The Weregild

The Foundry
Not the expected welcome...

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The Foundry was not what was expected. What was once a great Dwarven hold was a motley collection of miscreants and outcasts. Strangely devoid of places of worship (Namely great temples to Torag) and lacking much of the trade and craft that even a newly founded settlement would offer, the Harbingers make their stay short.

Even with only vague rumor to attract them here their mission was still clear. The lords of the Foundry would need to be made allies of Blackraven Hall in the coming conflict. King Ezelgar was either a puppet or a genuine fool by their reckoning and was poorly squandering the opportunity to lift the hold back up to its former glory.

…and who where the Mistbreather Clan? Why where they lying about their conflict with the Orcs? Dwarves certainly tended to embellish their stories but that could be trusted. Blatantly fabricating a deed was a terribly dishonorable thing to do.

At least this ‘Curse’ was a lead and potentially something that would make Ezelgar and his cohort more pliant when negotiating if it was dispelled.

The Harbingers decided to investigate the source. Sigreirs pledge.

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Something that was forgotten

Vas ached with every exertion of breath. The fight with the Shadows outside the Nidalese nobles’ house had left him as week as a toddler. It would be a long recuperation. He would not abase himself before some preaching quymn again so quickly. No, some days of bed rest, a little help from Li and this would all be like another bad hangover.

So, Vas sat in the bed the nobles had given him. Befitting his current weakness the bed seemed to be made for someone significantly smaller than him. If not for his sickness he’d sooner sleep on the floor. Despite is inner protestations, Vas fell into a trance deeper than slumber. He could feel himself awakening again behind the wall of sleep. Leng. He hadn’t been here since he left Molthune so many months ago. That could only mean…

“Hello, Lover”.

“Hello again, Cassandra”.

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The Next morning Vas was gone.


Vas pulled himself from the lake. He supposed he should be used to being dropped back into the most interesting of places by this point. A tower loomed in the distance. He was back in Golarion. Back on solid ground. He thought about what Cassandra had told him before he left. Was it true? Were the rest of the Brotherhood of Butchery really dead? He hadn’t given them much thought since his imprisonment at Blackraven Hall. He supposed it was only a matter of time. One didn’t rack up such a body count without making a few enemies. And Figgus was dead, too. Something was coming for him, and everyone else connected to him, it seemed.

Cassandra had bought him a reprieve in Leng. It would be short one, though. If what she’d discovered about his heritage was true he’d be in for the biggest fight of his life. Who better to drag into it than the only other people he even came close to caring about? The Lords of Leng told him they’d be in Varisia, so that must be where he was now. The coming weeks promised blood and carnage in equal measure. Vas hoped the Harbingers were up for the hell he kited with him.

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The Kodar Mountains
The Long Road Home

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The road was long and arduous north along the Mindspin mountains as the Harbingers answered the call to the legendary Dwarven Foundry made by Eldgrim Wyrdmake.

Supplied with fresh mounts from Braganza the Harbingers headed for the border. Tom knew well to give Fort Ramgate a wide berth so the group made for the westmost river crossing in the foothills. Upon reaching what the locals called the “Inkwater” river, Tom chose to scout ahead, encountering two Nirmathi scouts bracketing the river he engaged and killed one before returning to the party.

Deciding it was the best course of action to cross the river and gain as much ground as possible before the patrol returned with reinforcements the Harbingers force marched North west higher into the foothills before sheltering in one of Zhixian Lis’ famous Groves of Respite.

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Awaking in the night Garros Garamonde spotted a flight of Harpies headed into the Mindspin mountains. This proved useful when the group ascended into the pass leading to the Bloodsworn Vale. Knowing their song could be lethal the group followed Li’s example and packed their ears with clay earth which, while causing some disorientation, did aid them in the coming confrontation with the avian hags. Bloodied, only one harpy escaped the ambush they had laid.

Victorious the Harbingers descended into the Bloodsworn Vale to rest.

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Days passed on the road. The relative safety of the Varisian roads was a welcome respite. Horses where watered and fed regularly and the group was able to take in the beauty of the fertile plains of Varisias lowlands.

