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Conall's Rest (Steelshod 438)

Hey there!
I don’t post these daily anymore, so just in case you’re a newcomer and you’ve never seen a Steelshod post before… click here to start at the beginning
This is the latest chapter out of several hundred, and I don’t think it will make much sense without context. This isn’t an episodic story so much as one long narrative.
Hopefully, you’ll enjoy yourself, and I’ll see you back here in good time. If not, no big deal. But I think if you start here you’re going to be very, very lost.
Table of Contents – includes earlier installments, maps, character sheets, our discord server, and other documents.
First | Previous | Next
World map
Here is a general lore doc including character profiles and here is a basic roster showing who’s where, and who is a PC: Steelshod Roster!
Note for Binge-Readers: This is generally live-updated to reflect the current state of the game! Hopefully if you’re binging you can keep better track of who’s going where, because you just recently read about them going there.
The Victorian Wilds
Steelshod has met their new double agent within the Fáinne de Bharraí (also known as the Collar of Thorns)
His name is Finnegan, and he is a member of the Taoiseach—the loose council of clan elders that lead the Collar of Thorns (but defer to Partholon as the head druid, and Dolan as the warchief)
Finnegan is fed up with Dolan and Partholon leading his people to death, so he is interested in helping Steelshod… not to hurt the Collar, but to depose the current leaders and allow for a possible peace.
He’s currently brought to them some intelligence on the latest scheme he knows Partholon is working on… and it’s potentially a Big Deal.
Partholon has sent out a team of elite warriors and one of his druidic disciples
They are apparently venturing into the deep, forbidden places within the North Forest, seeking a man—or perhaps a monster—called Conall.
Finnegan knows the rough area that they went, and Steelshod has hatched a plan for him to get them there.
They’ve dosed him with a light amount of Essence of Joy, to make him suggestible. This is just a cover, so that even if Partholon is spying on them the story Finnegan tells later will be largely factual.
Then they dismissed his escort, and now the drugged up Finnegan is leading a sizable force out of Ronald’s Basin
They take anyone in Steelshod that is not too badly injured—Levin stays behind because he’s still on the mend for his badly shredded face, James stays behind because of his shoulder.
Gerald is uninjured but he stays behind to lead the defense, and Drengi stays for the same reason and to ensure they have someone on hand to hear howls.
Prudence and her small team is absent too, already on her way to Victoria.
But the rest of Steelshod is in the column.
They also bring along the score of Sons of Victory Gwynneth assigned them, and a few hundred of their Victorian recruits, making this group into a small army.
It’s a long journey, several hours, and the Essence of Joy fades before they reach the forest’s edge
At that point Finnegan plays up his annoyance at being pressed into this—acting for Partholon or anyone else that might be watching
He says he can’t even remember what he said to them, he’s sure this is all nonsense, just old wives’ tales.
But they press him to continue guiding them into the forest.
Hours pass, and they press deeper and deeper into the forest.
Sentries report possibly seeing distant figures in the woods, but whether they were men or deer is hard to say
They come across no Collar war parties
As they venture deeper in, the canopy grows thicker and the forest grows dense and dark
The rain does not penetrate much here, and instead of dense undergrowth the ground is littered with layers of dead leaves, fallen trees and branches, and the like
It’s hard to know what time of day it is… they guess maybe early evening, still well before sundown
But with the canopy overhead, clouds above that, growing fog, and the dense forest around them visibility drops very low.
They light torches and press on.
After a while longer, they finally spot something of interest.
A barrier rises up ahead of them, a thick hedgerow that spans the forest ahead, as far as they can see to both the right and the left.
It is a gnarled, twisted array of bushes and brambles, dense with thorny vines and bristly leaves.
It looks not entirely dissimilar to the wall of thorns Partholon called around them when he sprung his ambush at the party
Except it looks… older. Many of the plants are dead, and those that live grow wildly and erratically.
If anything, it looks perhaps like a barrier that began as an unnatural creation, but has since been left to live and die as a natural hedge.
This looks promising—a wall is meant to keep people out, after all, and protect whatever lies within
Steelshod tentatively approaches and tries to cut at the hedge, and they find they can easily do so
The plants do not move or otherwise exhibit any supernatural behaviors.
Borthul, who has accompanied them, senses no strong active magics—though he senses a dark, unidentified presence looming over the entire area.
Steelshod begins hacking their way through the barrier in earnest now, and Finnegan meekly asks if he can go
He’s still playing at being a prisoner, saying things like “I’ve led you as far as I can, please, don’t make me go in there” and begging them to spare him
They make a show of considering it, then finally agree. They cut his bonds and let him flee into the forest.
