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Moving out of the camp with their escort - this time a group of 20 soldiers, half mounted, half on foot - the group head towards the trees of the Cold Wood - knowing that, according to Lady Alustriel's map at least that they would only be within the woods for a short while. The small part of the Cold Wood east of the Tormite camp consists almost solely of white birch, spruce and pine trees. The path through the woods shows no sign of being ancient. Where there are small rises, the path still goes up and down rather than wearing its way deeper into the soil. Except for small forest animals, the forest is quiet and unpopulated. This part of the wood is only six miles wide. After about two hours time, the group find themselves walking out of the wood again and into a small farming village.

The village seems to be rather primitive, consisting of log lodges and cabins, along with a number of thatch huts. Just south of the forest trail is a pond, about 80 feet in diameter - which Gundling identifies as Beorunna's Well - a "holy place" to many of the Uthgardt barbarians.. The buildings all seem to remain some distance away from the water, but it looks like there is a large gathering and ceremonial place in front of the pond.

As the weather is clear, the group can see that the cold, grassy plain in which the village is nestled spreads about 15 miles farther to the east, before it meets the dark wall of the main part of the Cold Wood.

Closer by, they can see that a lot of the villagers are working the fields to the north. There are young barbarian children playing in the village, but anytime the party approach any of them, they shy away and run back toward their huts or cabins. In some of them, the mothers stand in the doorways and stare cautiously at the visitors. No one offers greetings of any kind. There are four larger log buildings and a well in the center of the village, but nothing that looks like anything but private houses. There is no sign of any business, inn or tavern here. There are lean-tos near many of the buildings that shelter a horse as well as a cow or two, a few pigs or goats. Two men and a dog are grazing a flock of about 200 sheep south of the pond, just beyond the village.

Gundling heads with a purpose through the village towards one lodge that is slightly larger than the others - the residence of the Chief named Alaric.

After a few moments, a tall man wearing highly polished plate mail bearing the holy symbol of Torm emblazoned on the breastplate comes out. He has a slighly puzzled expression on his face.

"I hear you have my symbol on your arms?" he says. "May I see?"

ven as Milo speaks, pulling back his sleeve, several others of the party pull back their sleeves to similarly expose the moving sigylls. As they do so, they notice that the tattoo that had been on the back of their hands - the one that Lady Alustriel had identified as belonging to Ssessibil Istahvar - is fading before their eyes, and the remaining sigylls seem to almost crawl further down their arms like beggers queueing at a soup kitchen.

Ssessibil looks on, his expression one of shock as he sees his mage's sigyll disappear and the next one take its place. "<i>By the Triad!</i>" he whispers.

"Merrell Greenwood humble scholar, and student of magic." he said bowing. "We are all marked the same as the stout priest of Iilmater has shown M'Lord." the mage added.

"We were sort of hoping you could enlighten us on why we have been marked so."


Ssessibil takes a deep breath, and the inclines his head towards Merrell, and then toward Milo. "Well met Master Greenwood, and Master Davidson" he says, remembering his manners. "Now, I can tell you young folks something that might help you. You see, more than a dozen years ago, before the Time of Troubles, I was a mage who walked false and sometimes wrong paths. It was only after the Time of Troubles that I began to see that I was following a road that led to no good. It was then that I saw the light and repented and decided to devote the rest of my life to fulfilling the duties I had neglected until then." As he speaks, the armoured man looks each of the party in the eye as he speaks, his manner and demeanour echoing his serious words.

"I turned then to Lord Torm, and he received me, although I had become nothing more than a poor, repentant sinner. And he gave me a special duty, for Lord Torm had learned through other servants that evil is afoot here in the North, evil magic, and it is my duty to find the roots of this magic and destroy it, insofar as it is in my power to do so, or to seek help if the danger is more than I can deal with. And that is what I and my Knights of the Tantran Lion do from my Lonely Tower."

Standing nearby to Ssessibil, Gundling seems to puff up somewhat in pride as the Knights are mentioned.