Their destination however would again lead them high into the Kodar mountains. According to Aldrytch knowledge of this area south of his homeland they would need to find a 400 foot high section of the Plateau called the Storval Stairs.

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Halfway up the climb, while resting on a convenient ledge, the Harbingers where approached by a giant who introduced himself kindly to Zhixian Li as “Cliff”. After a brief discourse Cliff offered to take first watch while his new friends rested. He then promptly fell asleep.

In the morning the new friends parted ways and continued the climb.

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Encountering some odd formations in the ground and almost losing a comrade to the toxic affects, Li carefully reasoned that the fissures where in fact rifts that leaked negative energy into the material plane. Barely detectable tracks showed that a group of Guiltgorgers must have emerged and now wander the Mountains, but at whose bidding?

Cautiously the Harbingers continued on into the mountains on the final approach to the Foundry.

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The bridge leading into the Foundry from the south was packed with Varisian Merchants, Dwarven emissaries, and many other folk looking to capitalize on the news that the Foundry was back in Dwarven hands. Soon after they joined the crowd attempting to gain access to the bridge a crashing thunder ripped across the mountains, the sky filled with dense red clouds and began spewing Doomriders and torrential rain at an alarming rate. Engaging the first few infernal goat mounted riders the Harbingers quickly decided to aid the people trapped on the bridge by forcing the gates open. Grateful travellers abandoned their goods on the bridge and rushed into the Foundry.

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With all safe inside the gates where sealed. Survivors within listened in fear or anger as the storm raged on and the Doomriders screamed their curses or bade their mounts beat upon the gates with their massive horns. Negative energy crackled around the hinges as those riders with magical affinity cast spells in vain attempts to gain entry…

Things where not off to a good start for whomever these upstart Dwarves where that had liberated the Foundry.

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Nicasor Returns...
Karpad burns

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Nicasors’ time in Shadow Absalom was well spent. His debrief with the Onyx Alliance was uneventful, their motivations sinister as ever, yet not entirely different than the centuries before. He found himself considering that his ideals did not necessarily align with the orders after all this time. His mind often wandered to the small town of Karpad and his nephews unfledged reign as Baron. Would the Tiboros family honor their agreement to act as regents as if he was indeed their own?

It felt good however to be among his own kind in the purity of his plane of origin. He was becoming acclimated to the normal passage of time which was at first foreign after his imprisonment inside the confines of the midnight mirror. He became aware however, that time was now not on his side.

He soon yearned to return to Karpad to see how things where going with Soren Boroi and the rest of the household. The feeling was strange to him. Was it curiosity or something more? He decided he would return soon…

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End of Tarandar Ravagansk
A murder avenged

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For better or worse Terandar Ravagansk was dead. His helpless body dashed upon the wall and thrown from the Tower he had spent decades trying to exploit. He had murdered the wife of Ciuq Trilmsgitt and paid the ultimate price for his petty revenge on the wizards.

The Harbingers had performed their mission perfectly. Luring the Bailiff into a meeting under false pretense to proffer their false scroll of disjunction and furthering the deception by allowing him to lead the party to an abandoned warehouse they wished to lease.

His vigilant bodyguards, the best money could buy in Molthune, where no match for the concerted efforts of the Harbingers to capture Terandar alive.

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Upon return Nyl Trilmsgitt was immensely grateful for easing his brother Ciuqs loss with this justice done. They where rewarded with just the devices they had sought in the past months. Magical implements to sabotage the constructs employed by the Witches of Irrisen. But would they prove useful against the foul soul magicks powering them?

The Harbingers make their plans to move North again in earnest.

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Garros Garamonde - Halls of the Raemarrund
Aelion's Enchanting Song

Just wait
Though wide he may roam
Always
A hero comes home
He goes where no one has gone
But always
A hero comes home
He knows of places unknown
Always a hero comes home
He goes where no one has gone
But always
A hero comes home.

