.  It depicts five dwarves in council around a table and right now one of them has shifted and is looking up at her.  The deep voice of High Priest Owain Hislop rumbles even through this.  The figuring couldn't create his facial expressions but Olva could see the patience but stern look she was getting anyway.  

 

"They have no respect for me.  They do nae listen to orders.  Even Dionato!  He questions me in front of them, makes me look weak," she growled in frustration at the thought of it.  "And all men!  They haven't a lick of sense between the lot of them!"  

 

The figure doesn't say anything but it's arms cross over and just looks at her.  She already knows what he is thinking.  

 

"Yes, yes," Olva says hurriedly to forestall his reply.  "It's what I have.  But you heard me report about the tomb that was open.  I had to concentrate not to stare at the secrets of the place, lest I give anything away.  And then we still went inside.  I don't like that the winter goddess could just put a spear of her follower in there."  

 

"On that, at least, we can agree," rumbled Owain's voice.  "I think the long night is coming and the winter goddess merely portends it.  The giant points to it as well.  Olva, this means..."  Owain trails off.

 

"That me death be near, I kin," said Olva's voice.  She was happy it didn't crack.  "I've long kin about it and if it is my time, so it be.  Praise the Forge Master, the All Father, praise Berronar, praise Haela."  

 

This time when Owain paused before answering, she wasn't sure how he looked.  "I know ye know I'm proud but also thank ye.  For being a role model.  Many of the acolytes look up to you and this is why."  Olva thought she heard a touch of sorrow in his voice.  "Now, you know what to do?"  

 

"Aye, aye'll get it done," she said.  The figure moved back to the table and the communication spell ended.  She got into bed and lay there, doing her best not to think of the idiots.  The dream came to her soon enough.  

 

She was in Sundabar, having left the temple of Moradin and heading toward Master's Hall.  It was strangely empty.  She saw some dwarves up ahead but they disappeared around a corner.  She hurried her pace, her heart beating hard. 

 

Thump. 

 

Thump. 

 

She rounded the corner and it was empty.  Looking back down the hall, the forges had gone cold.  The torches out.  A shadow slithered across the moonlit surface of the Master's Hall.  It rose up, a drakes head on a snakes body and hissed.  

 

Olva turned and ran through the door but found herself on the other side of the hall.  Already, the shadow slithered over toward her.  She ran to the cold forge, thinking of the prayer to light the fire.  As the shadow slithered out of the forge itself, the prayer died on her lips and she trembled.  

 

"Look," it hissed.  "Listen.  Understand."  

 

Shadows flicked out like whips and lashed to her arms.  Olva was pulled back and landed on an altar, someplace in the mountains.  The orc wasn't huge.  It was the stone knife he held that gripped her heart in terror, made her blood run cold.  

 

This is the dream, she whispered, This is the dream.  It can nae hurt me.  

 

It didn't help when the orc walked up, looking at something above and behind Olva.  He wore a headdress of a crow, black feathers with their ends dipped in blood.  His face was smeared with blood.  Someone's blood, she heard the cries but couldn't see who.  

 

"Finally," the orc rasped, the jagged scar at his throat obvious from this position, "it happens.  We open the way."  He looked down at Olva.  "And all thanks to you."  Olva screamed in rage and fear but it only made the orc smile.  He took his time, raising up the dagger, muttering in a harsh language that vibrated in her ears painfully.  He plunged the dagger down into her chest.  And then he twisted the dagger to the side and out.  Olva gasped.  That usually woke her!  Was this real?  She glanced around but couldn't see anyone.  She didn't see the second stab of the dagger but she felt it.  Her heart pounded.  And she saw it as the orc raised it up out of her chest, still beating. 

 

Thump. 

 

Thump.

 

The orc moved down toward it, his mouth opening.

 

Olva jerked awake, crying out and flailing around in bed.  She felt the cool breeze and felt her chest but there was no hole.  She was fine.  She didn't know what time it was but some light was peeking in through the window.  

