Campaign Atalanxia

Eye For an Eye

2011-08-19T17:34:00.002-04:00

Kendrick Cwick, suffering many wounds and with all his supporters dead or dying, broke from the fight and raced out of the front door. I quickly pulled a masterwork arrow from its quiver and fired through the massive front portal. The flaming missile was barely out of the door when another followed and then a third, Est'Perolyne igniting and launching those deadly projectiles with such force the air shrieked as they raced the sixty-odd paces to their target.To Kendricks’ credit he was able to avoid the first two shots but his luck had expired. The third arrow struck true where the mans’ skull met his neck, a brief flare of orange flames roared across the back of his head as his hair caught alight. With a sickening thud the limp body of Kendrick Cwick landed, face first, on the frozen turf of the courtyard. Although this wound would likely be fatal the stubborn man would not stay down. Grunting and gasping for breath Cwick struggled to force his arms to do his bidding; to push his torso up off the ground.

Seeing this I dropped my bow and turned to retrieve my discarded swords. Dhaerow Athil (Traitors Bane) and Iriadors Drannor (Garnets Song) had been forged by Aben INSERT NAME HERE, a master craftsman of the north. These two newly crafted short swords would fulfill their purpose and end the life of Kendrick Cwick, avenging the loss of Deedra Garnet. Without hesitation I stalked through the open door and out into the courtyard.

I noticed several guards up on the outer wall, they were watching with interest yet, made no move to interfere. As I approached my one time friend and mentor the torch light from the building cast many copies of my shadow over his frame. He was still face down but had managed to push himself up on the backs of his wrists with his arms nearly locked straight. The effort in holding even that position strained the rogue and his body quivered in exertion.

For a mere heartbeat I stood there, in a surreal moment. My breath billowed into the night as great clouds of white mist. I could feel my heart pounding within my chest yet, while glancing at the razor sharp edges of my twin blades, they were steady and calm. I straddled his body and bent low, crossing my swords over his exposed throat. Dhaerow Athil and Iriadors Drannor reflected the torch light from their polished surfaces seeming to hold the full fury of the nine hells in their leaf-shaped form.

“Ademar.” Kendrick gasped.

I was not listening, nor was I to be swayed by any further words he might get out of his treacherous mouth. I leaned in close to his ear so that he would well understand my words.

“My blood oath is now fulfilled.” I stated.

Before a reply could leave his lips I began to rise, pulling up hard on my blades and dragging them out as I went. The keen edges bit hard and deep into the soft tissue and sinewy tendons alike. After only a few seconds of spasms and one last, pitiful gasp Kendrick Cwick collapsed into a quickly widening pool of his own blood.

When I rose I left the body lying there on the frozen ground. I cared not even to search his body. Glancing up at the walls, I met the gaze of a couple of the ‘guards’ standing there. None of them could hold my gaze and within minutes the walls were deserted.

Returning to recover Est’Perolyne, I felt strangely cold. I would have thought that killing my treacherous mentor would have put me at peace but I was not. I felt more hollow and alone than ever. My actions were wooden and unfocused. I could not tell you what events occurred the remainder of the night; my mind was so clouded and my heart ached again for my loss. I knew that night that, although my oath had been met, I would never shake the specter of Deedra Garnet nor could I ever escape the shame of the disaster that my actions had brought about. All I can pray to do now is survive my future trials and hope that Deedra approves from on high.

-Ademar Helyanwë

The Enemy of My Enemy

2011-08-16T06:35:00.003-04:00

This session begins with the companions standing with King Darius’ Eastern front; waiting with the troops for an attack that never came. Previously, Cor’Nal had delivered a sealed message from King Darius for Colonel Rutland, ordering his army to retreat to the city’s Southern gate, leaving the companions floundering for direction. As the companions weren’t under orders to retreat with them, a decision had to be made as to where to go from here.

After much discussion, Gareth suggests a return to Grodek Keep, which the companions decide is as good an idea as any. After watching the Eystlund troops set out for the South gates to help with the impending attack, the four men begin to walk to their destination, having no horses and no spells to whisk them off as usual. Ademar quickly draws the irritation of his friends bemoaning the loss of his new man-servant and wondered aloud about who would be raising his tent each night now that Sheldon had left with the rest of the Eastern front.

The companions walked the road back towards Grodek Keep until twilight, hiding amongst trees nearly a hundred feet off the road. Ademar continued to complain about the injustice of being forced to sleep on the ground without his tent shielding him but they eventually got their camp set for the evening. Moments before the sun dipped over the horizon, a platoon of orcs, led by a pair of ogres, were heard marching down the road, the way the companions had come.

Not wanting to let the enemy slip by Ademar took aim with his bow and let the first shot fly. Gareth, caught off guard by the sudden call to action jumped up, grabbed his weapon and shield and went to meet the orcs with nothing more than his nightclothes on. Raell seeing the Orcs charge towards Ademar and Gareth drew Est’Megill-Galahd and commanded the sword to blaze as bright as the sun. Several orcs seeing a lone figure standing off to the side with light broke off and charged towards him along with one of the ogres. With the battle in full swing, Cor’Nal began to move about the group, using his druidic powers to aid his friends as needed. The companions made short work of the evil creatures and moved camp further down the road, away from the bodies of the monsters they had just killed. Once the new camp was established, the companions were able to rest for the remainder of the night.

In the morning, the companions quickly finished their journey to Grodek Keep, as Cor’Nal again utilized his “Smoking Bottle” spell, and met with Captain Herschel. The newly knighted Sir Cor’Nal reported to the captain that the king’s orders had been delivered to the commander of the troops on the Eastern front. Herschel seemed pleased with this news and told Cor’Nal that he would take the gathered companions to the city after dark to meet with the king. Ademar seeing this as an opportunity to relax decided to go in search of whores and wine, only to be halted in his tracks by the master of the keep, Greden Grodek.

Greden explained to the companions, that he had been having some strange dreams of late. One, before their arrival told of four heroes who would arrive at camp and stem the turn of the war in favor of King Darius and his subjects. This vision, he told them, he thought of as little more than wishful thinking manifested in the form of a dream. However, after their group arrived and reports came to him from Captain Herschel, Lt. Bancroft, Sir Kralek and others within camp about their successes in routing entire platoons and capturing siege machines, he began to wonder whether they could be the heroes his dreams had foretold. Later on, after their arrival, he had another dream. This one included a beautiful woman, vaguely elven, who led him through a bright, flowered meadow into a darkened forest. While in the forest, he tried to speak. While no words would come, he could hear his own voice in his head. Ignoring his questions, she told him to take the four outsiders to see “him”. While she did not speak his name, he believed he knew of whom she spoke. He explained to the companions that he had once been helped by this man in a time before. He told them that, once he felt the time was right, he would take them all to see this man.

After Greden left the companions to think about his cryptic story, they were once again set upon by Lt. Bancroft. Seeking their aid in getting word to another military unit in the north east that was still far from the city in order to give them orders on where to move in order to best defend it. Cor’Nal offered him a way to send a scout at best speed possible by use of a magical smoke horse. After this business was concluded Ademar saw this as his chance to go in search of booze and whores again. Raell tried to ignore the elf until he invited Gareth to join him. Raell knowing that Gareth would be meeting King Darius in just a few short hours used the power of the Sword of Light to halt Gareth in his tracks with its Hold Person ability. Raell then dragged the magically held Gareth back to the stable that was now being used to quarter them. Ever sanctimonious, Raell set to lecturing Gareth about how he was soon to meet a king and that he needed to rest. Ademar seeing his trouble-seeking friend get dragged back to the stable decided to give up on his search and settled down, content to sip from his own private stock of wine.