Hopefully, Partholon accepts this, and does not suspect Finnegan’s true level of complicity.
Once they’ve cut their way through, they pass the barrier and continue pushing deeper into the forest
The forest is still dense here, and the ground begins sloping up
After another few minutes of pressing forward, they come to another wall of thorns and brambles
For a moment, they wonder if they have actually missed their target, and are leaving the walled area
But this wall, like the last one, has the same slight curve to it—these walls of thorns are circles within circles, they suspect
Once they hack through the second wall, they notice the forest begin to thin out.
Soon, the upward slope comes to an end as they reach the top. The ground slopes back down into some sort of bowl
Rather than many densely packed trees, the ground here is marked by fewer trees, spread further apart.
But they are huge
Massive trunks stretching into the sky, bigger trees than any of them have seen before.
The ground is rough and rocky here
They notice that many of the rocks, and many of the tree trunks, are marked with old carvings
It looks sort of like old Wncari notch-based script, but different. Some elements are changed, more complex, more unusual.
Cara thinks the script reminds her a little of the writings of the Briste Ar Feach—the clan called “Ruin Watchers”, and known for dabbling in dark Thaumati sorceries.
Borthul concurs. He senses an echo of Thaumati in the script, though only an echo. At a glance he cannot decipher it.
They stand on the crest of the bowl for a moment, taking stock.
They are open to the sky now, and the relatively clear basin is lit by the faint glow of the setting sun through the cloud cover
The entire basin is blanketed by fog, and marked by the huge, resolute evergreens.
But there is one tree that especially catches their eye.
A single tree down at the bottom of the bowl, dead ahead. It’s as large as the other ones, but rather than standing tall and straight it is a gnarled and twisted thing
A willow or an oak, perhaps, but one many times larger than any they have seen before.
It is a great distance away—it’s hard to judge how far at first, because of how big it is
But then they realize that they can see people down around the gnarled tree
At least twenty figures moving about in the fog, carrying firelights.
Steelshod douses their own lights, and they begin to approach.
They don’t get very far when a figure steps out into their path from behind one of the huge trees.
It is a man. He is clad in a robe that is much the same color as the mist, a sort of grayish white
He looks old, with a long gray beard. His hands are tucked into his sleeves.
He looks eerie, almost unearthly, the way his robe blends so well into the mist
But they see the dirt marking the bottom of his robe, bringing a sense of reality back to him.
“You trespass,” the man growls in a thick Wncari accent. “This is a holy place.”
Felix scoffs at the claim. “Holy to who?” he asks.
The man says it is the holy resting place of “the Faolen”
“We are the wardens of this wood, and of the Faolen,” he says. “We tend to this place.”
Felix asks if the folk down at the base of the clearing are tending to it too
The old man hesitates, looks uncomfortable, and finally says “No.”
Felix grins, asks if the man wants them gone.
And the old man seems to ponder the question.
“They say they can awaken the Faolen,” the man says. “It is… unusual. But if they can do it, it would be a great day. A holy day.”
He glares at Felix. “You offer, what? To kill them? Profane this place further? Trample the ground?”
Felix shrugs. “Maybe just drag ‘em out,” he says.
The man hesitates.
He seems torn, and maybe overwhelmed.
“This is a strange day,” he mutters.
He tells them that if they wish to come down, to talk, they may.
But not so many.
Cara shrugs. Sure, that’s fine. How many can they bring, then?
The strange druid seems to consider, and finally tells them no more than thirty—the same number the others have brought.
There are a little over twenty Steelshod here.
Cara leaves Ben and Vigi behind.
She quietly tells Ben to watch and, once they’re down the hill, to slowly maneuver down with his bowmen until they are in range.
Vigi will also stalk his way down after them and climb one of the huge trees to get a good vantage from which to cover them.
She also brings Garth Lutrell, commander of their contingent of the Sons of Victory, and he brings along nine of his best men.
The rest are left behind, with orders to charge down the hill and relieve them if combat breaks out.
They follow the strange white-robed druid down into the bowl.
As they descend, they see a few more details emerge.
There is a small stream that seems to feed into a body of water—either a tiny lake or a large pond
They also see a cluster of stone shelters, barely sophisticated enough to warrant being called “houses”
Basically just stacked stones forming what appear to be crude, one-room hovels.
But that’s all off to the side. Their main destination appears to be the huge, gnarled tree in the center of the basin
As they grow nearer, they see that most of the figures moving about are definitely Collar of Thorns warriors—complete with sharp thorny vines wound around their bodies.
Steelshod also sees a few more white-robed men standing around looking on in awkward silence.
