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The Way Is Blocked, Dear Master Ketimar, Rennik's Ponderings

From: Scott

Subject: Re: The hole; smoke on the water

"They know we are coming."

Mission suppresses a laugh. Rennick had a keen grasp of the obvious.

He makes his way back to the pile of rocks and will look it over.

OOC: Ty, he is looking to see how safe it appears.

In addition, did Mission pick up any vibes off the robe? What did Farron discover with the box?



From: Karl

Subject: Re: The hole; smoke on the water

"It's a tight squeeze up there . . ." Mission had said. Farron watches again as the monk's legs disappear over the top of the pile of rock once again. Perhaps the monk could use a little help in a tight spot. Farron chatters a command to Jack to climb up the pile and scout ahead with Mission. The little weasel jumps from Farron's head, down to his shoulder and crosses down the front of Farron's robes, but just as he is about to jump onto the bottom of the pile, several violent explosions rip through the darkness, throwing Farron face-down on top of Jack, forcing him into the murky water.

Farron gasps in reaction to having the air forced out of his lungs by the blast, but chokes as the slimy water hits his lungs. He searches for footing to stand up but the slimy bottom nearly sends him back under. Finally able to stand, he gasps for air. The steam and dust from the explosion fill his lungs and he begins to cough violently. "Jack!", he yells between chattered syllables made nearly incomprehensible by coughing as he searches the dark water with his hands, trying to find his companion. He feels cold panic pour into his gut when suddenly he feels tiny sharp claws digging into his singed right forearm. The pain is intense as Jack clambers desperately to get out of the water, but Farron's relief that his friend is not dead makes the pain almost welcome.

Jack now safe and, thankfully, unharmed, Farron thinks next of Sa'id, but the mage now looks better than he did even before the explosion. He wonders at this for a second, then spots the empty vial floating in the water next to him. "Healing potion," he says, to no one in particular and his voice sounds strangely muffled, as if he is talking with his fingers stuck in his ears. He sees the Mission and Sa'id talking to one another. Their lips are moving, but even though he is right next to them he can't hear their voices. Every sounds seems buried under a roar he had thought must be the explosion echoing down the tunnel, but now realizes has gone on much too long to be an echo.

"IS EVERYONE OK?" he says to the two of them. "WHERE'S RENNIK?" He does not hear the halfling sputter to the surface behind him. He looks at the monk who, too, looks completely unscathed by the blasts. "WHAT HAPPENED? IS EVERYONE ELSE OK, TOO?"



From: Dan

Subject: Re: The hole; smoke on the water

Smoke on the water? I don't suppose the robe we found was Deep Purple, was it? Anyway, I'll reply in an hour or two.



From: Ty

Subject: Re: The hole; smoke on the water

[Farron has not checked in to ask about the scroll case. Mission can't detect magic, so even holding his breath and squeezing his face really hard doesn't allow him to detect anything about the robe. Other than that it is a nice cotton blend.]

Mission climbs the pile of stone again, and his fears are realized. The tunnel is now completely collapsed. There is no way through.



From: Karl

Subject: Re: The hole; smoke on the water

(Sorry, I thought that was assumed from the narrative.) Regardless, if Farron didn't have time to check the scroll case before the blast, he will check it once his ears stop ringing.



From: Ty

Subject: Re: The hole; Letters to home

While Mission is clambering up the rock pile to discover the tunnel collapse, Farron sits down on the edge of the pile, and pops open the scroll case. He is not as cautious as he would usually be, but the ringing in his ears leaves him disoriented and dizzy.

In this case, his incaution has no ill affects. Inside the scroll case are a tightly bundled roll of blank parchments, a nice pen and ink set, and a loosely rolled parchment on which a portion of a letter is written.

[The text of the letter coming soon]



From: Scott

Subject: Re: The hole; Letters to home

Mission gingerly makes his way back down the rockpile.

"The space between this pile and the ceiling is completely collapsed. Whoever didn't want us to go down this tunnel is going to get their way."