Shortly after dark that night, the companions set out with Captain Herschel to go meet with King Darius. Once they were through the city gates Herschel led them on a twisting path to the place where the king waits in hiding. Taken far down below the earth, the group was left in a room where the king would come to greet them.

After the usual pleasantries are completed, the King explains to the group that he feels that, as desperate times often call for desperate measures, it seems that he may need to utilize the service of a longtime nemesis in order to flush out the spies that have thwarted many of his plans in recent weeks. He goes on to tell them of a man, apparently known only as Rulan, leader of a gang called “The Stone Crows”. He tells them that for nearly the entire tenure of his reign, since almost his day of coronation, this criminal and his gang of thugs have run rampant in the slums of the city and beyond. He lists the multitude of their crimes: bribery, racketeering, slave running, theft, kidnapping, and worst of all, murder.

Another of his crimes is in the dealing of illicit information, the paying off of everyone from the lowest messenger boy to the highest ranking members of Darius’ Court, when possible, to find whatever information he can to further his own ambitions and stay out of the King’s dungeons.

It is this criminal talent that Darius is most concerned with now. It is a talent that, ironically, he feels the kingdom now needs in her darkest hour.

He asks that they find a way to meet with Rulan, though gathering the requisite information on how to do that is something he cannot help them with. The little information Darius has he gives to them: Rulan is a grotesquely obese man who dresses opulently and reportedly “wears his weight in gold”; his operation is known to be highly secretive and centered within the slums, though his subordinates are not confined to them. Darius tells them that, once Rulan is found, he does not want him killed; instead he wants the companions to find a way to appeal to Rulan’s interests and ask him to assist his monarch by finding out whatever he can about the enemy’s spy network. He tells them that he expects this to be a difficult task, but one that could prove essential to defeating the insurrection.

With the meeting complete, King Darius humbly offers, as he did the previous day with Cor’Nal, to make the remaining three companions Knights of Eystlund, giving them lands within the kingdom as well. Gareth, seemingly caught up in the dream of every sword for hire drops to his knees and accepts this honor with great humility, unable to even speak. Ademar, with half a grin on his scarred face, also bent knee and accepted this honor.

Raell on the other hand, inexplicably felt the need to refuse. Instead, he makes a cryptic demand of the King saying, ‘If you wish to honor me, you will drop my father down the deepest, darkest hole you can find, where the closest thing he gets to fresh air is what escapes from his arse.’ The King was, for a moment, struck dumbfounded, and soon after demonstrably angered by the incredible insult. Raell explained attempted further explanation stating that it would not look good for King and Kingdom if one of her knights were to be convicted of murder. Raell made it very clear that at some point, if all else failed, justice would be meted out by his own hand. Overtly suggesting his target would be Keller Kromwell. This further enraged the good king, who could not leave the seemingly insane, or perhaps incredibly stupid, half-elf behind fast enough. Who would dare enter his chamber, no matter how humble it was made by the circumstances, and not only refuse an offer of Knighthood but to also have the audacity to profess to the future crime of murder? Considering the many important matters laid at his feet, this was not something that Darius considered a priority, and expected his subject, the only one among them to be a true citizen of Eystlund to leave his own personal grievances behind and not be so stubbornly myopic and opportunistic. Briefly considering having the ignorant and clearly confused half-elf arrested by Captain Herschel for treason, he instead thought better of it and dismissed Raell altogether.

Afterward, the King reminded the group that, as another token of his appreciation, he would have his aging mage enchant an item of their choosing. One that had to meet the requirement of being something they already own of masterwork quality. They spent a considerable amount of time debating which item they would like enchanted by Bravin Silvermorn, before settling on the bracers of Ademar’s Remhoraz armor; which were given a +1 defense bonus (after a lousy roll by the DM).

Several hours later, the companions leave their King as well as their horses and start to walk about the city in search of an inn. Raell inexplicably decides the best way to go about it was to pretend he didn’t know his friends and walk well behind them, misunderstanding Darius orders to wear their arm bands that distinguished them as Knights of Eystlund. At nearly four in the morning, the group came upon the closest inn to the King’s whereabouts: The Chunky Wench. Raell, in a further attempt to separate from the others seats himself at the bar as the trio of elves move to a table. A thickly cut inn keeper over six feet in height introduces herself as Patricia Reynolds and tells them that she is also owner of the establishment. After ordering food and drinks, Ademar loudly asks if she knew of Rulan or anyone associated with the Stone Crows. Patricia explains that she knows of one gentleman who might have some association with them who often comes in during afternoon hours. After giving the three a full description of the man, Ademar asked if there was anywhere else they could go to find information, Patricia told them of tavern in the slums that they might try. Cor’Nal then proclaimed in a deadpan voice, ‘this isn’t the slums?’ Patricia did her best to ignore the comment as she went about the task of taking care of her other customers. Finished with seeking information here, Raell bought the use of a room for three nights and was ready to retire to it until his companions decided to head for the ‘slums’, in further search of more information on how to get in touch with Rulan.

With the coming light of the morning, the three Elves strolled into the worst area of Eystlundtowne. Burned out shops and homes were gutted and left standing on nearly every street. Homeless people and other dubious characters watched the three elves, one in full plate armor march through the streets. Raell still following dozens of feet behind also drew the eyes of the common folk, failing miserably in his endeavor to blend in. The armor he wore under his cloak told those who watched that he had coin, and probably a lot of it. A screeching old woman approached the Elves, pleading with them to give her some coppers. Ademar gave her some coins and moved quickly away from her, hoping she hadn’t drawn any more attention than his clothes, armor and weapons already had. As Raell came into her view she started to screech again, only this time, Raell called her over showing her a flash of coin in his hand. As the old woman drew near, Raell reached out to give her the coin telling her that ‘Master Kromwell sends his regards.’ This seemed to frighten the woman who ran away, disappearing around a corner into an alleyway. After the commotion, the companions continued on, with Raell inexplicably keeping distance at the rear.

Shortly before finding the inn that Reynolds had described to them, Cor’Nal glanced up, seeing what looked to be a figure watching the three from the roof top of a distant building. Yet at the distance it was impossible for the druid to make out many details. Shaking his head at the surrounding human filth, the druid followed Ademar into a brightly lit, music-filled tavern replete with gaming tables. A sign over the door gave the name “The Barrel’s Bottom”. Ademar Nightwalker, intrigued by the smell of wine and the telltale click of dice, did not hesitate to make his way inside. Ademar and Cor’Nal moved to the bar to order drinks while Gareth waited outside for Raell. Raell seeing this moved to the other side of the street, trying to find a place to watch the inn from what he believed to be a safe distance. Gareth still not understanding his friend’s strange behavior called out to him. “Raell, what are you doing? Come over here!” In a panic, Raell ignored Gareth and continued walking down the street and into a blind alley where he was accosted by two thugs.

After feeling a sudden thump on the back of his head he turned with stars in his eyes turned to face his attacker. Dropping a hand to his sword, he looked at two men, one held a well-used sap, the other a small dagger. Using Est’Megill-Galahd once again, Raell caught the thug in a hold spell. The smaller of the two men, the one holding a dagger in his fist, ordered his partner to ‘hit him again.’ Raell looked at the man, extended his blade and told him to run, which he did. Raell then interrogated the one he had held magically, finding out that he was a member of a minor gang, and had no affiliation with the Stone Crows. Before the thug came free of the spell, Raell bound him with rope.