A lot of the activity is off to one side of the tree, where it seems like the men of the Collar are digging
Dead ahead, at the base of the tree, there is a simple raised dais made of carefully stacked and carved stones
It looks, perhaps, like some sort of ancient crude altar.
Most notable about it is the blood staining the stones, and the limp corpse of an Wncari warrior sprawled across it.
The corpse looks fresh, his wet blood pouring down carved channels in the altar.
The white-robed druid basically ignores Steelshod at first, as they approach the tree.
But Felix prods the old man verbally a few times, and finally asks a question that the old man decides is worth answering.
When he gestures to the warriors of the Collar and asks what the druid thinks of them.
The old man says they are “accursed.”
When asked to elaborate, he speaks cryptically. But the gist Steelshod picks up is that this old man considers the Collar—the fiendwolves, most likely—to be “mockeries” of the one he calls “the Faolen”
Faolen appears to be the name, or maybe the title, that the white robed man has for Conall… though he knows that name as well.
He considers the fiendwolves to be some sort of abomination, but not quite so anathema that he is unwilling to tolerate their presence.
And, he says, they have expressed some degree of deference towards the wisdom of the Faolen’s Wardens.
And they made a blood offering to the Faolen’s resting place, as is suitable.
Felix asks if it’s alright if they get closer, and talk to them. The druid agrees.
Now that they’re closer, they see the people digging more clearly.
Off to the side of the altar, between the huge roots of the gnarled tree, they see several men of the Collar that have dug out a substantial hole
Overseeing the dig is one man that stands out. He is not an Wncari warrior.
He is unarmored, wearing plain brown robes. Instead of a spear he carries a polished staff not unlike the mark of authority Partholon carries. His collar of thorns is not tightly wound, but rather hangs from his shoulders like a necklace… and he does not have the other thorny vines covering the rest of his body.
He looks, they suspect, like a druid of the Collar. One of Partholon’s disciples, perhaps.
Two of the white-robed druids are also watching the dig, but they stand a few paces back. They look on with stoic expressions, but some amount of uncomfortable concern is still visible.
Felix approaches them, ready to talk.
The white-robed druid that led them down, however, stops him.
But before they are given free movement, he says, they must offer a sacrifice to the One Forest.
They approach.
Here is a rough depiction of Conall’s Rest. The red blobs are loose representations of the Collar, and the purple blobs are Steelshod and their allies.
One of the Collar warriors steps up, to stop Felix.
Felix is totally unimpressed. He tells him, point blank, that they’ve come to drag the whole lot of them out of here.
The Collar’s druid seems to notice them, now, and he turns angrily to the white-robed man. He seems surprised that Steelshod was “let” in
But the druid in white robes deflects this complaint quickly. He says he was not in a position to stop Steelshod, and they were courteous to him.
The druid looks up the hill and seems to notice, for the first time, the two hundred or so Victorian soldiers lining the top of the bowl.
He turns back to Felix, annoyed.
Before he can continue, however, the white-robed druid reminds them that they must make an offering.
The Collar druid scoffs, says there’s no need for that. Soon, Conall will have a feast. There’s no need to give him any more blood now.
The white-robed druid looks upset, insists that they must. It is tradition.
Agrippa steps forward and says he’ll handle it.
He heads up to the stone altar.
Up close, they see that the altar has drainage channels built into it, where the corpse’s blood had flowed.
The water drips down into the roots of the huge tree, specifically a place where the roots have grown to form a sort of concave bowl-like shape.
They can see blood stains the roots and grass here.
Agrippa asks how much blood is required, and the druid says it must be filled.
Agrippa judges that to be far too much for a person to safely shed, and he sighs.
He leads his horse up to the altar, apologizes to it, asks Zelde to help hold it steady.
(I learn here that Agrippa had named his horse “Sausage”, very sad)
He kills Sausage as quickly and cleanly as he can, letting its blood gush out across the altar.
Easily filling the root basin below.
The white-robed druids seem satisfied by this.
But once again Partholon’s disciple says it was pointless.
Conall’s thirst will soon be slaked in a way that no amount of blood poured onto the tree’s roots could ever accomplish.
The friction between the two kinds of druids is palpable.
The white druids seem to think that what the Collar of Thorns is doing is at least a little blasphemous—they believe there is a time and place when the Faolen will awaken, and this… does not fit.
Partholon’s disciple is dismissive. Conall will wake, that should be all that matters.
Agrippa, who now has the druids’ ear after he performed the sacrifice, chides the Collar druid.
He asks if they would appreciate it if someone was trying to wake up Bánánach in a way they did not agree with, but the Collar scoff.
Bánánach is a Living God. Conall is a dead man. The two are not comparable.