Ssessibil pauses, glancing at the barbarian's village all around them as e sighs. "I make no secret of that fact that there was a time when I was not a good person. I would not go so far as to say I was evil, but self-serving certainly would be a correct description of the man I had been, before I found the way to Lord Torm. And there once was a time when certain members of the Cult of the Dragon had attempted to convince me to become a part of one of their nefarious plots. I know not what it was, for I rejected it out of hand before it was explained to me."

"However," and he turns to address Merrell and Milo more directly, "I am convinced that these creatures are plotting again, and I am of the opinion that mine was among the symbols upon your arms because it bore a magic intended to bind me at this time into their plot, whether I was willing or not." He pauses again, looking at the backs of his own hands for a moment before raising his head, a look of determination on his face. "But these fools do not know that Lord Torm has given me special protection against all such magics."

His face softens somewhat, and he looks more sympathetically around the group. "You, I am afraid, are still in some way bound to these evil creatures, and four of the five remaining symbols belong to them."

"I am sorry to say that I never have seen the last of these symbols, the one with the strange castle. Someone else must identify that symbol for you. But I can and will tell you to whom the other symbols belong and where I believe you may find these creatures."

Stepping forward, he takes Milo's arm and gestures to each of the symbols in turn, starting with the one now squirming on the back of Milo's hand.

"The first symbol belongs to a very dangerous wizardess of the Zhentarim who really is a double agent of the Dragon Cult. She is a powerful necromancer named Gwath, who operates from a secret dungeon somewhere in Daggerdale - or at least did a decade ago."

"The second symbol belongs to another Zhentarim who was a priest of Bane in Zhentil Keep named Xarth Kistar. I was led to believe that Kistar, too, was a double agent for the Dragon Cult inside the Zhentarim, but I came to believe that he really is a triple agent who betrays both sides, to serve his own ends."

"He will not be so easy to find, if he survived the destruction of Zhentil Keep. But I assume he did, seeing that you're bearing his symbol. In any case, he had sided with the Great Imperceptor of Bane and against Fzoul Chembryl during the Time of Troubles and had joined the underground movement that supported the imperceptor and opposed Chembryl. Whose side he's on now Cyric's or Iyachtu Xvim's is anyone's guess."

"The third symbol, the one with the flame, belongs to an insane lich named Azimer in the ruins of the 6 Tyryl Towers school of magic in Myth Drannor. Azimer is not a member of the Dragon Cult, but he has done work with the other three, although I don't know what his reasons are."

"The fourth symbol belongs to a strange type, something of a renegade high priest of Malar the Beastlord who also was and perhaps still is a Keeper of the Secret Hoard with the Dragon Cult. Gwath and Kistar also are or were Keepers of the Secret Hoard, by the way. Well, anyhow, this priest is named Harbet Gall and you can find him in the Great Dale. He's one of the key leaders of the Malar faction there who's responsible for the religious wars that have been going on in the Great Dale for so many years."

"He's a strange kind of Malar priest. Normally, the followers of Malar and the Dragon Cult have nothing to do with each other, but Gall preaches that dragons are the greatest of all beasts and the greatest of all hunters, and in the Great Dale, one usually associates the church of Malar and the Dragon Cult with one another. I'm sorry I can't help you with the last symbol, but I've simply never seen it before. However, I think it is quite clear to all of you that it is your duty to seek out these evil beings and destroy them!"

"Can you get rid of the bloody thing?" asks Larz.

Ssessibil purses his lips, his brow furrowed as the thinks hard. "Fortunately for you, Lord Torm is against the very kind of evil these sigylls represent, and I believe I can use a certain prayer he has given me to remove them from your arms, along with whatever curse they carry. Of course, there always is a certain risk. But I can try to do this for you, if you wish?"

Behind Ssessibil, the chief of the barbarians - presumably Alaric - grimaces from his position in the doorway to his lodge. Another barbarian steps out of the shadows from inside the building - a man with one hand who is presumably Patreveni "Onehand" - the cleric to Tyr and right hand-man to Alaric whom the group had heard of. He has an expression of concern, if not fear on his face at the Ssessibil's mention of doing magic.