While inside the inn, Ademar tried his hand at a house game called Three Dragon Ante. After losing a few games, he moved on to his old favorite, Dancing Dice. Cor’Nal continued to watch this version of the shell game as it claimed a new victim, seeing the man palm the ruby that should have been under one of the three cups. Cor’Nal attempted to warn the man of the game’s fix, but was ignored. After the victim pointed to a cup Cor’Nal knew would have no ruby, he reached out and picked up the other two cups, showing the drunk that there was no ruby under any of them. Looking at the dealer Cor’Nal said, ‘I believe you owe this man some money.’ While the dealer did pay the poor drunk the coin he owed, he rushed off with his cups to leave the inn, but not before stopping to talk to a rather large man at the rear of the inn, who only nodded as he turned his gaze towards the druid.

As Ademar lost his first five silver to the Dancing Dice, Raell was further harassing the thug he had tied up in the alley. He asked the man if he knew where to find Rulan. The stuttering man protested that he didn’t know anything about Rulan and that he didn’t run with the Stone Crows. Raell smacked the man in the head, telling him that he wasn’t stupid, that even if he didn’t know where Rulan hid, he knew what areas to avoid, what questions to ask. Raell then pulled out a single platinum coin and stuffed it into the mouth of the man who tried to murder him. Raell told him, “You find out what I want to know, I will give you enough of these to fill your whole mouth.” The thug looked at the crazed half elf and said “Who are you, how will I find you?” As Raell stood over the thug, he told him “Kromwell and I will find you, where you just found me.”

With that, Raell left the man tied in the alley and went to rejoin Gareth in front of the inn.

Back at the Dancing Dice table, Ademar continued to lose coin. After a time he asked the man running the table if he knew anything about Rulan or the Stone Crows. The man said he would talk to him but ‘not here.’ The Dancing Dice man told Ademar to meet him out back, scooping up the dice and the coin he had taken from Ademar, the man stood and started to leave the room through a door at the rear. Ademar and Cor’Nal followed quickly behind. As Cor’Nal walked by, he was stopped by an enormous bouncer who put a massive hand to his chest. “I’m watching you.” He told the druid who shoved the brute’s hand away, muttering a retort as he followed behind Ademar.

Following the Dancing Dice man into an alley behind the building the elves noticed a pair of elderly men puffing on pipes, their eyes glassy and unfocused. The man who led them into the alley noticed their discomfort with the audience and explained that the two were hop-heads that wouldn’t remember anything they saw here come morning. The Dancing Dice man then proceeded to tell the elves that if they wanted to know about Rulan, they needed to talk to a man he knew as “Mackey”. Mackey was described as giant of a man who was an enforcer employed by the Crows and if anybody could lead them to Rulan, it was him. Ademar asked when Mackey normally came around and the Dancing Dice man told him he was there most days around highsun or later. Satisfied with that the elves thanked the human and left the inn. The four companions returned to The Chunky Wench where Gareth decided to sleep in the room Raell had paid for while Ademar got himself and Cor’Nal breakfast.

Ademar and Cor’Nal then decide to go in search of things to procure; legally. This leads them first to Cora’s General Store where they buy some masterwork arrows. There aren’t many to be had and Ademar finds the price exorbitant and so decides to talk down the beautiful, but seemingly dim proprietor. She doesn’t come down much, but acquiesces due to the lack of customers since the beginning of the war, especially since the initial siege. After leaving Cora, the two make their way to “INSERT NAME HERE” where the proprietor tells them that he just fletched a hundred masterwork arrows some weeks before, but never sold a single one. Initially, he tells them they can have the lot for 700 gold pieces, which of course Ademar scoffs at. Eventually, he is able to get the shopkeeper to accept a meager 550 sovereigns for the hundred arrows.

Raell also decides to do some light shopping and makes his way to Cora’s General Store. As his companions before him had found out; the store was run by an extremely beautiful woman blessed with the voice of a harpy. Raell decides to buy a simple pair of black breeches with a matching shirt. As he paid more for the set of clothes than she had asked, Cora unexpectedly propositions Raell with sex. Only hearing her voice in his head, Raell declines and leaves her store. Once in the street, he momentarily considers going back and accepting her offer before thinking better of it. Raell then sets out for the south side of the city where he could find the estate of Keller Kromwell. It wasn’t until he sees the pair of plate-armored guards standing outside of Keller’s gate that Raell realized that he didn’t know what he was doing there. A guard looked down at the half-elf and asked if he had an appointment.

“What? No.” Raell stammered, “Is he here?” The guard continued to look down at Raell and asked him what he wanted. “Tell him it’s his bastard.” The guard turned around, opened a large iron gate and spoke to someone inside. After a few moments the gate opened up again and Raell was told that they were not receiving visitors. Raell unable to think of anything else to say just told the guard “Tell my father that his other son is coming.” With this Raell turned and started the long walk back to the Chunky Wench. During the walk back, Raell was stopped by a man in white robes claiming to be a priest of Solarth who began to question Raell about his faith. Saying that he believed Raell to be a good man, he suggested to the half-elf that he should consider joining the Order of The Golden Dawn.
Raell politely declined, though he was taken back to the day before when Greden Grodek told the companions of his dreams. When the robed-man finished, Raell tried to tell him the story of his own death and the death of Ryan MacBrady, though the man took no interest in it. After bidding the priest farewell, Raell looked towards the Temple of Solarth off in the distance and briefly considered going there but instead returned to the inn to meet with his friends.

All four companions, now reunited, set out to return to “The Barrel’s Bottom” to seek out Mackey, hoping to broker a deal that would lead them to Rulan. Gareth, attempting both a lower profile, and a more accommodating outfit should the need for haste arise, opted for a lighter set of armor, specifically a set of unused elven chain. Regardless, the many poor of the slums swarmed him and the rest of the group. Gareth tossed coins in the street in order to distract the mob, which works splendidly as they scatter to fight for them. Once they arrive at “The Barrel’s Bottom”, Gareth and Raell wait outside while Cor’Nal and Ademar investigate within. Soon, the man who promised to point him out nods them in the direction of a massive man who could only be the “Mackey” they had been told of.
Ademar, feeling the weight of his past experiences went to stand next to the man. After a moment he asked the giant man if he indeed, was Mackey. Mackey turned and reached for Ademar’s throat, but the elf deftly deflected Mackey’s massive paw, barely avoided having his throat crushed. Somewhat surprised, Mackey looked at Ademar for the first time. “What do you want little man?” Ademar told Mackey who he was and told him he wanted to meet with Rulan. After a lengthy discussion Mackey agrees to their requests and if allowed to do so, will arrange a meeting with Rulan.

Ademar tells Mackey that he and the others can be found at The Chunky Wench if he has any news concerning their audience with the gangster.

The four companions then leave the The Barrel’s Bottom but are quickly drawn to the alley behind the tavern by the sound of a fight. The four of them stand and watch as two shirtless humans are engaged in what appears to be a loosely sanctioned boxing match between a tall, well-muscled, heavily tattooed fighter and a smaller, leaner fighter, sans body ink. Cor’Nal, caught up in the spirit of things, jests that it would be a waste that this fight should go on without someone placing a bet, which Ademar, of course, promptly does proclaiming that he has 20 silvers on the smaller, less tattooed of the pugilists. Some random commoner watching from a window above the group gladly accepts Ademar’s careless wager. The four stand transfixed on the two fighters until the smaller man succumbs, losing his consciousness as well as a few teeth. Once Ademar’s lost silvers were paid, the four make their way back to the Chunky Wench to await word from Mackey and the man Patricia had told them of in the early morning hours.