His shoulder is sore from climbing, and from where the zombie slammed into him earlier. And nothing to show for it but a robe. A nice robe, but nothing that he'd endanger the lives of the party for.

He wondered if Cadfael's monster boor was still romaning around out at the mouth of the hole.

"Unless we want to start digging through this mess," Mission gestures upward and falls silent.



From: Karl

Subject: Re: The hole; Letters to home

(OOC- Isn't there also the alternative of exploring a little ways in the opposite direction? I thought the water was flowing away from the rock pile and that the tunnel trailed off into darkness that way.)



From: Ty

Subject: Re: The hole; Letters to home

Yes, the tunnel does go on to the west, and the water flows that direction.



From: Raja

Subject: Re: The hole; Letters to home

Is my staff still glowing?



From: Ty

Subject: Letters to home

Farron begins reading the letter he found, but only a few words into it he calls Sa'id over, and they read it together.

The letter says:

Master Ketimar, (Farron and Sa'id know a Ketimar. He is the old Professor Emeritus at the college in Nesalin)

I am so excited! I have too much to tell you, and I will not be able to get it all down in this quick note, but hopefully this will whet your appetite. When I return, we can really dig in and hash out the details. The paper we will write with shake the history group right to its foundations! And, of course, watching that idiot Tormin eat his words won't break my heart. (Farron and Sa'id know a Tormin. He is the head of the natural history department at the college)

I am finished with my interviews of the indigenous halfling population. You already have my notes on those, and my early conclusions. I agree with you that it appears Tormin based his entire paper on a few sessions with members of the five tribes. Yes, of course, each tribe has its own settler story. But even a cursory investigation leads one to the inescapable fact that they are all variations on the same story. Tormin took five slightly different arrival stories, and turned them, with no further evidence other than some tribal physical variation mind you, into his "multiple migration" theory of halfling arrival on the island.

At first, the striking physical differences between members of the five tribes made it difficult for me to totally throw out his theories. However, the time I have spent living with these people has been invaluable. I have now spent no less than a month with groups of each of the five major tribes. I have lived with the Logi, Kukara, Chorrdath, Huan, and Kalama tribes. The physical differences Tormin describes in his paper are definitely there. The Chorrdath tend to be heavy bodied dark. The Huan are more fair haired and slender, nearly elven in appearance. The Kalama are quite tall for halflings. It is easy to see how a cursory inspection of these people would leave one with the impression of five distinct races.

It do not think this is the case. In my time with them, I gathered the notes on genealogy I sent you. If you study them closely, one striking fact becomes clear. These groups have been inbreeding for hundreds of years. In even the largest tribal group I stayed with, there was literally no one in the group that was not related within a generation or two to everyone else in the group. The tribes do seem to have the "taboos" against sibling marriage that often arise in primitive folk, but nearly one third of the marriages are between first cousins, and almost all the rest are with only slightly more distant relations.

Which led me to my current theory. When breeding dogs or horses for a specific trait, we often inbreed them until that trait becomes dominant in the family line. I think that something very similar has been happening with these people. There is some marriage across tribal boundaries, but it is not common. These groups have been breeding specific traits into their line for hundreds, or possibly thousands of years now. That is what Tormin missed. That's why he was so quick to pin it on multiple migrations! He just used the minor variations in arrival fables as the excuse.

But there is a key element still missing. We have been finding traces of a much greater halfling civilization for decades now. It has been impossible to connect this civilization with the scattered and frankly primitive tribes that inhabit the island's forests. There just doesn't seem to be any logical path from one to the other. At least, until now that is.

That is my most amazing find! There is another tribe, a sixth tribe, living here on the island. The other halflings call them the Murrkat, and spit when they say the name. It seems they are viewed as the worst kind of savages and murderers, and are universally hated. But they live at the center of the island, deep in the jungle. The jungle that the other tribes shun. The jungle where provocative bits of a possibly advanced halfling civilization are found.

I have a theory. I have no facts yet, but hear me out. The evidence will come soon.

