The Fugitive
A Prelude to Session Five of the Path Perfidious Campaign

Morday, 48 Suntask 204

It is the dead of night. Five hours ago, the recently-resurrected diviner, Manacus, was dropped five miles from the Village of the Eighteen Churches by the helpful monk, Kak. He now scrambles through the extensive woodlands to the south of the Village in the hope of escaping the pursuit that is undoubtedly following.

Manacus has all ready sent his familiar, Otot, to Uris to deliver news of his grim reversal of fortunes. However it will take the pygmy owl many days to reach the capital. Manacus knows that he could be dead in minutes.

A few hours ago the howling began. The sound originating from four or more very large dogs. However much Manacus wishes they were wolves he knows full well they are hounds. Hounds of Mortis to be more accurate. A group dedicated to tracking down and returning to the Lord of the Dead all those who have had the temerity to accept resurrection. Technically they do not exist. Manacus knows that it is only a matter of time before they catch up with him. Another howl pierces the night, closer this time. Instinctively Manacus looks around. As he does so he catches his foot in a root and sprawls to the hard earth. He lies there for a moment, listening to the sounds of the dark forest, before slowly raising his head. When he does he sees a figure standing on a large mound before him.

"You're going to have to move a lot faster than this if you don't want them to catch you," he says, sliding down the uneven ground toward the diviner. "Uh-huh," says Manacus, a little too unnerved to say very much. The figure bends down and offers Manacus his hand. It is a Man – dirty, crumpled, unshaven and smelling slightly of cheap ale, but certainly a Man.

Manacus looks at the hand for a second before grasping it and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. "Hello," says the man. Manacus twitches and stares around him with all the wit and self-possession of a rabbit at a fox convention. The man waves his hand in front of Manacus's face to get his attention. "Hello!" he repeats.

Manacus returns to look back at the scruffy man. "Unnerving aren't they?" the man says. Manacus nods his head, and then realising what is going on, he starts to move away, gesturing to the newcomer that if they are going to have a conversation perhaps they could do so while on the move.

"I reckon you have about an hour, tops, before they catch you," says the man. "You won't be able to out-run them." Manacus doesn't disagree, but doesn't want to reply either, deciding to spend all his energy in getting as far away as possible. "Unless of course you let me help you."

Manacus stops. "How do I know I can trust you?" he asks at last. The man shrugs. "You don't. Seems to me that you don't have much of a choice." The diviner doesn't have to think to realise that is true. "So, will you let me help you?" Manacus nods. "What's your name?" he asks. "Do we know each other well enough for me to be telling you my name?" – "I'm called Manacus?" the wizard offers. "So follow me, Manacus," says the man and runs off into the woodland.

"So," says the man a few minutes later. "How did you die?" Manacus thinks for a moment. "There was this long-eared rabbits," he begins, and then thinks better of telling the story. "If doesn't matter." – "No, I suppose it doesn't. Why did you want to come back?" – "Because it wasn't my time to die. I still have a lot to do." – "Some would argue that the fact you died made it your time to die." – "You mean the Watchers." – "The Watchers. Yes. Now there's a group with the courage of their convictions." – "I don't believe that my soul belongs to anyone other than me. It's not up to the Watchers or to Mortis to decide what I can and can't do." The man is silent for a moment, as if assessing Manacus. Then the pair come to a clearing in the forest. There are two horses tethered to a tree.

"Can you ride?" the man asks. "Errr," Manacus begins. "Well," his companion says, throwing him a set of reins, "there's nothing like galloping through a forest at night to make you learn. Let's just get some distance between us and the Hounds, then we can work out a way to throw them off our scent. All right?"

Manacus nods and climbs onto the horse. It sways worryingly beneath him and he grasps the reins tightly. The man smiles. "You could be just what we're looking for," he smiles. "My name is Gunlarr," he says, finally introducing that. And with that Gunlarr turns his horse and races off down the forest track, Manacus does his best to follow.

The Fugitive Index | Next Session | Dancers in the Dark Session 3 | Rising Tide Session 1