As the noon hour approached, Mackey's lackey entered the Chunky Wench, looking around the room. As the companions were the only elves in the place, Ademar was easy to pick out. He went directly to Ademar and told him that he had a message from Mackey. When Ademar leaned in to listen the agent of Mackey’s said, “Piss off.” When Ademar told the messenger what he could do with that message, the fool drew his blade to threaten the elf. Raell, seeing this reached out with the power of his sword and held the man. Raell then drug the thug out of the inn and laid him down in the road. After taking away all of the thugs weapons, Raell pointed one finger at the man’s face and told him, “Not in here.” Raell then turned around and went back to his spot at the bar.

The hours passed away in The Chunky Wench as the companions waited for their next possible lead to Rulan. As the dinner hour drew near a man matching the description the companions had been given by Patricia came in and took a seat at the bar.

Before the man was able to order, he was set upon by Ademar. Believing Ademar to be one of the thugs in Mackey’s crew, he began to blurt about how he had three days left to pay Mackey back what he owed him. Ademar, sensing an opportunity, attempted to use this against the ruffian. After some confusion, Ademar gives up the ruse and demands to know where the entrance to the Stone Crows hideout is. At first the thug is reluctant, stating that he already was in debt to Mackey, who was not known for kindness to debtors and he wasn’t interested in making things worse by leading Knights of Eystlund to the leader of the Stone Crows. Raell listening not far away asked the man how much he owed Mackey. When the man told Raell that he owed one thousand gold pieces, Raell offered to pay the debt in exchange for the whereabouts of the hideout. Ademar reluctantly agreed that he and his friends would give the man the gold if he led the companions to Rulan. Of course there was a catch: “I won’t show you anything ‘til after dark.” The man said before leaving. Agreeing to meet at The Chunky Wench after sundown, the companions used that time to get some much needed rest.

As promised, the man met with the companions after dusk, demanding half the total coin before leaving the inn. Grudgingly, Ademar paid the man, though this wasn’t part of the original agreement. After the man had the gold in hand, he led the companions to a crossroads in the slums. He looked at the companions and said, “I am not going to point, I will only nod towards the door once you give me the rest of my coin.” Once Ademar gave the man the rest of the promised coin, he gestured slightly towards an old, wood and stone building with a very solid wooden door. He then ran off, disappearing into the city slums leaving the companions behind.

Ademar knocked on the door once they approached the building. A peephole slid open in the door showing a pair of eyes on the other side. The voice inside the door asked “What do you want?” When it was said that they were there to meet Rulan, the voice asked, “How does a Stone Crow fly?” Cor’Nal answered “It doesn’t”. The voice then asked, “When does it?” As none of the companions were able to answer the question, the peep hole slid closed. Cor’Nal, approaching the limits of his patience decided to open the door under his own power. Reaching out with his gifts, Cor’Nal warped the wood of the door until it broke free of its hinges and fell away from its frame. The door fell outward towards them, landing with a thud. They then moved toward the opening, using the fallen door as a ramp and gained entrance to the stone structure. There they saw a porcine, male figure, seated in a chair on the other side of a small fire pit in the center of the room. The massive man stood, and introduced himself as Rulan, leader of The Stone Crows.

Ademar stepped forward, telling the man that he and his friends were here on behalf of the king. The man in the chair asked what it was that the king wanted. “Information.” Ademar stated, “The king believes he has a spy in his ranks. If Rulan can tell the king who that spy is, the king would be willing to forgive Rulan of one future indiscretion.” The man in the chair asked why he would do that, why would The Stone Crows betray Rogar the Beast, a fellow enemy of the king? The companions tried to make the point that life under the rule of Rogar, or whomever he works for would not be kind to Rulan or the Stone Crows. The fat man then turned his head slightly to the rear and asked someone out of sight, “What do you think?” The ominous response was clear:

“Kill them.”

With this, two curtains fell and the companions were attacked by a trio of guards and two flesh golems.

Ademar wasted no time responding and quickly drew an arrow from his quiver and made ready to shoot. It was at this moment, all eyes in the room were drawn to the elf. Waves of power and heat rolled off Est’Perolyne as the magic arrow Ademar nocked reacted in synergy to the magic of the bow. Ademar, unsure of what was about to happen, fired the shot towards the man in the chair. The arrow of fire sunk deep into the gangster’s forehead, blowing out the back of his head, spraying bits of skull and brain matter into the lavish seat behind, killing him instantly. Certain now that they had killed Rulan, despite orders to the contrary, they continued to fight with the remaining men in the room. No longer believing that discretion was necessary with Rulan dead they slaughtered all that came, including the flesh golem monstrosities.

Though they had won, the companions looked around at one another in disbelief at what Ademar’s arrow had done to their query. Defeated, Ademar spoke first, “I only wanted to stun him!”

Before anyone could respond the sound of sarcastic applause filled the air. Seeming to walk through the stone of the wall itself, a man, wearing expensive red and black silks and a smallish, circular headdress appeared. “Mackey said you might be tough, but he didn’t expect you would be this tough.” As he spoke, more men filed out of the wall, lining the outer walls of the room to surround the companions. The clapping man moved around the throne that the enormous dead man’s body had comically fallen upon, callously shoved the carcass to the floor and sat upon the chair himself. It seemed a natural fit. It was then that the realization came over them all.

The dead, fat man wasn’t Rulan at all.

“Hello.” The man spoke. “Welcome. My name is Rulan.”

Before anybody else could say a word one of the companions spoke.

“We’re not paying for the door.” Raell said plainly.

End Recap.

Friends and Acqaintances

2011-07-05T02:36:00.001-04:00

Cor’Nal shifted uneasily while he lay in this dark chamber which, by the stink of it, likely doubled as a goat stable during daylight hours. His companions slept quietly, save for Raell who snored noisily, curled up in a cramped corner as far away from the others as possible (though not near enough in Cor’Nal’s opinion); as though he were conscious of the strange growling noises, and occasional sucking sounds he made when drawing air during sleep. Cor’Nal didn’t mind the smell (not nearly as much as he did Raell’s oral emanations anyway), because it was, after all, only natural for animals to smell as they did, but his recent accommodations on the road had spoiled him, made him more aware of the uncivilized, wilder world around him than he had been while hiding away in the warm beds of Henutsen and Goodale. Despite being away from the true wilderness, lying here under the cover of his own blanket (a blanket he admittedly did not need due to his own magical vestments) in this dirty cell made him feel a bit more connected to his calling, to his home, than he had expected. These things, coupled with the closeness of this tiny space annoyed him. But the truth of his irritation lay in his inability to relax long enough to meditate for the evening, an elf’s version of sleep.

This problem, the druid had reluctantly admitted to himself, was born of the visions, or perhaps more accurately: hallucinations, of the beautiful elf-woman who had tortured him each time without fail, with the same question. The inanity of which had grated on his mind with the passing of each fevered-dream.

“What are you searching for, druid?” She asked him each time.

“Foolishness.” Cor’Nal spoke the word aloud without realizing it. What are any of us searching for? He thought as he glanced around the small space within the grey, nondescript stone walls of Grodek Keep.