He steps forward, "Do I need to prepare myself in any way to receive this gift from the Loyal Fury?"


Ssessibil shakes his head. "No, though there are some preparations that I will need to make - but if you can perhaps remove your armour so I can see all of the sigylls at once - I have some magical ointments and powders that I will need to rub into them..." As he speaks he plucks a small bag from his belt and reaches his hand into it, pulling out a series of paper packets and small leather bags, holding them carefully in his hand. It is pretty obvious that the bag is enchanted, holding more than it seems.

Cleo typed:
"You want us to kill a lich? I'm 19 years old!"


Ssessibil smiles gently at Cleo, pausing in the preparation of his components. "I had heard about this type of controlling magic before - it was used a couple of times before, roughly 14 years earlier I think - pre the Time of Troubles" he explains. "I did not witness it directly, but I know that the sigylls were used to force the bearers to do things they did not want to do. Each of those times however, the bearers were able to resist the power of the sigylls, and through their actions and strength of will, actually cause the plans of those behind the plot to backfire." He shrugs for a moment, his hands full of various packets and pouches. "Back then however, I understood that the powers behind the sigylls - the ones attempting to dominate and control their victims actions - had their own sigylls and symbols as part of the magic - as opposed to that of their victims. The fact that my sigyll was clearly on your arms until a few moments ago is confusing to me - for I know I wasn't involved in this fell magic and the only other conclusion is that the magic has been changed in someway - perhaps there was some malicious magic intended to damage me in some way." He shakes his head, a perplexed expression on his face. "I can only assume that my own magical protections defused it..."

He shakes his head again and addresses Cleo directly. "But I digress. I do not expect you to kill a lich. I cannot predict what the magic of these sigylls will try to force you to do - but I can say that if you try hard to resist it - I am sure you will overcome it and find a way to twist its commands to foil the powers behind it. I can only assume that of the sigylls that remain on your arms - some, if not all represent the powers behind it - and that if suitably armed with information and strength of will, you will be able to overcome their powers..."

Merrell typed:
"Cleo may have a point, though I think it likely that these damn things do more for the evil we seek than for ourselves. Ssessibil, is it possible that the ones who put these things on us are also using them to keep track of our where abouts?" Merrell knew the answer to his question already, but he hoped he was wrong.


Ssessibil frowns for a moment in thought at Merrell's question. "I think probably not. Certainly the way the magic was used on Alias all those years ago was in a sort of 'pre-programmed way' - which was one of the ways in which she and her companion managed to break free from it and divert its intentions."

"M'lord?," Merrell asked "If I may ask without offending? Why have you used illusion to mask your companions true form?" The last he asked in mage tongue elvish, hoping not to alarm Ssessibil's companions.

Ssessibil seems a little taken aback at the question Merrell asks in elvish. "I am impressed that you can see through the illusion" he answers in kind with a nod of respect to Merrell. "[Private to Ceely; Merrell; Vaslin: It is simply because the barbarian tribes find it easier to deal with humans than those of, er, different blood]" he says politically.

Herod turns toward Milo, finally breaking his silence, "I believe they are indeed evil marks that would bind the owners of their symbols against their wish. We are supposed to be, but unwitting fools in their plan, forced to contact each of them, but somehow expected to be cunning enough to succeed to recruit these them, likely against their will. There are feints within feints in this plan, but if they miscalculated with Master Ssessibil, they might have erred elsewhere."

"Exactly my point good Battleguard" says Ssessibil, resuming his preparations.

"Sir," Cleo says to Ssessibil, "perhaps then, before removing them - could you work a spell to at least identify who put these on us?"

Ssessibil glances back at Cleo as he starts to tip out some arcane powders, mixing them in his hand and gesturing for Larz to extend his (now) bare arms. "I could ask Torm for guidance - he may be able to confirm whether or not the powers represented by the sigylls are the powers responsible for creating them..." He shrugs. "Unfortunately, I am not prepared to cast such a divination at the moment - but if you wish to camp here tonight, I could pray to Torm and cast a divination in the morning - if you have other questions that you would like me to divine an answer to then I would be happy to ask them on your behalf...? Perhaps you could come up with a list of them..."

