"Rumour has it..."

[Kially Gaith]

This thread occurs after the supposed obtaining of Kiallys’ shrine in another quest. On the basis this quest does not exclusively rely on Kiallys’ ownership of the shrine I have gone ahead and posted it. Closed to Ranger

A topic of the arcane, as ever, was on the tips of tongues of adventurers and aristocrats alike, a rumor from bar tender to bar attendee spread as did the talk of dungeons and dragons.
This rumor, like most others, was founded within truth played through Chinese whispers from one mind to another, rumors spoke of Dheathains’ very own Luthmor forest going through a very unnatural bout of weather, changing like the rolling of pebbles in a stream. The wildlife, including animals and plants had temporarily grown and advanced at a startling rate, resulting in the forest and its’ outskirts giving up herbs and flowering buds many months out of season.

Those whom had dared move inward and lived to tell the tale had told of a ruined temple with whispers of an unknown language that tugged at the very being of life at the heart of a persons innermost soul, this, however, was more abstract than the original passing rumors, changed for the valiance and honor of those who had lived through the horrifying being that had given Luthmor a surprise and sudden blessing of natures power, will and mercy.

Most bars, churches and marketplaces continent wide spoke at least of one variant of the rumor, passing as idle chit chat and informative banter, whilst others spoke of great treasure and a divine being protecting such within.

None spoke of peace, none spoke of the protections the temple offered and none spoke of the song the child sung to summon forth such mighty judgments of nature, but all words spoke of at least some heavenly presence within that of Luthmor.

All that was left to the mind was that of curiosity, inquisition and of what really lay within the reclaimed temple ruins.

All that was left to the imagination was for one to explore.

All that was left, was those who believed and wished to find out more.

All that was left from tainted and snaked rumors…Is you.

[Ranger]

Ranger sipped at his sweet wine, letting the tinge of the alcohol roll over his tongue and slip down his throat. It had been a long, hard night, full of trivial disputes that were quickly growing irritating. The tavern was a wayside stop for travelers roving the countryside, making their way from Gisela to, or through, Underwood and further. It was the perfect place to stop and have a drink, as well as find a soul or two to join the Red Hand in its endeavors.

It was desperate times for the drow and the clan he belonged to, desperate times indeed. The once great Ithermoss had disappeared, all but abandoned his flock to the wilds of the world. With his vanishing act had come a time of hardship. The followers of the Red Hand had nearly diminished to nothing, leaving the few core members to attempt to rebuild without the prestige and reputation of the drake lord. Sorahn was leading the group, Ranger assisting where it was called for, and the ghoulish follower of N’jal, Lorenor, pulling more than his weight to assist everywhere.

More could hardly be asked of those at the heart of the Red Hand, for they had been stretched and battered in their attempts to revive and relive the times of old. It was time to seek new members, bring the flock of craftsmen and warriors back to where they belonged. However, even that was nothing easy. The Minstrels Perch was the only truly well known tavern that the Red Hand could openly retreat too. The Coronian Empire had closed its iron fist around the throat of the clan, attempting to remove them with a swift strike.

“It’s a damned shame that you have to go through all this,” the man, Gerald of the Corone Republic, said mournfully as he took a sip from his ale filled mug. He was part of the faction that was fighting the tyranny of the Corone Empire. The Corone Republic and the Rangers were the pieces that created the opposition, created the civil war in defense of the common man. Ranger had taken a liking to their stands, to their tactics, and to the people that made up their ranks. “If we had known that the war would stretch outside of our own bickering we would have made a much harder effort to stop it. Luckily their reach doesn’t cover the entire island, and there are still safe havens like these for everyone.”

“We are blessed that the Thayne allow the struggle to remain,” the prophetic drow replied, taking another sip of his own wine and looking about the tavern. None of the denizens seemed to let their heads turn to the two; none looked through the ambiance of the auburn lights to listen in. It was a good sign, that the Empire did not have their ears there yet, but a bad one as well since none would take interest in the plight of the Red Hand. “If we are to stand against the Corone Empire though, we are going to need assistance, much more than we currently have. I understand the Rangers cannot be present, because their abilities and tactics are required elsewhere in the fight and the Republic cannot openly support a clan that once fought for the Bazaar, but it would be a blessing indeed if we could gain any support.”

“You know you have my support, though what little that means I understand…” the man sighed as he looked around; waiting for a report from the runners he had sent. They were but children, but the message they carried throughout the small wayside stop, both town and tavern, would hopefully draw the attention of the people to the clan’s needs. “I’ve done what I could, those kids I sent know when I’m serious and will try to find the best and brightest they can. But with traffic slowed on the roads for the night, it will be up to them to find those that have already stopped. Not entirely sure who’s really around, or up to the challenge of fighting the Empire on their doorsteps...”

“I understand, good friend, and I appreciate all you have done already. We shall have to leave it to the will of the Thayne to provide now.”

However, it was not fresh recruits that came back with the children, but rumors of a mysterious ailment that plagued the distant lands of Dheathian. One of the children hopped up on the seat next to the prophet and muttered the rumor into his slender, ash colored ears. Deep within the heart of Luthmor something akin to evil was growing. It was a supernatural change that was taking place, a curse put on the thick forests by the Thayne or some daemon of old… and word said that those who considered themselves amongst the blessed of the gods were on their way to look into the mysterious occurrences.

“Prophet Nailo,” the small child said as the drow sat upright and closed his eyes. “Sir, you should go. What if it’s a god, or a demon? You have to help them.” The child was right, and Ranger knew it. Though the plight of the Red Hand was still at the forefront of his considerations, the will of the gods was always the first priority.

Luthmor called, and the prophet responded.

[Kially Gaith]

Whoops...Wrong thread. Real response soon. *Head desk.*