Well, aside from a cursed sword, a 10,000 gold piece bounty and enough riches to retire back to North Hembers on. He looked at Gareth; the subject of his most recent thought, as a candle in the corner flickered, casting a disjointed ballet of shadows to dance across his blanketed length. The candle, no doubt pilfered by Ademar from the mage they had just sought counsel from, was a requirement of the former human’s, since they had no fire to light the evening darkness with. Despite the assurance of the keep’s safety, as well as the fact that Gareth and all three of his companions could see as well in the dark as they could in the day, Gareth’s concerns about a possible evening ambush could not be assuaged. Cor’Nal had always sensed, but was now assured that Gareth had an irrational fear of the dark. He thought it comical, though no doubt admitted that due to his dark-sightedness, he could not ever understand the fear himself. Thinking about it for the first time he tried to imagine how he would feel if that ability were to be suddenly ripped away from him, this gift he had grown to take for granted. Would his attitude toward the night be so cavalier, as it is now? Or would he react in a cowardly manner as the former human seemed to? He would have to ask Raell in the morning, having been subjected to the experience himself, if the thought occurred to him to do so.

Raell; Cor’Nal shook his head when he thought of the half-man. His twisted sense of morality, and strange way of achieving his goals toward that end, were often annoying to him; even more so than his abominable snoring. As humorless as the druid was he found it difficult to resist laughter, thinking about Raell’s frantic proclamations while burning down the dead human woman’s house in Henutsen. A cursed woman in a cursed town, no doubt, but Raell’s foolish superstitions nearly had the entire group tossed into the Baron’s dungeons. “It’s evil, it must be purged.” He had repeated over and over while setting the banshee-woman’s window dressings alight. He had thought the half-elf had gone mad as they fled toward the safety of their tavern rooms as the light of the fully aflame estate cast dancing shadows across the town as Ademar’s stolen candle was doing in this room right now.

An odd lot, true enough, Cor’Nal thought as his too-awake eyes now moved to Ademar. If given the chance to choose his friends, he surely wouldn’t have chosen Gareth or Raell, to be sure. Would he have even chosen Ademar? Not likely, he thought reluctantly and with some shame. A druid and a thief do not usually make the best of friends potentially, and there were times when Ademar’s propensities toward certain vices strained their relationship even now, but Cor’Nal felt that if the circumstance warranted, he would lay his life down for the physically and emotionally scarred rogue. He expected the elf would do the same for him as well, though he would never admit it. Ademar has chosen to keep distance; careful not to get too close to anyone for fear that another may turn against him. But over the last two years, his guard had come down, his emotional walls crumbled for the druid, and while their mutual trust was at first due solely because they had both been elves, their bond had now transcended that early convenient partnership to an unspoken level of companionship.

To Cor’Nal, he had become more than a friend, he had become kin.

He expected that his differences from the other two, as well as their unlikely survivability, would never allow him to have a similar relationship, but Cor’Nal accepted that happily. Most people were likely to wander this life never having known even one such friend as close and trusted as he had in Ademar, and he thanked Kutenai for his blessing.

No, he again thought with some reluctance, Raell and Gareth would remain acquaintances; to be respected, but observed closely, to be certain. Their unpredictability thus far dictated as much on it's own.

Eventually, his thoughts returned to the forest-elf-maid of his miniature dreams, or hallucinations, whichever they were. He supposed he would have to deal with her in depth at some point. Was she a message, or messenger, from Kutenai, from Lantana? If so, why? What is it they expect me to glean from this cryptic imagery? He thought. She was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful elf he had ever seen, further proof of a likely message from the divine. He wondered if her beauty was of some significance, perhaps a temptation of some kind. A test of the flesh? No. It could not be. Cor’Nal had yet to take a woman to his bed, the forest having always been his mistress, and would likely be so until Lantana had sent him a woman worthy enough to procreate with. He had never even been tempted by a woman, and as beautiful as the one in his dreams had been, even she had not yet lit the fire of desire in his loins.

Cor’Nal decided that it was of no use to dwell on it. He assumed that whatever or whomever was sending the hallucinations would send more, and hopefully the answers, or the signs toward these answers, would be included within.

It was that last thought he took with him to his evening meditation. It drifted off and diminished as a morning fog will do at midday. His mind clear, he began to slip into trance, chanting barely audibly, his consciousness giving way to the spirit of the earth as he became one with All, his power having been used, exhausted, throughout the days travails, now slowly returned to him. Cor’Nal would once again become the force he had been before the light fell away from Atalanxia’s sky, giving way to Myrrdin’s Eye and the stars that fortified it. When the others awoke; he would once more be nature’s hammer.

Blighters of this land beware.

The Light from the Stair

2011-07-05T02:05:00.003-04:00

Zender stood just outside the temple doors. The guardsmen were long gone with Bishop Drent in their care. Looking over head to see where the sun was in the sky, Zender said a small curse under his breath, he knew he was late. Not that it mattered, everyone needed the rest. As he rushed down the stairs, Zender heard a ringing reminder of his new armor. Zender tried to ignore the continuous sound of his armor clinking and clacking as he marched back through the streets, to the inn where his friends were waiting. He knew the straps needed to be adjusted to make it fit better and while he knew about arms and armor, plate mail was something he had never imagined he would own. Zender did not feel as if he belonged in this steel skin. He just kept telling himself that at some point he had to get used to it or at least he hoped so.

As Zender approached the inn where his companions were waiting, sober he hoped, Zender saw a sight that he would come to fear in later days. Lomark was outside in the street, pacing back and forth in front of the inn. Head down as if he was only watching the tips of his shoes, Lomark took slow and measured steps. Ten steps he would take then turning on the balls of his feet, he would pivot around and start the next ten. While there not many things in the world that stumped the quick witted mage, it was clear there was something wrong. Zender quickened his pace a bit when the mage stopped to stare at the priest in white.

“What took you so long?” Lomark said as Zender drew near.

“There were unexpected problems at the temple, things will be fine.” Not that Zender believed that yet. “What is going on, why are you out here pacing around?” Zender asked while looking around, wondering if his other companions were also out or nearby. When he felt the hand on his chest, his attention was drawn back to Lomark quickly.

“Do not worry about those fools, they are still sleeping. I have a problem and I may need your assistance.” The wizard said softly while looking the cleric in the eye. “There is an old tower not far from here; the city has built a wall around it.”

“Herelden's Tower, it is off limits by order of the King. Everyone knows that. More importantly you know that, it has been that way for years.” As he spoke, the cleric’s voice started to grow louder.

“Keep it down.” Lomark said quickly and sharply. “I passed by there on my way to see my master. I needed supplies before we return to that pit. I saw a vagrant child playing in the yard between the wall and the tower; I looked around and saw where some boards were pulled away. I could not stop myself from going in, I saw the child. The boy thought he was in trouble when I asked him what he was doing. He dashed head long into the tower. I wanted to follow him but it wouldn’t let me.”

“What wouldn’t let you?” Zender asked.

“There is something in that tower. It would not allow me to get close. I fear for that child Zender, you need to do something.”

“I need to do something? Why not call the guard, tell them what happened? How much time have you wasted standing here?”

“Only those of pure intent can enter the tower or so I have been told. It is part of the old legend, if it is true it may take a long time to find a guard who is able to enter the tower.”

“Go!” was all Zender had to say. He was furious with the mage. As they hurried through the streets, he took a sideways glance at the wizard. Lomarks eyes were focused and hard, he actually had a look of concern on his face. Zender wondered if under the cold exterior if the wizard actually had a heart. This was only the second time since he had known the wizard that Lomark had shown concern for anyone other than himself. Thinking more about it as they walked Zender recalled the look on the wizards face when he saw how the children were being kept in the cultist lair. Zender started to wonder if the cynical wizard had a soft spot for children. ‘No’ he thought, that can’t be right. There was something else at work there. As they drew closer to the tower Zender put it out of his mind.