 

I have to keep moving or my courage will fail me, she thought and got up.  She went down to the common room.  "Ten minutes," she said out to the room and came back up to the room.  Olva didn't like her choices.  Think about the dream, the one thing she feared.  Or think about the idiots she was with.  She went with anger and got dressed.  She came down into the common room, grabbed a roll and gnawed on it, and then walked out.  

 

They went to the next village, Ashmead, and spoke to Jarek.  He had no bad news for her and told her that the harvest was going well.  Then to Duncart, and Lesia had nothing to report.  Blacktree.  Netherwood.  Kingston.  No one had anything to report.  Dio kept asking to help carry the load.  It was her job.  She was coimeádaí rúnda, though.  It was her burden.  Unless the time was coming for her to pass it along.  She nodded at that thought.  She didn't even notice the wolves until the group attacked.  

 

Olva could appreciate them in battle.  They knew how to do that, how to kill.  She could tell they would be good at that.  At least they would be good at something, she thought, bitterly.  She shook her head.  Dark thoughts don't help, especially not now.  The wolves were tougher than the goblins they had fought and she saw Gorstag go down.  She rushed forward and healed them but the wolves attacked, one last ditch effort.  Dio went down but more prayers to the dwarven gods helped heal them before death found them.  They had one more stop before Woodshire and she wanted to get to Woodshire and speak with Alasdair.  She smiled at the name of several of her friends.  So similar and yet not, like themselves. 

 

Olva finally noticed that the group was bundled warmer than before.  She should have talked more to them.  No!  She can't think like that.  Yet, before stepping into her tent, she looked at Tristan and could tell he was cold.  Kaji was as well but if that fool would just use the fires of Kossuth, he wouldn't have to worry about it.  She wasn't sure about Rolen.  The others seemed fine.  She again hesitated.  Would one drink with them hurt?  Would one shared meal?  She sighed, shoulders drooping.  She went into her tent.  

 

The next day, they got to Woodshire late and she immediately went to speak to Alasdair.  He had no bad news for her but also wasn't in great spirits.  Several raids had happened last month and they had lost some sheep.  Several of the herders were still recovering although they could walk with barely a limp now.  Still, Alasdair worried if they would have enough meat for the winter.  He had sent word to Sundabar and had hoped she had a reply.  She did not.  They spoke of other things for a while before fatigue came to her and she went to bed. 

 

When Olva opened her eyes and saw the orc, the same orc she had seen in dreams for decades, she wanted the dream over quickly.    The ceiling registered in Olva's brain.  This wasn't a dream but it was the orc from her dream!  Before she could cry out, another orc's hand clamped down on her mouth.  She bit.  The orc cried out and snapped his hand away.  She rolled out of bed when she could and lunged for her mace.  

 

"Oh, no, dearie," croaked the orc shaman, smashing her fingers with a staff.  "Can't have that now, can we?"  Then the shaman smashed her across the face.  She stumbled back and the orc that had first grabbed her smashed something heavy into her head.  Then the shaman.  Then the orc.  She lunged for the mace again but a few more hits and things went black.  

 

Olva would wake up occasionally as they traveled.  She saw the farmlands.  Then trees.  She got a longer rest and then opened her eyes and the orc carrying her slammed her down.  Her breath went out of her like bellows into a forge and she gasped for air.  Rough hands, grabbed her and tied her down  When she finally got a breath back, she looked around.  She was lying on a familiar altar and the orc was at a stone table, looking at stone daggers.  

 

 

125 xp

 

GM Notes

  • I have been playing a few things close because I know how tough it can be to distinguish player knowledge and character knowledge.  
    • It's not that I didn't want them to know but I wanted the perspective shift.  
  • I don't think I covered much from their perspective but Marc's write up does it well enough for me to do this. 
  • I'm late in writing this up.  That wasn't my intention!
  • We are using a lot of things that I don't tend to use, namely weather and its effects.  I like it. 
    • Also, tracking someone, getting lost, but finding the path again. 
    • I also used some group checks when they were sneaking past a few places and I think that works.   
  • I wonder if Olva will be rescued or not?   

 

 

BACK

Comments (0)

You don't have permission to comment on this page.