Chapter 24. Running up that Hill
General Summary
They were still standing in the cold, in the stone circle. They still didn’t have a plan. Yesterhill certainly wasn’t getting any smaller, and dark would be coming before too long. None of this made the frosty atmosphere any warmer.
Esper sent her moth familiar back to scout out the lie of the land. There were only two ways up; following the winding path around, or straight up over the rocks. Straight up it was, the plan to sneak past the guards and make a beeline straight for the statue.
When to make their move? Another easy decision. Strahd would be arriving after dark for the blood moon ritual; the group certainly didn’t want to tangle with him. They would have enough on their plates as it was.
Ichabod was crouched against one of the standing stones, scrawling on a tattered sheet of paper. He stood, shoulders hunched and shuffled over to Esper, handing her the note. The wizard opened it deftly, her eyes scanning the contents. She looked her young companion in the eye, “I am with you, Ichabod”. He smiled faintly, nodded, and straightened himelf.
It was time to get camouflaged. Vass went from person to person. A sprig of leaves tucked behind an ear here, a smear of mud there. Soon, he could hardly see them himself. They would blend nicely into the background if they crossed paths with anyone on the way up.
As the group prepared to leave, Ichabod turned to face Khavan. The bloosthirsty warrior-spirit who had regaled them with his tales of slaughter and dreams of vengeance, was desperate to join the group and face his ancient enemies. Ichabod however, had his doubts;
“If we do this, will you be able to control yourself?
Khavan was certain; it wouldn’t be an issue. He would face no issues quelling the centuries of rage that coursed through him. Ichabod would simply carry him, not become his vessel. The warrior spirit approached Ichabod, who beckoned him onwards. There was a brief glow. Ichabod gasped, then released his breath slowly. Khavan was part of him now.
The group set out as the weather drew in. Rain drove down, fog rose up, and lightning repeatedly struck the top of the hill. It all seemed a bit ominous. The heroes pushed onwards through boggy terrain, and eventually approached the hill’s bottom.
As they did so, Vass spotted two large figures approaching through the gloom. Signalling to the group, he hid, and was joined by his companions. The two guards clanked past, their footsteps receding into the fog. From behind, it was clear that they were of no little size.
Swiftly onwards, the journey up the rocky escarpment began. It would normally have been no trouble for sure-footed Vass,, but the rocks were made slippery by the rain and his shoelace had snapped, leaving one shoe flapping loose. A crack rang out as he dislodged loose stones, which showered down onto his companions. Esper and Alyric had to take evasive action, sending more tumbling down the crag.
They had drawn attention. Reaching the first level, Vass disguised himself as a druid and tried to style things out. The group who had heard him though, were not easily fooled. Barnard, silhouetted behind a tree that didn’t begin to conceal his bulk, stuck out like a sore thumb.
Fighting ensued. The leader fell quickly, to Ichabod’s eldritch cannon and a guiding bolt of Selune’s power. His two burly henchmen, however, put up more of a fight. They charged the group, lashing out with axes left and right. They soaked up blows from weapons and magic, but were taken aback when a shrieking Ichabod launched himself bodily at the larger of the two and latched himself their firmly, teeth tearing out chunks of unguarded neck.
The men backed off. One drew a large horn, preparing to sound the alarm. A timely intervention from Barnard stopped him in his tracks. “Drop” he intoned, forbiddingly, magic infusing his command. The horn-bearer was helpless, fingers opening unwillingly. The horn clattered to the ground.
The group set straight back to assailing the two with all kinds of assaults. Eventually, they fell, but not before wounding Vass and Ichabod. The wounds were not serious, but did mean that Vass concealment had ended.
Alyric and Esper organised the hiding of the bodies, Vass restored his handiwork, and journey upwards resumed.
Barnard watched Ichabod closely, concerned at the unusual behaviour of his friend. The artificier’s pupils were dilated, and he was wet with blood from the mouth down. There was a rather worrying look of pleasure on the young man’s face as wiped his lips clean and then let his tongue sneak between his lips to taste it. “Boys will be boys I suppose”, thought the old copper.