“Come back here priest.” Lomark said as they approached the wooden wall that surrounded Herelden's Tower. It is unknown how long the tower had been in Eystlundtowne. Longer than Zender had been alive, of that he was sure. “Here, he went in here. Bend down you can squeeze through.” Removing his bag and shield from his back, Zender set them on the ground, looking at the opening. Turning aside thoughts of his own troubles, he studied the wood with his father’s eyes. As he looked on any thoughts of good in Lomark started to fade away.

“The breaks in the wood are fresh; you can see where someone pried the boards apart recently.” As he pointed to impressions left behind in the wood Zender said. “They used something round, like your staff. Would you like to tell me what really happened?”

“You are wasting time priest, that boy could be in trouble.” As Lomark spoke his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

“Tell me.” Zender said as he moved closer to the wizard. His hand falling to the war hammer he carried at his side.

“Perhaps I was not completely truthful, yet the fact still remains that the boy went in there and he has not come out.”

“What did you do Lomark?” Zender took another step closer to the mage. “Tell me now or I do nothing.”

“Who is telling lies now? You have to make up your mind, throttle me or search for the boy, which is it priest?”

“Lomark, just tell me.” Zender pleaded in a softer tone.

“Herelden was one of the most powerful mages to ever walk these lands. Where he went, no one knows. Perhaps I tried to get in there and found I was unable. Remembering what my master taught me about the tower, I tried to find another way. Perhaps I even paid a small homeless boy a large sum of gold to go explore the place for me. To bring me any books he might find inside.”

“And he has not come out yet? Afraid he ran off with your gold with nothing to show for it?”

“No priest, I am afraid something happened to him and it is my fault. It is an old tower, anything could have happened in there.”

“This is not over.” Zender told him as he turned away. Shaking his head he lowered himself down to squeeze into the narrow gap in the wooden wall. Once he was inside the ten foot high wall, all he could see was the tower and the door hanging open. Taking a moment to reach up to his chest, Zender said a quick prayer to Solarth, asking for guidance and protection. Before taking a step he turned back towards the opening. “Lomark?” he said.

“What?”

“I don’t care what you have to do, if I am not out of there in ten minutes, you find a way to get me out. Understood?”

“Yes, quite.” Lomark said softly, drawing out the words as long as he dared. Zender could only shake his head and started towards the waiting tower door.

“Blasted mage is going to get me killed.” Zender said under his breath. Standing in front of the open tower doorway, Zender looked inside. He wasn’t sure what he would find as he crossed the open space between the wall and the tower. Yet what he saw now, was the last thing he expected. While the bottom floor of the tower was dark, the light of day showed him all he needed to see. The walls and floors of the tower were pristine, not even as much as a speck of dust marred the floor. Looking down he could see where dust and dirt had built up over the years but none of it pushed past the archway into the tower itself. Zender was tempted for a small moment to kick a pile of dirt into the room but thought better of it. Moving closer to the door way, he kept waiting for something to happen, to feel something resist him, yet nothing did. As he stepped inside the tower, nothing happened at all. Reaching for his medallion once again, Zender lifted it over his head holding it ahead of him.

“Blessed Solarth, please illuminate my way so your servant may see all your blessings.” As soft white glow spread out from his hand and soon he could see the entire room on the bottom floor of the tower. While Zender understood there were many things about magic he didn’t know. He was dumbfounded at the size of the room. It had to be twice the size of the tower from the outside. Shining the light around the room, Zender couldn’t see any way out of the room short of going up the stairs. As he started towards the stairs he called out. “Boy, are you up there?” Pausing just before the first step to listen, he couldn’t hear a thing other than the wind blowing outside. Until he put his first foot on the bottom stair. Calling out to the boy again, he thought he heard a door latching closed. Keeping his back against the wall, Zender started to climb the stairs two at a time.

“Boy, can you hear me?” Zender called out again, racing up the stairs. It wasn’t until Zender noticed that the light he was seeing wasn’t coming from his hand anymore but ahead of him that he slowed down. “Boy, are you up there?”

“Yes.” A small voice said, the word echoed down the stair well.

“Are you ok boy, can you come down?” Zender asked.

“Yea, I am ok.” The voice said again, echoing down from above.

“Can you come down?” Zender asked as he started to move up the stairs again. Soon the light completely filled the stairwell. Dropping his medallion of Solarth into one of his robe pockets, he reached his hand out and placed it on the wall to steady himself. Looking down the stairs he saw nothing but darkness, ahead of him was nothing but light. For a small moment he imagined being trapped between a world of pure light and another that was just an abyss of darkness and despair. Zender shook his head and started to move upwards again. While the stairwell was well lit now, he still couldn’t see where the light was coming from. “Can you come down boy?” Zender asked again.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well then I will come get you then.” Zender called out to him.

“No, I don’t think so.” Zender paused at this, his foot stopping in mid air, just above a step.

“What do you mean boy?” Zender asked.

“I don’t think you can come get me” The boy said. Zender stopped again, the light ahead of him was growing brighter, yet he still couldn’t see where it was coming from.

“What is your name boy?” Zender asked while resting his back on the wall behind him. He felt as if he had been climbing the stairs for an hour. He wasn’t surprised that Lomark didn’t come to help him.

“Oh, I don’t know. Everyone just calls me boy, never really had a name before.”

“My name is Zender, will you please come down now.”

“No, I don’t think so. It is warm here. I like it warm. It gets really cold on the streets at night.”

“Boy, are you alone up there?” Zender asked him. “Is someone keeping you there?”

“No, no one is keeping me here.” Zender shook his head. The voice was closer, he started to move again.

“I’m coming to you boy. Just keep talking.” As Zender moved he looked straight up, soon he could see the light. It almost looked solid, ethereal strands drifted down the stair well, feeling about as if moved by a living thinking creature. “Boy” Zender called out again.

“Yes Zender” the voice was closer, louder. Gone was the echo from above. Zender froze in his tracks, then moving back two steps. Something about the boy’s voice filled him with dread. Not for himself but for the boy.

“I think we need to leave now boy. Come to me, I know you are close.” Zender could feel the light now, even as he started to back away. He could feel its warmth, inviting him to come closer. Zender knew that he didn’t want to get any closer than he already was.

“No, that is ok. I am gonna stay here.”

“Please boy, come down with me. I will take you to the temple of Solarth; make sure you are warm at night, lots of food there too.” Zender could feel the light inviting him to come closer. He wanted to go forward, yet something inside of him knew it wasn’t time. That if he went there, there was no coming back.

“No, that is ok. It is nice here.”

“Ok boy, I will come back again. To see if you have changed your mind.” Zender was now steadily moving down the stairs. Even if he wanted to, his feet would not stop.

“Ok, bye!” the boy’s voice echoed down from above again. By the time the echo stopped sounding off the walls of the tower, Zender was running down the steps three at a time. When he could no longer remember why he was running, he was standing outside of the tower again, looking into that large empty room once more. Looking back at the stairs, there was no trace of the light from above that he knew was just there. Knowing that he would be spending many hours in prayer about what he had just seen, Zender just shook his head and closed the tower door. As Zender squeezed back out to the other side of the wall, he saw Lomark standing off to the side staring at an object in the palm of his hand.