Agrippa’s not so sure. They’re digging this guy up because they believe he has some sort of power, no?
He’s an expert on death, and he is quite sure that dead men have no power whatsoever.
Cara asks how the Collar plans on this working.
“You’re, what, goin’ to dig up these old mens’ god,” She gestures to the white-robed druids. “And then he’s goin’ to work for you, is he?”
Partholon’s disciple smiles haughtily, and agrees.
The white druids seem ever more disappointed.
Agrippa turns to them, and asks if they really want this. Why don’t they stop them? And, if they can’t stop them, do they mind if Steelshod stops them?
The white-robed men seem to consider this, but then there’s a commotion from the pit.
A call comes up that they’ve “found him”
Agrippa maneuvers a little closer so that he can peek down below.
The pit is fairly deep, dug out between the huge jutting roots of the gnarled tree.
And in the firelight, at the bottom, Agrippa sees several of the Collar’s warriors are in the midst of excavating a corpse.
It definitely looks dead.
It looks like a desiccated human corpse, shriveled and gaunt, almost mummified
With stringy gray hair hanging from its sunken scalp.
The roots of the tree pierce through the body in various places, and where they do, the body does look ever so slightly more… juicy
Slightly less dried out.
Agrippa stares at the corpse with interest as they finish digging it out, and carefully studies it, trying to figure out what the hell it’s deal is.
There’s a fun moment here where Plan asks if Agrippa can use Forensics to see if he can get any kind of further understanding of the corpse
And I struggle to give him any valuable information to answer his various medically-themed questions
I finally basically just say “It’s a corpse that’s being kept in a state of perpetual semi-life by infusions of blood through the root system of a magic tree.”
Which is well outside Agrippa’s wheelhouse… Plan basically says “alright, I don’t think Agrippa can really have any idea of any of that.”
While he stares, however, Agrippa notices that the Collar of Thorns warriors begin ripping the roots out of Conall’s corpse.
He announces this out loud, and the white-robed druids wince.
They ask the Collar to stop. Partholon’s disciple says it is the only way.
“The Druid an Fáinne told me what must be done. He learned of it from Bánánach and Oilliphéist. They are wise. Trust them, and you will be rewarded.”
At this, the white druids hesitate.
Cyril cuts in, suggests to the white druids that the alternative is that they are being fed a pack of lies by a bunch of opportunists.
The druids continue to hesitate.
Around this point, most of the warriors of the Collar of Thorns that are standing around begin to shift. They contort and convulse and shed their mortal flesh, transforming into fiendwolves.
Steelshod instantly goes on guard, and Agrippa starts backing away from the pit.
In the thick of Steelshod, Felix quietly unslings his bow and nocks an arrow.
But the wolves don’t take any immediate aggressive actions.
They shift their positions so that they stand between Steelshod and the tree, but otherwise they mostly just stand in place. They growl, and stamp the earth, but they seem to restrain themselves.
The men nearest Partholon’s disciple don’t transform, and a moment later the corpse is passed up from the pit.
They receive it with care, and begin carrying it towards the altar.
Their druid follows as they carry the body over and lay it down in the middle of the altar.
Agrippa is in a slightly awkward spot, closer to the fiendwolves and the altar than he is to Steelshod.
He calls out to Cyril, speaking Cassaline so that the Wncari won’t understand
He points out that the Collar is trying not to be the ones to strike first… but maybe if Steelshod upsets them enough, they will, and perhaps that will turn the druids of this place against them.
While he suggests this, he steps in front of the druid as he heads to the altar.
Partholon’s disciple glares at him, tells him to move. Agrippa grins, arms wide to interpose himself as much as possible, and declines to move.
The druid says his goal is to return these mens’ god to them, and Agrippa says somehow he doubts it.
Cyril joins in, laying into the druid and the Collar of Thorns. He suggests that it seems to him they are desperately trying to recover from the obvious flaws Steelshod has exposed in their current elite warriors.
Their wolves were taken apart by Steelshod’s fighters without losing a man.
Apparently, this Conall figure is somehow a more true version of fiendwolf, compared to the pale imitations Partholon has created, and now they are desperate to make up the difference.
Cyril’s words are simultaneously scathing and dismissive, intended to rile up the Collar
The fiendwolves snarl and growl at him. Their muscles flex, blood trickling down from the places their thorns pierce their own skin.
But, surprisingly, nobody takes the bait.
(Even with disadvantage for being volatile and hostile, the fiendwolves rolled a natural 20 to resist Cyril’s use of “Razor Tongue” to try and provoke them into attacking.)