The way did not get any easier, nor Vass’ shoe less loose. It didn’t make sense, gangling Ichabod eased up the slope like he was born to it, while Vass struggled. Again he stumbled as the next level approached. This time, however, there was enough time for everyone to hide and wait for another group of guards to pass. Progress was not interrupted, and the final stages beckoned.
“Again Vass!?” cried Esper as she had to cleave to the rockface to avoid more falling debris. She wasn’t the only one keen to remonstrate with the unfortunate scout. Barnard too charged to the head of the group to have his say.
The three froze however, as three more guards appeared around a bend. Before the new arrivals could react, Vass dashed around them, seizing the horn borne by one and dropping it off the edge of the cliff. Barnard, using years of police experience, quickly smoothed things over, calming two of the guards. Esper stepped in to seal the deal, looking the final aggressor straight in the eye, “Go straight down the hill, and take your friends with you”. His will visibly crumbled before the elf’s powerful suggestion. The three made a prompt exit without further ado.
Finally, the summit appeared, though not before more stumbling and slipping. Fortunately, the top was deserted. The henges were visible, two hundred yards away, through the fog. Towering over them was a crude wooden Statue of Strahd, a strange glow emanating from its midsection.
Pausing, Esper send her familiar out to investigate. On its return she reported back on the lay of the land. There were eight figures within, one of them tied at the statue’s base.
It was time to plan. When all was settled, Ichabod was to sneak around the back, hopping the wall to approach the statue directly. Vass and Esper would rescue the prisoner. Barnard and Alyric would take care of anyone standing in their way.
Before he set off alone, Ichbod received Selune’s blessing from Alyric, and took a deep breath on his inhaler, taking a sparkling powder deep into his lungs. He skirted the outside of the walls, finally scaling them as the others entered through the doorway.
Ichabod could see that the back of the crude, manmade, statue was covered in winding black roots rising from the earth. In its base between the statues legs was entwined a figure. Looking down past the statue, Ichabod saw that they would not be alone. A coven of druids were splayed out before Strahd’s effigy. Two or three were in eyeshot, but the murmurs and ululations he could hear clearly came from more numerous throats.
He felt Khavan’s spirit rising, an electric sensation spreading to his extremities, and the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat….
Esper sent her moth familiar back to scout out the lie of the land. There were only two ways up; following the winding path around, or straight up over the rocks. Straight up it was, the plan to sneak past the guards and make a beeline straight for the statue.
When to make their move? Another easy decision. Strahd would be arriving after dark for the blood moon ritual; the group certainly didn’t want to tangle with him. They would have enough on their plates as it was.
Ichabod was crouched against one of the standing stones, scrawling on a tattered sheet of paper. He stood, shoulders hunched and shuffled over to Esper, handing her the note. The wizard opened it deftly, her eyes scanning the contents. She looked her young companion in the eye, “I am with you, Ichabod”. He smiled faintly, nodded, and straightened himelf.
It was time to get camouflaged. Vass went from person to person. A sprig of leaves tucked behind an ear here, a smear of mud there. Soon, he could hardly see them himself. They would blend nicely into the background if they crossed paths with anyone on the way up.
As the group prepared to leave, Ichabod turned to face Khavan. The bloosthirsty warrior-spirit who had regaled them with his tales of slaughter and dreams of vengeance, was desperate to join the group and face his ancient enemies. Ichabod however, had his doubts;
“If we do this, will you be able to control yourself?
Khavan was certain; it wouldn’t be an issue. He would face no issues quelling the centuries of rage that coursed through him. Ichabod would simply carry him, not become his vessel. The warrior spirit approached Ichabod, who beckoned him onwards. There was a brief glow. Ichabod gasped, then released his breath slowly. Khavan was part of him now.
The group set out as the weather drew in. Rain drove down, fog rose up, and lightning repeatedly struck the top of the hill. It all seemed a bit ominous. The heroes pushed onwards through boggy terrain, and eventually approached the hill’s bottom.
As they did so, Vass spotted two large figures approaching through the gloom. Signalling to the group, he hid, and was joined by his companions. The two guards clanked past, their footsteps receding into the fog. From behind, it was clear that they were of no little size.