As Ssessibil starts to rub the powders and ointment into Larz's forearms, the barbarian cleric behind him begins to almost tremble with fear and says in the northern tongue mostly used by the barbarians, "Ahh, please excuse me, Holy Champion, but I've been totally negligent! I must look after a few of Heafstagg's wounded warriors!"

Ssessibil smiles patronizingly and says, "But of course, Patreveni. We all must do our duty."

Patreveni bows respectfully to Ssessibil, then hurries away, casting a fearful look over his shoulder. It is clear he doesn't appreciate magic - especially such obviously arcane processes such as Ssessibil is preparing to perform. Alaric, the chief of the Black Lion barbarians seems just as uncomfortable, and steps forward, whispering into Ssessibil's ear.

"You are right" says Ssessibil. "We should do this inside your lodge - it was thoughtless of me to scare some of your tribe unneccessarily."

"Do you mind if we move inside?" Ssessibil asks aloud, looking around the party.

The ex-Zhent mage who had, until then, been silent, steps forward, a sceptical look on his face. "If one of Mystra's Chosen decided not to try to remove the sigylls - is it such a good idea to try this?" he says.

"It's better to try than to do nothing!" retorts Vaslin, moving up the steps and into the lodge.

"Yeah, fortune favours the bold and all that!" grins Lucretia, also moving forward and into the lodge.

"If you did not put your sygil on us," says Cleo, "then we cannot assume that those to whom these sygils coorespond to didn't put these on us either. That perhaps means that whoever DID put them on us has some common plan for all of these guys. My biggest question is - WHAT exactly IS this plan. What doesn't make sense, though, is that if the person that put these sygils on us is so powerful, why does he have such out-of-date information as to think that you belong with these other 4!? In other words, if he's so powerful, why didn't he know of your... uh... change of character?"

Ssessibil shakes his head. "That I cannot answer. The divination I have suggested can ask a number of questions - but typically the answer that returns is either yes, know or uncertain." He makes a helpless gesture. "In years past I would have perhaps considered summoning an extraplanar being to seek answers to my questions elsewhere, but the answers retrieved always had to be treated with caution, for such beings would often try to distort the truth within the letter of the contract - their price would never be cheap" he added gravely.

His expression lightens. "But my divinantion with Lord Torm would be more reliable, and with a suitable list of questions prepared in advance, we could understand a lot about what is behind these bindings" he says.

The group move up the steps and into the lodge. Inside, despite its rustic exterior, the building is comfortable and warm. Lit by several lanterns hanging on hooks from the heavy pine beams which support the vaulted ceiling, the walls are hung with what look like various hunting tropies and the spoils of battles with other barbarian tribes - antler racks from elk and deer, shields, spears etc. Even the skull and jaws of something slightly draconic looking appears in pride of place on one wall, the bone scarred by numerous chips and cracks that might have been caused by weapons.

Thick rugs lie across the floor on the far side of the room, close to an impresive fireplace - the only part of the building made of stone. Above the mantle, hangs a six foot square tapestry, depicting a large mailed fist. To either side of the fireplace are archways though the log walls, covered with hanging deerskins that conceal the entrance to more private areas of the lodge. A large table sits off to one side with a number of wooden stools set around it, on the table are various clay goblets and eating implements, though beyond a large clay pitcher, there is no sign of anything to actually eat or drink.

Ssessibil moves forward into the centre of the room, and gestures for Larz to step forward, the dwarf holding his bare arms out in front of him, the various powders and ointments that the mage-come-priest had spread. Interested in what is going to happen, the rest of the party position themselves around the room.

Alaric, the chief of the Black Lion barbarians, remains outside.

Ssessibil lowers his head for a moment and closes his eyes as he gathers himself, then opening them again, he speaks, addressing the symbol of Torm hanging above the fireplace.

"Oh Lord Torm, sadly burdened are these young people who stand before us today, wishing nothing more than to fulfill their duties and being unable to do so, because another has bound them to his ways and his will. I pray you, oh Lord Torm, to free these unfortunate young folks from this dastardly binding."