The druid that Agrippa is blocking just seems annoyed. He seems reluctant to shove Agrippa out of the way, so instead he calls out a command to the two men standing on either side of Conall’s corpse.
The two warriors hesitate, breathing deeply, then draw daggers.
In unison, they both plunge the blades into their own chests, and they collapse on top of Conall.
That is enough to make Agrippa rethink his level of interference. He begins backing away from the druid.
He nearly backs into one of the fiendwolves standing between him and Steelshod, and instead finds himself face-to-face with the slavering monster.
The fiendwolf snarls at him, but Agrippa is not easily frightened.
He has stared down death itself many times. His hands do not tremble, his breathing is steady.
He stares the fiendwolf dead in the eye, unmoving. His expression is blank, while the fiendwolf bares its fangs and growls at him
Partholon’s disciple begins walking towards the altar, but he hesitates as he passes this showdown.
He says a word, and taps his staff against the ground by the fiendwolf’s feet. The grass around the fiendwolf curls and twists around his feet, in a very minor sort of entanglement.
Very localized to where his staff touched the ground, and probably not strong enough to truly hold back the fiendwolf if he exerted his full force against it.
“Stand down,” the druid says, then he heads up the altar.
Agrippa smirks at the fiendwolf, sensing that he has gained the unspoken upper hand now that the wolf’s master has put him in his place.
The fiendwolf snarls more ferociously at Agrippa, and it lunges forward a little, as if to attack.
Agrippa stands his ground, and the fiendwolf underestimated the entanglement of the grass… rather than lunging, it stumbles slightly, and looks down in annoyance.
When it looks back to Agrippa, Agrippa is grinning from ear to ear.
“Hah!” the medico crows. “You flinched!”
Agrippa laughs in the fiendwolf’s face.
With that taunt, the fiendwolf’s eyes widen in fury
And it lashes out at Agrippa with both claws in a furious assault.
Agrippa was ready for this—he’s not really prepped to defend himself per se, but he has an ability he doesn’t use too often these days
It lets him take a penalty to defense in exchange for a bonus to protection, basically on the theme that Agrippa knows what parts of the body are more vulnerable and what parts can be injured without it being life threatening… so he orients himself so that those parts of his body are more easily targeted.
In this case, he asks if he can double the protection bonus in exchange for letting the fiendwolf’s first attack automatically hit. Sounds like a terrible deal for him, so I accept immediately.
But in the end, maybe it was a good call. Agrippa takes a hit, but not only does the fiendwolf fail to drop him, it doesn’t even inflict an injury. Agrippa takes the hit like a champ.
At the same time, Felix has quietly prepared his bow, and the moment the fiendwolf lunges he looses his arrow.
It’s a perfectly lined up shot, and it penetrates the fiendwolf’s lung through the back. The monster screams in pain, and its second swipe at Agrippa is fouled.
One other member of Steelshod was also ready with bow and arrow—mostly because she was following Felix’s lead.
Zelde has prepped her bow—the huge thing built for the frost bersark Brjykkar, that Zelde can only just barely pull—and she too looses an arrow at the fiendwolf.
It hits the monster in the lower torso and punches all the way through, hissing past Agrippa and nicking the druid in the leg as he heads up the altar.
The fiendwolf collapses in front of Agrippa, dead and already shifting back to human form.
At this point, Agrippa runs for the safety of Steelshod
While the druid runs up the steps of the altar and dives for cover behind the pile of corpses—the original sacrifice, Conall’s body, and the two men that sacrificed themselves on top of him.
He shouts orders to his wolves, and several things happen at once.
A single fiendwolf darts up the altar after the druid, crouching over Conall’s body. The druid moves in close, but what exactly they are doing is unclear.
Meanwhile, the other fiendwolves fan out around Steelshod, snarling and growling as they close in.
The white robed druids retreat away from both factions, their pleas for peace and restraint going unheeded by both Steelshod and the Collar of Thorns.
It’s too late for peace, and fiendwolves don’t seem good at “restraint”
Honestly, everyone in Steelshod sort of knew there was only one way this was going to end.
They tried diplomacy, but Partholon and his closest minions seem largely immune to diplomacy.
They were reluctant to go in full-on attacking from the outset, but now they’ve provoked the Collar into making the first move.
So they have all the justification they could ever need to kill every one of these monsters and quash whatever Partholon’s scheme might be.
Assuming they can get to the druid before he finishes whatever he’s doing on the altar, anyway…
That will do for now. It’s been a little while since the last post, huh? Sorry about that, I’ve had a lot going on. We do have a bit more content than this already played out, though, so hopefully I can get the next post up relatively soon.
submitted by MostlyReadRarelyPost to DnDGreentext