Seldom did the great hall Hrothaett of King Banon fall upon a deafening quiet for it was a place of merrymaking where grand tales and saga’s were told and retold again – each time ever more impressive than the last. At its center was the hearth that just contained the fire that roared and crackled, one after the next, each flame danced higher and then lower again providing warmth and comfort for King Banon and his people. The tables were long and carved from the strongest and most durable of wood, the design much similar to King Banon’s war boats, crafted to fit as many men as he could. They were decorated with goblets and horns, some filled with ale, others that had been spilt from outstretched hands or an argument between various Ulfen men vying for the chance to win the affection of a young maiden. Planks were scattered down the tables and each had carvings and slabs of elk meat cooked just enough so blood still ever so lightly dripped from it’s shavings. This was of no surprise for the people of Doma as they were accustomed to King Banon’s benevolence and in turn they held their king in the highest of regards.

At the end of the hall sat King Banon and beside him sat his queen. The King had always reserved himself and kept a resolve both on and off the battlefield but only when he sat in his hall did Banon truly embody what it meant to be an Ulfen man. Banon drank from a golden horn, taken from a Kellid Warlord – his trophy of combat – and was not modest in the amount of ale that he consumed. Most times, King Banon would be flanked by but a few members of his Blades but it was almost always that Garros stood at his side over watching the frivolities of the evenings in Hrothaett. It was not uncommon for any number of the twelve Blades that were charged with the protection of King Banon to step back in their duty while sitting among the hall of the King and join the peoples of Doma in drinking and eating. Some boastful and confident enough, or perhaps intoxicated enough, would challenge members of the Blades to combat and once their honour had been challenged – King Banon would not see this withheld. This of course always led to either an embarrassing finish for any man of Doma reckless enough to challenge one of the twelve Blades or sometimes yet worse, leaving the challenge with less then they had entered with. This depended entirely on the nature of the challenge for some wished to fight hand to hand and others wished to test their mettle armed with weapons. Through and through, King Banon could be seen spilling ale down his fiery mane of a beard as he watched the fights in laughter and shouted taunts or encouraged his people to fight on. Garros would always be washed by an overwhelming sense of pride in his duty to his Sire and as he watched his brothers he could not help but chuckle himself.

There was a time when Hrothaett did go silent however.

Sharing a close relationship with Garros, King Banon knew his wife Aelion was gifted as a songstress and would call upon her to grace the hall with song. When she sang, every man and woman would pay keen attention as she would begin to pluck her harp and sing her lulling tune, captivating all who listened to its beauty. It was not only the people of Doma who she sang for but it held a deeper meaning to her heart when she would sing to their son Owain as her melody would send him off to sleep at night.

Everytime Garros would hear her sing this song he thought to himself how beautiful it truly was.

These memories were Garros’ and his alone. It was not often he had an opportunity to think back to these days when Hrothaett was filled with his people before the White Witches of Irrisen snuffed out Doma and its people from existence. Irrisen had taken much indeed but they could never take this memory and Garros would never forget the song Aelion sang in the halls of Hrothaett…

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Awaken!
A new season for the Weregild!

We cannot defer this responsibility to posterity. Time will not wait” – Eldgrim Wyrdmake, Founding of the Harbingers of Spring

The Queens of Irrisen bang the drums of war to whip their citizenry into a fervor. “Remember your position! Your duty is to your Queens!” the heralds shout in every city across the Country.

The drums of war have reach a fevered pitch and blood boils with hate within man and beast alike. Their minds have closed, the Queens will have no need in seizing the rights of their citizens. Rather, the citizens, infused with hate and blinded by patriotism, offer up all of their rights unto the Queens and gladly so. What was before oppression within the borders of Irrisen is now domination. Armies march for the Verge province under whips and the close and constant scrutiny of Mirror men.

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In Blackraven hall ancient maps are spread across the tables of the war room. Lines will need to be drawn along the border. A line literally drawn in the earth. Trenches, earthworks and palisades. Riders cross between the Keeps of the great halls of all the Linnorm Kings. Loathe to fight or commit armies inland instead of on the sea Freyr Darkwine will have trouble convincing the Kings to show their full strength in defence of the eastern border.

A drawn out war will not be in favor of the Ulfen people loyal to Sveinn.

The drums are a death knell.

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Trilmsgitt Towers Trials
Foot of the Menador Mountains

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Nyl, Fedge, and Ciuq Trilmsgitt where wizards.