Swiftly onwards, the journey up the rocky escarpment began. It would normally have been no trouble for sure-footed Vass,, but the rocks were made slippery by the rain and his shoelace had snapped, leaving one shoe flapping loose. A crack rang out as he dislodged loose stones, which showered down onto his companions. Esper and Alyric had to take evasive action, sending more tumbling down the crag.
They had drawn attention. Reaching the first level, Vass disguised himself as a druid and tried to style things out. The group who had heard him though, were not easily fooled. Barnard, silhouetted behind a tree that didn’t begin to conceal his bulk, stuck out like a sore thumb.
Fighting ensued. The leader fell quickly, to Ichabod’s eldritch cannon and a guiding bolt of Selune’s power. His two burly henchmen, however, put up more of a fight. They charged the group, lashing out with axes left and right. They soaked up blows from weapons and magic, but were taken aback when a shrieking Ichabod launched himself bodily at the larger of the two and latched himself their firmly, teeth tearing out chunks of unguarded neck.
The men backed off. One drew a large horn, preparing to sound the alarm. A timely intervention from Barnard stopped him in his tracks. “Drop” he intoned, forbiddingly, magic infusing his command. The horn-bearer was helpless, fingers opening unwillingly. The horn clattered to the ground.
The group set straight back to assailing the two with all kinds of assaults. Eventually, they fell, but not before wounding Vass and Ichabod. The wounds were not serious, but did mean that Vass concealment had ended.
Alyric and Esper organised the hiding of the bodies, Vass restored his handiwork, and journey upwards resumed.
Barnard watched Ichabod closely, concerned at the unusual behaviour of his friend. The artificier’s pupils were dilated, and he was wet with blood from the mouth down. There was a rather worrying look of pleasure on the young man’s face as wiped his lips clean and then let his tongue sneak between his lips to taste it. “Boys will be boys I suppose”, thought the old copper.
The way did not get any easier, nor Vass’ shoe less loose. It didn’t make sense, gangling Ichabod eased up the slope like he was born to it, while Vass struggled. Again he stumbled as the next level approached. This time, however, there was enough time for everyone to hide and wait for another group of guards to pass. Progress was not interrupted, and the final stages beckoned.
“Again Vass!?” cried Esper as she had to cleave to the rockface to avoid more falling debris. She wasn’t the only one keen to remonstrate with the unfortunate scout. Barnard too charged to the head of the group to have his say.
The three froze however, as three more guards appeared around a bend. Before the new arrivals could react, Vass dashed around them, seizing the horn borne by one and dropping it off the edge of the cliff. Barnard, using years of police experience, quickly smoothed things over, calming two of the guards. Esper stepped in to seal the deal, looking the final aggressor straight in the eye, “Go straight down the hill, and take your friends with you”. His will visibly crumbled before the elf’s powerful suggestion. The three made a prompt exit without further ado.
Finally, the summit appeared, though not before more stumbling and slipping. Fortunately, the top was deserted. The henges were visible, two hundred yards away, through the fog. Towering over them was a crude wooden Statue of Strahd, a strange glow emanating from its midsection.
Pausing, Esper send her familiar out to investigate. On its return she reported back on the lay of the land. There were eight figures within, one of them tied at the statue’s base.
It was time to plan. When all was settled, Ichabod was to sneak around the back, hopping the wall to approach the statue directly. Vass and Esper would rescue the prisoner. Barnard and Alyric would take care of anyone standing in their way.
Before he set off alone, Ichbod received Selune’s blessing from Alyric, and took a deep breath on his inhaler, taking a sparkling powder deep into his lungs. He skirted the outside of the walls, finally scaling them as the others entered through the doorway.
Ichabod could see that the back of the crude, manmade, statue was covered in winding black roots rising from the earth. In its base between the statues legs was entwined a figure. Looking down past the statue, Ichabod saw that they would not be alone. A coven of druids were splayed out before Strahd’s effigy. Two or three were in eyeshot, but the murmurs and ululations he could hear clearly came from more numerous throats.
He felt Khavan’s spirit rising, an electric sensation spreading to his extremities, and the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat….
Report Date
04 Oct 2024
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