“What were you waiting for? I thought you were going to help me?” Zender asked him. The irritation in his voice was clear as the sky above.

“You were only gone five minutes” Lomark said to him holding up a small hour glass. “Where is the boy?”

“Are you sure it was only five minutes?” Zender asked as he knew he was in that tower for a lot longer than that.

“Yes, I am quite sure” Lomark said softly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the cleric. “What did you see in there? Where is the boy?”

“Honestly I do not know.” Zender let out a sigh as he put his bag and shield over his back again. “Let’s go, the others will be wondering where we are.” Zender said as he turned from the wizard and the opening in the wall to Herelden's Tower. Reaching into his robe pocket for his medallion of Solarth he felt a bit of comfort as he pulled it out. He smiled to himself as he once again put the lanyard back over his head, kissing it once before dropping it inside of his robe.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Lomark asked when he caught up with the fast walking priest.

Zender smiled at the wizard and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps” Zender said, ignoring the look of scorn from the wizard. He could only smile at Lomark now, while he still didn’t understand what it was that he had experienced, he knew there was no evil there. No ill intent behind that childish voice or the bright light. Sparing one last look back at Herelden's Tower, Zender knew that he would keep his word and return to speak to the boy again.

An Elf, His Bow, and an Ogre Mage

2011-06-14T11:35:00.002-04:00

This session begins with the companions on the hard-pack dirt floor of a converted stable within the crowded walls of Grodek Keep. Ademar, bothered over having to surrender his weapons at the gates of the keep begins his day as he ended the previous night, with an open bottle of wine. Raell, unable to do anything other than shake his head at the elf, invited Gareth to go go on a quest; in search of breakfast. While the prospects looked grim, the pair wanted hot food instead of another morning of trail rations. After finding their way to the ‘chow’ line that the soldiers were waiting in Gareth and Raell were soon approached by Lt. Bancroft. Apparently the highest ranking officer in King Darius' Royal Army to grace Grodek Keep.

After introducing himself to the pair, Lt. Bancroft inquired about the group and what they had planned. Raell knowing when he is being baited, asked the lieutenant what it was that he needed? Bancroft told Raell and Gareth about a group of scouts that had been ambushed a few miles west of the keep and asked if we would be willing to scout the area that the lone survivor came back from. Raell told Bancroft that he would need to consult with the rest of the group before he could commit. Raell and Gareth hurried back to the stable where they had spent the night before to talk with the others. Finding Ademar deep into his earlier bottle of wine, Raell only spoke with Cor’Nal. Cor’Nal agreed to the task and with a map from Lt. Bancroft in hand, he changed into a bird and flew to scout the area himself. What he found there, he did not expect.

After the druid took to flying away, Raell and Gareth returned to the task of finding food.

Meanwhile, Cor’Nal had little trouble finding the area that the lone scout had spoken of. While he was able to find the body of a single soldier, it was the devastation of this acreage of forest that insulted the druid most. A widespread grove of ironwood, hickory and oak trees had been hastily ripped down and clearcut. Leaving only the shattered, misshapen stumps behind where the once-tall and proud timber had majestically prevailed. Looking at the broken and destroyed remnants deeply affected the druid, who required a moment of quiet serenity to temper his rage. With a clear head, he looked down at the scene of slaughter and began to follow the deep trenches that were made in the earth when the majestic trees were hauled away. While Cor’Nal was able to follow the trail from the air for some time, eventually he was forced to take the shape of a wolf and follow the rest of the way on the ground. Cor’Nal tracked the tree killers over several miles before being discovered by a stealthy Orc patrol in the forest. Believing they had found a forest bounty of which they would roast and eat this evening, the orcs moved to fire their crossbows into the wolf's flanks. Cor'Nal, feeling much more substantial than Orc-fodder, chose discretion over slaughter and hid in a nearby shrubbery. Unfortunately the shrubbery did not hide the druid-wolf well as he was seen by his hunters, and they fired upon their prey, striking him twice in the flank. Before the orcs were able to loose a second volley, Cor'Nal transformed into a squirrel and scaled the nearest tree, watching his assailants from above. Eventually, the orcs that hunted him gave up their quarry in puzzlement, moving onward to continue their scheduled patrol. Cor'nal, once he felt it was safe, came down and found another tree, this one closer to the battlement camp in order to get an accurate assessment of what he and his companions were up against.

Looking down at the camp, Cor’Nal saw the fate of the trees that had been slaughtered. They were being used to build machines of war. The druid studied the camp long enough to get a count of the number of enemies milling about, as well as what types. All the while plotting how these Orcs and Ogres would pay for the crimes they committed against nature. Once he was sure that he had all the information he would need for a later assault on the camp, Cor’Nal prepared to take flight. It was then that he noticed a strange looking fog that had settled near the camp. Even with the mid day sun hanging overhead, this strange looking mist, akin to a heavy fog, persisted in lording over the forest like some ill omen. Unable to spend the time to investigate this fog, Cor’Nal took flight with one thing on his mind. Justice for the fallen trees that he felt beholden to avenge.

Once the druid returned to Grodek Keep, Cor’Nal found his companions and reported his findings to Lt. Bancroft. After drawing out a rough sketch of the camp the companions, minus Ademar, drafted out a plan of attack to hit the camp the following morning. Ademar was still in the stable enjoying his wine, concerned over the presumed temporary loss of his weapon and perported Elven relic, Est’Perolyne. Cor’Nal, knowing his friend's concern over the weapon's cultural, personal and literal value in coin sought out Captain Herschel. Hoping that if the good Captain returned Est’Perolyne to Ademar, he might allay the rogue's rightful concern. After all, a weapon of that value, in the wrong hands, could potentially be used to fund the services of an entire army alone. While the companions tried to explain to Captain Herschel that Ademar would not harm, or attempt to harm, a soul and there was no risk in returning the weapon to him, Captain Herschel made it very clear he didn’t care what the elf's, or the entire party's concerns were, he would not have the bow in his possession until the party left Grodek Keep. It was then that the companions decided that leaving the safety and warmth of the camp was a better proposition than remaining within weaponless. Collecting all their weapons at the gate, the group started marching towards the enemy camp, choosing to sleep in the woods overnight.

The group spent a quiet night in the woods several miles from the enemy camp. Two hours before the first light of day appeared, the companions set out. Gareth, Cor’Nal and Besali headed towards the east side of the enemy camp, while Ademar and Raell headed towards the west. Once the first light of day appeared over the tree line Cor’Nal began his assault, shouting at the Orcs that they would pay for the crimes they committed against nature. It was then that Cor’Nal hit the camp with an entangle spell, snaring most of the creatures in the camp where they stood. At the same time, on the west side of the camp Raell and Ademar began to move tent to tent, to hit the enemy from behind. The battle was fought at the edges of camp and the writhing mass of plant life that Cor’Nal had animated. The Orcs and Ogres that were able to escape from the druids spell, quickly turned to attack the group in vain. The majority of the creatures did not stand a chance against the wrath of Cor’Nal and his companions. As the group continued to slaughter the Orcs and Ogres, Cor’Nal couldn’t help but notice the fog from the day before, still hanging in the air, just north of the enemy camp.