The Murrkat are the remnants of the original tribe. The five tribes we know are cast offs from that tribe, driven from the jungle and living a semi savage life in the forest rim. Some war, or other cataclysm shattered the single civilization that ruled this island, and broke it into six weak and damaged parts. What was this event? I can't even imagine. In a thousand years the halflings have still not recovered from it. They still live in fear of the jungle, and the mountain at its center. They still hate those who live there with an unreasoning hatred. What could possibly have done that much damage to these people? I have to think a war of some type. But the reasons for and events of that war are a mystery.

I need to meet these Murrkat. I need to spend time among them, like I have with the others. They are surely closer to their past, and the events that broke the halflings to pieces, than the other tribes. They live on the remains of their once great civilization. They MUST know something.

I have arranged to meet with one of them, though it cost me much in coin and trade to arrange it. Those halflings who claim to know how to reach the Murrkat are also not of the highest character. I will have to be extra cautious, but the rewards are surely worth any risk. I will be meeting these "forbidden" halflings at the end of this week. I will write as soon as I can.

With Respect,

Danmonoth Kassader

PS I will send this to you as soon as Percy returns. I am getting worried about letting that old owl fly out of this forest to bring you the parcels, but I have no more reliable means of sending messages yet. I look forward to sitting in your study and drinking a glass of port over my notes. Keep the fire warm for me.



From: Dan

Subject: Re: Letters to home

Almost unconsciously Cadfael casts his spell on Sa'id, lost in the swirl of his own thoughts. Dimly aware of the goings on around him he tries to remember his days with Pelor at the church at Nesalin. It seems so long ago. The lessons with Father Belstaff, the sound of the church bells ringing in the morning, everywhere he went the sense of his God was present. The vision of the angel he had not 3 nights ago flashes brightly before his eyes. It's strange, that the light should be so strong he could be blinded by it. Perhaps, when the light is brightest it becomes black. Blackness with substance if cold could be considered form. It seems now that he is immersed in darkness, the tendrils of its chill worming through his clothes and down past his skin. Working their way through his blood and taking residence in his bones. He takes a great shuddering breath and is not surprised when the darkness fills him, pouring down his throat and burning his lungs. It presses heavily against his heart, which slows and freezes in the grip of the black. "Bereft of the light I am drowning in darkness," he thinks sadly. When was it he lost the light? It did not seem so long ago that he bathed in it, when did the shadow settle across the sun?

Something is tugging in the back of his mind, demanding to be heard... Drowning... with a sudden rush he remembers the cavern and the explosion, he realizes he is underwater. Somehow, seemingly without his guidance his feet find their way underneath him and propel him toward the surface. He breaks free of the darkness and a dim light forms before him, painfully stabbing his eyes. It seems feeble, weakly beating against its surroundings, but it is still able to keep the darkness at bay. Slowly, he peals the glove from his left hand and holds it up before his face, shielding his eyes from the light, though spots still float across his vision. Gently, he presses his hand against his eyes and casts a spell of healing [Cure Light Wounds -- Detect Evil]. When he opens them again he sees that the light is Sa'id's staff, clutched tightly in the mage's trembling hand. The image is still blurry, he must have been facing the explosion when it went off. Taking a moment to settle himself he pulls his shield tightly to his body. The sun still beams brightly beneath the coating of scummy water. Somehow, there is comfort in that and with a slight smile he stumbles toward Sa'id and the rest of the party.



From: Ty

Subject: Re: Letters to home

Cadfael heals himself for 8 points.



From: Karl

Subject: Re: Letters to home

The mention of study, port, and a warm fire simultaneously make Farron long for those things and realize how far from them he really is right now. This Danmonoth clearly didn't expect to end up a zombie in this dark jungle hole when he wrote this letter. For perhaps the first time Farron gets a clear picture of how unsure it is that any of this group will return from this venture alive.

He turns to Sa'id, "WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS MEANS?" he says, then seeing Sa'id wince he realizes he's still shouting, the ringing only now beginning to leave his ears. "er. . . sorry . . . What do you think this means? If the Murrkat have been in the jungle since the time of this vanished halfling civilization, Danmonoth here is probably right. If anyone knows what happened here, and what dark thing has been awakened here, then it is most likely them. Don't you think?"

