Volsh can easily find a quiet but wild place to give his wolf dream deep consideration.
Haazheel Thorn:
Haazheel has been accompanying the group lost in his own thought.
During the ride, he remarks I remembered: the sword lily also is called gladiolus. It symbolizes honor and remembrance, strength of character, faithfulness, sincerity and integrity, infatuation, and never giving up. Good choice.
He thanks Old Rue for the goodberry.
Haazheel's choice is to visit the library. He also asks what the spell scribing entails and what debates are scheduled.
Mystique' choice is to hunt.
The library of the Ruby Conclave explores the mysteries of life and death and deals with truth and transformation. Here Haazheel and Dellas can find texts and spellbooks on necromancy, transmutation, divination, abjuration, and evocation. The fees to the Conclave are similar to those of the Mage's Guild, fifty gold times the level of the spell, and the inks, powders, diagrams, and elements needed for scribing are available at the normal rates of one hundred gold per page (and each spell takes up one spell per level, of course). The scholars of the Conclave have some unusual spells in their shelves, reflecting the scholars who have devoted their lives to knowledge and magic over the decades.
Lantamori:
Lantamori spent her time stalking the surrounding forest to familiarize herself with her hunting ground. If it came down to it, she had a score of silver arrows to finish the task.
Lantamori spends her time familiarizing herself with the woods around the Conclave, noting paths that a creature the size of a werewolf might take, and places that would be good for ambushing or making a stand. Hopefully such information wouldn't be needed, but a wise adventurer made certain to cover every contingency.
quote:
Farian is uncomfortable among the Jasians and their reckless use of necromancy. Skeletal guardians indeed! If anything, she sits more upright in the saddle and tries to will Pelor's Light to shine ever brighter from her mace. But having been forewarned, she bites her tongue. She leans close to Lux's ear and whispers. "[Language unknown: Esesac oreng at issta ei stapo, Olce wh hiulpl, omth ch teat set ing fiwh whvir la peicri t stteth hou lesainall but ol nisi-ilmo stithuenc prolo lirien nafi p. Er no wilnc pr, chin pl enc re ughou hi ithallwas.]" All of her interactions with the Jasians are polite, but curt, so as to not be drawn into a debate while in "unfriendly" territory. Her night is restless and full of prayer rather then sleep. During the day, she rides to the beach to work out and catch up on her sleep in the warmth of the Sun Father.
Pelor help us if it should be a rainy day! That would be a poor omen indeed.
The Jasians recognize that their philosophy and practices are at great contrast to those of the Peloran sun priestess, and are quite happy not to press or bother her, if she does not insist on lecturing them. Space given all around, Farian can find the sunniest spots on the Conclave grounds (or outside of them) to do her prayers and spend time with Lux. The newly-named horse is quite happy to be away from the skeletons, which clearly unnerve her even more than her mistress.
Bruenor can, if he so pleases, spar with the Temple Guardians, the living ones, who are always ready to test and hone their skill so that they will be ready against any foe who threatens their sacred spaces. Demon is also ready to gallop off energy, if Bruenor wants to travel in the nearby woodlands or down to the sea.
Narthian Goldleaf:
Narthian wags his tail and barks a thanks to Rue, assuming that the werebear would understand. He doesn't return to elf-form until outside the gates of the Ruby Conclave. He collects his Goodberry from whichever companion carried it before taking his rest. In the morning he prepares his spells and breaks his fast with whichever companions are available. "I'll be visiting Stellana's grove today," he says. "To repay her gift. I will place Ehlenestra's blessing upon her grove that it might have a year of superb growth. I will be back by night fall." Soon afterward, he transforms into a wolf and he and Thunder disappear into the forest.
Narthian's return visit to the grove is greeted warmly by Rue and Stellana, and his sound form of aid in the form of grown magic is welcomed warmly.
"
A kind and wise gift to us," Stellana says, helping direct the rich growth as the grove slowly begins to unfold it bounty.
Averdante:
Dante wraps the little fiddle in his spare shirt and stows it carefully in Mask's saddlebags when they return to the horses. What is he supposed to do with it now? he wonders, double-checking that it's as safe as he can make it. What happens if the fiddle is broken? He's going to need to return to the Grove in Port Lyalee for advice on that.
He's thus quiet when they meet the wearbear again, although he's properly appreciative of the dryad's gift.
He stays quiet on the road, too, keeping an eye on the sun, and glad to have the safety of the conclave for the night. The skeletons roaming the place are disturbing, however docile they seem to be. He's not sure about the propriety of disrupting the natural cycles of life in such a way; at the very least, the earth is being denied nutrients that will enhance the soil.
Thus the next morning, he saddles Mask again and rides out to the beach. It's not hard to find some driftwood to use for target practice, to practice loosing arrows from the horse's back while she's moving. When he needs a break from that, he finds a quiet, sunny spot to sit and watch the sea. Is it safe to warn the others while they're at the Conclave? The shadows weren't undead, but all the necromancy is troubling.
The sea, at least, is soothing to Averdante's senses while he and Mask work on their skills together. The brightness of the sun is an antidote to the somber gloom of the Ruby Conclave, certainly there is enough room here to stay the evening, if he would prefer to rest in less strange places than a Jasian stronghold.
--
The next day passes peacefully, much like the first, and the day stays clear and bright. By afternoon, Sister Lar comes to bring Volsh and the others to what seemed to be a strongly-built stone building, perhaps that of a dairy (usually built with thick stone walls to keep the milk and cheese cool). But inside the stone room has been stripped of any mundane tools. Heavy bars of iron fill the two small windows, the bars wrapped in fine silver chains. The doors are ironwood, the locks have silver keys, and a circle is inscribed in the middle of the floor, in silver, iron, and blood. These are protective circles meant to thwart malign influence and focus the abjuration magic meant to protect both Volsh and the Jasian priestess during the ordeal.
There is room enough for a dozen inside, allowing for the group to position themselves within or without as they see fit. The windows are aligned with where the moon will rise, ensuring that the moonlight will bathe the circle.
"
This space has been consecrated to keep out evil. I will bolster that effect as the moon rises. If any of you have additional spells to assist Volsh in his attempt to wrest control, I will give you warning when to cast them. Then, my wolfish friend, the rest lies within your heart and mind. If the worst happens, the building is strong and should contain you. If that fails, the walls around the Conclave are high and our skeletal guardians are watchful. We will be able to keep you away from the unwary. If you run wild this night, we can make another attempt the next night, or we can attempt to remove the curse entire. But we should resolve it sooner than later; our sisters of Ehlonna would not be pleased to know an uncontrolled werewolf roams the woods. Nor, quite obviously, would you! Prepare yourself, Volsh, for the sun will go soon, and not long after that, the moon will rise."
Everyone in the group can prepare or position themselves within or without of the ritual space as they need. Anyone with magic to aid Volsh can cast it Sister Lar finishes her own spells, as daylight fades and the first cool rays of moonlight fill the room.
As wolves howl in Volsh's ears and his body starts to rebel, he must try to hold to the wolf dream, not of that of the vicious loner, the stalking killer, but instead that of the loyal pack member, the strong hunter who runs
with his pack. This is what he has prepared for for weeks, with meditation and dreams, with amulet and favor, with his friends' aid, Volsh strives to master the curse within his blood, to turn it from bane to boon!