Part 42 Vote Tally
Option A: 1
Option B: 0
Option C: 0
Much more sensible. ONWARDS!
"Under cover of darkness seems a good enough plan," you note. "Voice, have you a name?"
"I have not a name," the soft feminine voice says. "Or if I did, then it is long forgotten."
"Are you a ghost, then?" Artair asks.
"I do not know."
"What do you know?"
"That I was made to guard this place, and keep safe those who prove worthy."
"Did you conjure this food?" Mordina asks?
"You said you were hungry. Is this not to your liking."
"Are you mad? It's absolutely delicious."
"I am glad."
"Would you like a name?" you ask.
There is a long pause. "You would name me?"
"Well, I can't keep calling you 'voice' now can I?"
Another pause. "A name." The voice sounds distant, lost in thought. "Such an honour..."
"What about Taibhs?" Artair murmurs to you.
"That's beautiful," you answer. "What does it mean."
Artair grins. "Ghost."
You snort, but then consider. "Would you mind being called Taibhs?"
Another silence. "I like this name."
"Then that's what we'll call you. Taibhs. Well, thank you for this feast, Taibhs. It is delicious."
"You are always welcome." You feel a tingle on your left shoulder, as if someone had touched you there. You turn to look, but there is nothing. Or, perhaps, there was Taibhs. There could be no telling.
You and your companions continue to eat until you cannot eat anymore. Overfull, your eyes begin to droop.
"If the worthy wish to sleep, you will find bedding."
"What? Where?" Drest says, looking around.
Artair rises from his place and walks back into the first room. "In here!" he called back.
As one, everyone rises and returns to the first cavern. They find the room transformed. On the walls hang tapestries and embroideries, depicting scenes you are certain are from distant history, given that the figures on them are holding spears and clubs. Around the room, several beds have been set up.
These are not mere bedrolls, but actual beds, made with rough-cut oak posts and possessing canopies of finely woven wool. The blankets were made of stitched together furs and skins, covering a bed that looked like it had sheets of linen. Artair was absorbed by the wall hangings, so you walked forward to claim a bed. You pulled back the fur blanket to find a mattress of stuffed linen. You reach out and pressed on it. Whatever it was stuffed with, it was soft and smelled of lavender.
"Oh!" Mordina says, slipping into her chosen bed. "This is comfortable!"
Needing no further coaxing, you slip into the bed and cover yourself in furs. Guarded against the steady chill of the surrounding earth, you close your eyes. You fall asleep immediately.
"Hello, Eagle of the Stones."
You open your eyes, finding yourself in a round house, not unlike the one in the village you left behind to come to Shapinsay. Frowning, you turn your head.
"Night will fall soon, and we haven't long," says the woman standing beside your bed. She looks familiar.
"Are you going to give us another riddle to solve?" you murmur.
The woman laughs. "No. But come, quickly."
You sigh and slide out of the bed. To your surprise, you are dressed in linen trousers and shirt.
"Quickly now," the woman says. "Never mind the shoes. He won't mind."
"Who?"
"Come." The woman left the round house, almost gliding, so graceful was her step. You jogged behind, feeling suddenly clumsy.
When you stepped from the round house, you paused. You were in a small village of several round houses. They were close to a tall wall, which enclosed a single tower; a giant chimney of stone reaching up into the sky.
"Burroughston Broch," you murmur.
"So it comes to be named. In this time, though, this settlement is simply known as Crugdin; Barrow Castle."
"Wait... who are you? How do you know this? Am I dreaming."
"Yes. It is a dream, and I am your guide. But for the people here, this is their life."
"Are they ghosts?"
"Not yet."
"I'm so confused."
"Time," the woman says, setting off towards the broch, "is of no consequence in the world of dreams. You sleep in one time, and in your dreams you visit another. Now come. Quickly."
You clamp your mouth shut and follow. The woman leads your right into the broch, through the doors and past the guardroom into the court, where a tall, red-headed man reclines on an oak seat. Your eyes drift to the man at his right; a great bear of a man, wearing Artair's face and a thick bear skin over his shoulders.