Unless Sa'id objects, he will share the letter with the rest of the group.



From: Raja

Subject: Re: Letters to home

"Remember," Sa'id replies, "that the halflings we battled earlier were Murrkat, with the exception of the one Logi tribesman. There may not be any left who are not sworn to the drinker of souls."



From: Mike

Subject: Re: The hole; Letters to home

Faced with a solid wall of rubble, Garyth sheepishly realizes that there's no way an enemy could get to them now. He sheathes his sword and looks around. Seeing that everyone is alright, he breathes a sigh of relief and feels the adrenaline rush fade. He sinks to the ground, trying to collect his thoughts on where to go from here. The skin on the backs of his legs and arms is blistered from the heat of the explosion, and he feels as though he's been pummelled by a giant.

At Mission's suggestion, Garyth nods. "It looks like that's the only way left to us, if we're to get further east." He peers up at the hole, trying to see any sign of movement. "One of us will have to climb up and see if the boar Cadfael saw is still there."



From: Matt

Subject: Re: The hole; Letters to home

Rennik remembers this man, this human who came to the Chorrdath. He was a fool, a mockery of a human that proved all the rumors true. They were foolish and ignorant, they thought too highly of themselves, and they looked down their noses at all other races. The warriors humored him by answering questions in badly accented halfling, none letting on they also knew Common. Rennik was a child then, and laughed openly, making a shadowplay of his university ways and stiff walk. After he had left the tribe, he became a common thread of stories involving fools or humans - his body is dead, but his folly will live on for generations.

When Rennik hears the Murrkat tribe mentioned, he spits and his face contorts as though he'd caught a bad scent. Foul, foul creatures - more scavengers than halflings, like hyenas or vultures, feeding off rot and decay.

So the fool met his end. It did not surprise him, nor did it sadden him. It would be one more story to bring back to the Chorrdath - the Fate of the Fool, to be told around the fires. Only one addled in the brain would go off looking for those vile subhalflings for any reason other than to wipe them from the earth. He found them, that is sure, along with their corruption and evil. It consumed him as it had consumed Fayten, stealing not only his soul but also his life, leaving only a rotting husk.

Listening intently to the history of his people, Rennik felt many pieces falling into place. Long had he felt there was something binding the tribes, something underneath their differences. His anger rose as he wondered why this fool never chose to tell the halfling councils of his theories, but his emotions cooled quickly. He would have been shunned, exiled for saying the Murrkat were related to the other tribes. Rennik himself balked at the idea, but gradually came to accept it.

Whatever evil destroyed the city, whatever this dark god in the mountain did to drive away the halflings, would have turned those who stayed into dark and twisted things. They were walking into a place of evil - evil unleashed by the brethren of Cadfael, Rennik was convinced. Halfling clerics of Pelor who loosed a blackness on their city and shattered the halfling people.

When Farron finished, Rennik spoke.

"The evil that destroyed this city made the Murrkat..." he paused. "The evil that was unleashed in the past, that we rush to face, that drives our enemies against us..."

He nods, seeming to come to grips with this, wrestling to incorporate it in his world view. Again, he looks over the rubble.

"Evil is watching us, directing us. It knows which way we come, when we stray from the group, and what entrances we will find to the mountain. We are being herded. But to what?"

He peers into the darkness, then sighs as he looks across the surface of water too deep, water he would somehow need to cross.

"Where does it wish us to go? Toward some other trap, some other danger? Is it watching us now? Does it expect us to go down this tunnel, or back above ground?"

His brow furrows in thought, the ranger side of his brain trying to impose rational thought on his anxiety.

"What are we doing here?" he says finally. "What is our purpose? How do we stop an evil that can destroy a city and shatter a race? I think it rests with that evil woman, who ignored my axe as though it were a fly."

He turns toward Mission, not sure how to continue.

"You know her, friend Mission. She carries your child, the son who gives her power." he hesitates, not sure how to proceed. "If it comes to it, would you be willing to kill him? Or allow us to?"