Rare in Molthune but not unheard of. The three where also brothers from a wealthy Imperial family. After earning renown in the Canorate court they built the three identical towers that stand close to the southern border of Molthune below the Menador mountains. During the exorbitantly expensive construction (Subsidized by the Ravagansk family in Braganza) the brothers are said to have installed complicated dimension doors, locks and traps.

Soon after completion the brothers went into seclusion. Those towers stand now heavily warded against intruders. Attempts to break the wards on the doors by the Arcanists hired to inspect them by the Ravagansk Family have since failed.

Armed with powerful scrolls of Disjunction acquired from the hermetic seers residing in Windwatch keep, the Harbingers of Spring gained entry to the long forgotten Trilmsgitt towers.

What they found inside was disturbing.

In the experimental creation of golems and contructs it seemed that the brothers had gone too far. Half living creatures resembling hunched, broken Haemonculii and Iron behemoths spouting steam and leaking oil stalked the great halls of the towers. The brothers relationships seemed to have deteriorated as well. Each secluding themselves in their respective tower to continue their guarded and secretive work.

Of the three, Nyl Trilmsgitt was the most co-operative in the end. He explains that a man named Terandar Ravagansk is the reason they confined themselves. The state ‘demanded’ that the Trilmsgitt family pay tribute in the form of Golem soldiers and gold only after they built these bastions in the south. To Nyl, it is enough they once watched over the southern passes through the Menador mountains. Terandar simply wanted to use them as a political tool to gain more favor in Canorate than his Holier than thou brother Cole.

Nyl describes his last brother Ciuq as well, saying he secluded himself from even them. He was working on a way to confound and even outright destroy the magics that held Golems together in the event Braganza found another source for Golem warriors. Nyl Advises them not to bother him as he has gone mad after the death of his wife whom they all believe was poisoned at a banquet in Braganza after they locked the towers as this branded the brothers as traitors to the Ravagansk Family.

Nyl has asked the Harbingers to do seek vengeance for him and his brother Ciuq. He has decided Terandar must die as a message to the Ravagansks.

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Braganza, Molthune
A step in the wrong direciton

Braganza is a city on the Plains of Molthune on the western edge of that country, and is one of the centers of the worship of Abadar in the region.

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Ruled by Prince-Archbanker of Abadar Cole Ravnagask and his bailiff brother Terandar, the walled city has taken a particular passage from their god’s canon particularly to heart. This passage comes from The Order of Numbers, an ancient copy of which is kept in the Golden Glory of the Lawgiver, the city’s cathedral-bank. It exhorts the faithful to “frequently shed the skin of the old and clothe itself in the finery of the new.” The Ravnagask brothers have interpreted this to mean that they should constantly be expanding the city by constructing new buildings. This urban expansion has failed to attract many new settlers, however, and most of the new houses stand empty.

Because of the glory of Abadar many wealthy and worldly merchants make Braganza their summer home and guilds pay ridiculous prices to set up shop here.

With the Harbingers task ahead Braganza proved a useful opportunity to re-arm and resupply after their trek through the Mindspin mountains. Such a respite was welcome by some and proved uncomfortable to others of the group.

After spending what gold they had the group headed south skirting the Backar Forest and headed for Trilmsgitt towers….

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Harald - Elder of the Windwatchers
Divining the future from the winds...

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“Notice that the stiffest tree is most easily cracked, while the bamboo or willow survives by bending with the wind.”

Harald felt the last breath of the Witch on the wind. Of the many things that the beeze brought to the keep this evening – this was significant. Those who ended her life where headed in this direction, which was fortuitous, for the season of seeing forbade his order from leaving the keep and the Orc warband that hunted their land surrounding the settlement went unchallenged in this auspicious time.

Perhaps if they could be convinced to aid him he would help them in turn for he saw on the wind three monoliths that blocked their path. Gigantic edifices ensorceled to prevent entry or scrying. It would take powerful magic to overcome the obstacles fate had put in their path.

He opens his eyes and looks upon the peaks and valleys of the Mindspin Mountain range accentuated by the moonlight. It was refreshing for once to see so clearly this bit of minutia that his order could work to influence. It would inevitably end in powerful magic being undone one way or another which served only to clear the wind of its influence even more.

Gozreh be praised these men where perhaps sent as an instrument of the divine…

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