Turning, Ssessibil looks down at Larz, focusing on the sigyls - the writhing shapes still visible beneath the arcane powders and ointments. Raising his head once more he moves his hands in the shape of an "X", his lips moving silently. Suddenly there's a soundless blinding flash in the lodge and an invisible force slams Larz off his feet, litterally throwing him across the room where he crashes into the table, knocking the goblets and jug flying before he slams into the wall behind.

15:06, Today: The DM rolled 47 using 10d6+12. Damage

Those watching are also blinded by the flash, with those nearest clipped by Larz's flying body.

As vision returns, the sight before the group is rather astonishing. Ssessibil is standing where he was before, still in his armor as a priest of Torm, but his face looks something like a cross between a cat and a dragon, his hands are reptilian claws, and a thin, lizard-like tail has sprung out of the rear of his armor. Larz, winded by his violent collision with the wall, sees the sigylls on his arms glowing brightly before they start to fade back to their original colour.

"I believe I've overextended myself," Ssessibil says, in his own voice. "I guess I must serve Lord Torm a bit longer before I can use that spell properly. I'm sorry. I've also done this to myself once before, and it's humiliating!"

Ssessibil makes a few fast gestures with his clawed hands and says, "Lord Torm, your humble servant begs your forgiveness and also begs you to restore him, so that he may again do his duty properly." With these words, the priest's body quickly reverts back to its normal form.

Having returned to his normal shape, Ssessibil also hurries over to join Herod, offering a hand to help Larz to his feet. "I am sorry for the pain I have caused you" he apologies, inclining his head towards the injured dwarf. "Let me also help remove your wounds."

Clasping one hand around his holy symbol, the man closes his eyes briefly, murmuring quietly to himself. A rush of warmth shoots up Larz's arm from where his hand is still clasped to that of the mage-come-priest of Torm, wiping away the various pains remaining after Herod's healing.

Turning to survey the mess created by Larz's unexpected flight, Ssessibil grimaces. "Alaric will have my hide!" he chuckles. Moving his hands in a small gesture, the various items knocked over right themselves, the spilt liquids disappearing, a broken clay goblet mending itself.

"Assuming you are going to stay the night, I will go arrange some accommodation for you. You should discuss the questions you might wish to ask..." suggests Ssessibil as he moves to the exit to speak with Alaric, the chieftain still outside.

"One thing does seem to link you all Ssessibil." suggests Milo. "The Dragon Cult. And they have shown us interest since the start of this adventure. What do you know of the Cult that might help us?"

Ssessibil pauses at the doorway, turning to face Milo. "An interesting thought. Perhaps you might be onto something..." he muses. Turning, he walks back towards the table, pulling out a chair and sitting. He waves a hand vaguely, inviting others to sit as they wished. "Well, what can I tell you about the Cult of the Dragon?" he says, steepling his fingers in front of his face, his elbows on the table.

"I had heard about the Dragon Cult long before they approached me some twenty winters ago, but what I knew then was only that the cult was founded over 400 years ago by one of Mystra's ex-Chosen, a man named Sammaster, and that they venerated dragons. After they tried to get me involved in one of their plots - I did a little more research. Apparantly Sammaster read an ancient prophesy which he interpreted to mean that dead dragons shall rule the world entirely." Ssessibil sighs and lifts his head, frowning slightly as he tries to remember some facts.

"Let me wind back a bit further. When Sammaster was still a Chosen of Mystra, he possessed a terrible rage, which once caused him to kill innocent lives by mistake. This tragedy pushed him over the brink and effectively, he became a little unhinged. A few years later, he fell out with his former lover and fellow Chosen of Mystra - Alustriel from Silverymoon." He glances around the group as if checking that they were still following his words.

"The two ex-lovers fought in a great battle, sparked by Sammaster's uncontrollable rage and probably anger over his rejection by Alustriel I suspect, and Sammaster was ultimately killed when two other of Mystra's chosen, Laeral Silverhand and Khelben Arunsun came to Alustriel's aid." At some of the disbelieving looks, Ssessibil nods and smiles knowingly. "Yes, I am talking about the same people that are still around today. Mystra's chosen are effectively immortal. You really don't want to know how old Elminster is!" he chuckles.