You look back at the man. He wears a bronze coronet and about his shoulders sits a fine wool cape of striking red. You pause, recalling both the coronet and the cape, worn by an undead figure that warned you of approaching danger and directed you into the well. You feel something tighten in your chest.
Before the lord of this broch, a shepherd stands, explaining how the wolves have been so much of a problem. Behind him half a step, carrying a bolt of beautifully woven fabric, is his wife. A gift for the lord, that he might take pity on his subjects and lend some of his strength to the problem.
The man on the throne puts up a hand, and the shepherd immediately falls silent.
"You need not curry favour with gifts," the lord says. "Your herd feeds the whole village, my family included. These wolves are behaving strangely, and I will do what I can to ease the threat. It may be that something graver is happening."
"My Lord is kind indeed. The lady smile on you. Thank you."
The lord smiles at the shepherd. Then Artair's doppelganger leans in and whispers something in the lord's ear, and the steel grey eyes of the tall man shifts to you. His gaze is so direct, it feels as if he was looking deep into your soul. You drop your gaze.
Rising from his seat, the lord of the broch addresses the crowd. "Forgive me, but there are pressing matters I must now attend. We will break court for the day. I will hold court again on the morrow to address the concerns we did not get to this day."
There was not a single complaint. The crowd gathered simply bowed. The man who shared Artair's features immediately excused himself, leaving the court with three armed men in tow. They were, you realise, the lord's men.
"Come," the woman murmurs, moving to follow the lord as he moves upstairs. You follow.
The second floor of the broch is devoted to meetings, you're sure. The lord moves to a table and turns, waiting patiently for you to follow.
"Go on," the woman urges.
You approach, and the strangely intense eyes of the lord of the broch crinkle as he smiled.
"So," he says, extending his hand to you. "You are the eagle I have dreamt of, are you?"
Bemused, you grasp his forearm.
"Here. I am told you need this."
He hands you a stone, You take it, noting how smooth it felt in your grasp, save for... you run your fingers over the stone as you stare down at it. It looks perfectly smooth, but as you run your fingers over it, a symbol begins to appear, glowing softly. You stare down at it.
"Go, quickly. A lot rides on you, Eagle. Help me save my people."
Caught by the sincerity and urgency in the lord's voice, you nod. "I will do everything in my power," you say solemnly, making it an oath.
The lord smiles, and you detect sadness there. "Good. Now go, and the lady protect you."
You nod and turn, finding yourself suddenly no longer in the broch, but in a field.
"I don't save him," you whisper. "Do I?"
"The Lord of Crugdin chose his death long before you came to him."
"How did he die?"
"In battle, buying time for his people to escape."
"That was brave," you murmur.
"It was his duty as lord. That was what lordship was in these times. He served as a proxy for his people. He bore their victories and their defeats as his own. His life, to save the lives of his people. He would consider it a fair trade."
You look down at the stone in your hand. "There was something about him. I might have followed him anywhere."
"Brennus was a pure soul. Noble to the point of holy. Incorruptible. It was such a power he contained that even his corpse could not be touched by the darkness that consumed the world."
"That was him, then. Who gave us the warning."
"It was."
You feel like crying. "What a waste."
"Iolaire? Wake up. Wake up, Ioliare!"
You sit bolt upright, your confused gaze meeting Mordina's kind eyes. "Bad dream?" the woman asks.
You swallow, but decline to answer.
"Time to go," David says curtly.
You nod, throwing aside your blankets. It is then you become aware that you hold something in your hand. You open it to find a stone; smooth and polished.
You look up to find an entrance to the room you were certain was not there before. Earthen stairs led upwards.
Moving quickly, you slide from the bed and lead your group out. You find yourselves some distance from the ruins of Burroughston Broch. The black forms of the undead mill about in confusion around the ruins.
"Thank you, Lord Brennus," you murmur.
"Which way?" Artair murmurs anxiously.
What do you answer?
a) North
b) South
c) East
You have until 15 July, 2017 at midnight to place your votes. Good luck, Adventurers!