Sobering, he returns to the Dragon Cult founder. "So, apparently, just before Sammaster died, his status of Chosen was stripped from him. That wasn't the end of him however, for he was returned to life - by who I'm unsure, but I suspect a priest of Bane named Algashon who went on to be a force behind the scenes in the Dragon Cult I believe. Once returned to life, Sammaster had lost all grip on reality, and several years later, came upon the works of Maglas the Seer, the text he mistranslated."

"His warped mind then used this mis-translation to persuade some dragons into becoming dracolichs - and started to recruit followers into a cult. It was in the Year of the Sinhala, (916 DR), that Sammaster was finally defeated by an avatar of Lathander, summoned to the site of a massive battle between the forces of good an the Cult of the Dragon, which at that time had nigh on an army of dracolichs and followers. Lathander disintegrated the mad ex-Chosen, and he was believed finally dead."

Ssessibil leans back, placing his hands flat on the table, a smile crossing his lips, obviously enjoying the story-telling.

"Some three hundred years pass, and the power of the Cult of the Dragon diminishes without its leader, split into fractions by his death. Then a lich arises in the Desertsmouth Mountains, calling itself Sammaster and gathering servants, creatures and even a few dragons under its banner. The Cult of the Dragon again began to rally around its founder. Three years later - Year of the Blacksnake (1285 DR), the forces of good apparantly defeated the lich and destroyed it, and as far as I know its not coming back."

Ssessibil frowns and tsks. "But telling you the history of the cult is not exactly helpful to you now, is it?" he asks rhetorically. "What you need to know is what might be useful to you."

"Well, the Cult of the Dragon is organised into cells, and since Sammaster died the communication between those cells has become somewhat fragmented - there is no real clear leadership any more. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if different fractions of the cult would actively try to destroy each other in some cases! Each cell will have a leader - who is typically called The Keeper of the Secret Hoard. Each cell will usually be involved in a variety of different illegal methods of accumulating wealth - a fair proportion of which they gift to dragons - usually whilst trying to woo them into becoming dracoliches!" He rubs his chin a moment in thought. "If they are behind the sigyls you bear, then it would not be the first time they have used adventurers to unknowingly pursue some aims on their behalf - though I've never heard of them using magic such as this before!"

He pauses, reaching for a goblet to take a drink, then grimacing when he realises the pitcher was now empty following Larz's flying act. "Perhaps these sigylls are the Dragon Cult's way of getting back at those who have wronged them - and because all those years ago I refused to back a venture of theirs, they are only now attempting to wreak their revenge." He shrugs. "If that is the case, then firstly, my own standard defensive magics seem to have foiled whatever effect it was supposed to have on me, and secondly, it would imply that all the others that the sigylls represent are in some way, an enemy of the Cult of the Dragon... though acquiring gold has tended to have a higher priority than revenge with cultists I believed" he mutters.

He places his hands flat on the table and pushes as he stands up, before opening them in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm not sure what else I can tell you" he states, starting to move towards the exit again.

Reaching the door, he pauses as a thought strikes him. "Something Sammaster did to help build the cult up, was to write a book - the Tome of the Dragon I think it is called. Multiple copies have been distributed amongst the cultists or their cell leaders at least - it gives them the instructions for creating dracoliches..." He shakes his head sadly. "I've not seen it, but heard that it contains fell necromantic magics, stuff I'd never have touched - even in my, um, previous life. But those who stand against the Cult of the Dragon, and want to understand better how they might defeat dracoliches - well, they'd probably be interested in getting their hands on a copy..." he trails off, then shrugs. "I'll go arrange your accomodation whilst you think about those divination questions" he says starting to turn away.

Turning toward Ssessibil, Herod speaks"Such divinations much depend on the faith and experience of the priest. How many such questions should we prepare?"

"Oh, somewhere between fifteen and twenty should be about right" he says over his shoulder as he steps outside.