With only a handful of creatures left alive, Cor’Nal watched the mist start to move towards the camp. As the Mist started came over the camp, heading ever southaward, it shrank in size until it became a solid mass only a couple dozen feet in front of the druid. It was then in horror that Cor’Nal watched an Ogre Mage appear, levitating fifteen feet in the air over the center of the camp. Quickly casting defensive spells on himself, Cor’Nal waited for the magical assault that was to come. While the group was certain of victory only moments before, Raell looked on in stunned surprise as a cone of cold spell emanated from the Ogre Mage's fanned, outstretched hands. While he had remained, luckily, outside of the spells deadly touch, (apparently unnoticed by the monster) he could feel the frosty cold only inches from his face. Cor’Nal and Besali were not so fortunate, taking close to the full brunt of the frosty blast. Cor’Nal fearing for the life of his wolf companion sent the animal away and began to strike back at the floating Ogre Mage, calling down a flame strike on the creature. Raell, believing that he could not help the druid with this fight, went to assist Gareth in finishing off the last of the Orcs who had moved into position, guarding what looked to be the camp leaders tent.

Ademar seeing his friend in mortal danger from the spells of the Ogre mage unleashed a full barrage of flaming arrows at the creature, each one causing the beast great harm. Between that and the druid's spells, they were able to defeat the Ogre Mage. While the druid looked to begin healing himself and his friends, Ademar fell upon the body of the Ogre Mage, frantically searching for any riches he may find. As Raell and Gareth cut down the last Orc, just off to the North. After which they began to search the tents for any creatures that may have been hiding. They found none. It was during this time that the Ogre Mage once again stood up. Ademar, being caught off balance with a hand still in the Ogres pouches, took a crushing backfist blow to the face which sent the already scarred elfreeling back into a tent to the west, ironically the very tent he had fired the supposedly killing arrow from. Ademar landed in a heap. Cor’Nal seeing his friend hurt as well as the beast standing again renewed his magical attack. Yet it was once again Ademar, Est’Perolyne in hand, who ended the fight after recovering from the wicked crack to the jaw. Sinking an arrow into the head of the Ogre Mage, the elf killed him for a second, and final time.

As the companions searched the camp, Ademar found a locked chest in what appeared to be the commander’s tent. Unfortunately he did not find the trap on the chest until settting it off. A foul yellow cloud filled the tent. Undeterred, Ademar waved off the yellow mist and went to work on the chest, popping open the lock in short work. Checking behind him once to see if he was alone, Ademar quickly pocketed a small bag of gems. Hazard pay, he would tell himself. He also found a set of Elven Chain armor, five odd arrows that were wrapped up in cloth and a message scroll whose seal has already been broken. Deciding that was something better left to Cor’Nal, Ademar left the tent. Never even noticing the look of horror on the faces of his companions. Something in that foul yellow smoke had changed his physical appearance, especially facially, and not for the better. As Raell and Cor’Nal read over the scroll, Ademar wandered off to inspect the small bag of gems he had just claimed as his own.

Raell was distraught while reading the scroll. It was an unsigned letter to the commander of this camp, someone by the name of 'Kildigg', presumably the now-dead Ogre Mage. Detailing what actions they should take and telling of an impending massive attack on the Eystlund Army's Eastern front. The letter read as follows, in common:

Kildigg,

Rip the ironwood and hickory trees down and have the orcs do the work of manufacturing the trebuchets and catapults. Once built, you will move them frequently, for the reasons we discussed previously. Never remain in the same place for consecutive days!

The shapeshifter will prove invaluable to me later, so see to it that he lives, as I will hold you personally responsible if he does not.

I expect that a secondary front will be moved north by the end of the month to accommodate the Arcadian forces that I assume will be here sooner rather than later. The Kromwell whelp has been chomping at the bit to get here in order to rescue his homeland, and I think he will make an attempt whether his king grants him leave or not. All the better as he and I have a score to settle anyway. Another dead hero suits me and will do well for our troop morale, but I digress.

An assault on what is left of Darius’ external forces to the east will commence on the First of Divinder, it is there that we will take and hold the eastern road to the capital and cut off eastern supply lines. With the northern roads held by the Turbans at The Forks, and the eastern roads cut off from supply, the true siege can begin. Eystlund will receive no relief from the west, as her cities there will soon be cut off at The Great Forest Road. If your assistance on the eastern front is needed, you will be summoned.

Darius still hides like the coward he is, but my spies grow ever closer. The Beast’s Hand is at his neck and it has begun to squeeze.

Soon he will be ours.

Raell tried to push everything about the letter that seemed to include his half-brother to the back of his mind as he realized that the proposed attack date in the letter was for the following day; The First of Divinder. Raell told Cor’Nal that he must leave everyone behind and carry the letter to Captain Herschel as fast as he could and warn them of the impending attack. With all the speed he could muster Cor’Nal flew back to Grodek Keep to deliver the letter to Captain Herschel. As expected Captain Herschel was grateful for the warning and told Cor’Nal to see him once he and the rest of his companions were able to return to the keep. By the time Cor’Nal had returned, Ademar had stuffed the large commander’s tent into his bag of holding, not even aware that his physical condition had continued to grow worse. Apparently ugly, it seems, is not painful.

When the group returned to Grodek Keep, they were not asked to check their weapons as before. Captain Herschel instead gathered the companions and asked them if they could assist the troops on the Eastern front. Determined to do anything they could to win the trust of the Captain, and in turn, aid Eystlund and her King, the group agreed that they would travel as quickly as possible to the East to warn the front and assist in holding the line.

End of recap...

Grodek Keep

2011-05-12T09:31:00.002-04:00

The four companions huddled together before the mage in his cramped quarters. The room had probably been a broom closet before but with so many people crowded into Grodek Keep, every space was now in use. Candles blazed everywhere, illuminating the room and instilling within it a hot, oppressive, air. The wizard's dark curls were matted against his perspiring forehead but he paid no attention, focusing only on the items before him. Chanting softly the man worked his magic intently, weaving his spell with precision; he probed the items one at a time in an attempt to unlock their unknown enchantments. First the smooth, bleached-white, wooden wand then, the gold amulet emblazoned with a stylized tree who's branches and roots were shown bare and twisted in a circle around the trunk; finally, the man turned to the thick book of parchment bound in red leather.

In mere minutes, which felt like hours in the stuffy chamber, the wizard's work was complete. He turned his eyes up to meet those of his four anxious guests.

"These items would be very useful to Captain Herschel and his men." The mage spoke in an even tone betraying no emotion. After a short pause he continued. "The wand holds healing powers and, although I can not tell how many times it could be used, it would be of great use on the battle field." The mage picked up the amulet allowing it to dangle from his hand on a delicate looking gold chain. "This talisman, was crafted by the followers of Lantana. They do not believe in wearing any type of armor and so they use these amulets imbued with blessed magic from the Treemother to aid in protecting their faithful. This," He lowered the amulet to the table and placed his hand over the worn leather cover of the book. "is a spell book. I'm sure you have seen them before. I would be willing to waive the fee for identifying these items in exchange for this book." He raised his eyes to the group. His face was expressionless but, his eyes held an eager spark within their dark depths.

Ademar was quick to speak. "Tell us what magic is within these pages and we will consider your offer."

"I am afraid that I can not tell you that." The mage replied. "You see, magic is written in a special script to prevent those who are not magi from harming themselves or others. If you were a practitioner of the art, I would not have to tell you what is in this book."

The elf frowned. He did not trust this mage, he did not really trust anybody in this whole compound, especially Captain Herschel who had confiscated their weapons before bringing them to Greden Grodek's massive compound.

"I think we will just keep the book." Ademar replied. "What do we owe?"

The wizard looked somewhat disappointed but, his eyes showed hope as he responded. "Two hundred gold." He watched as the elf winced at hearing the price before reaching for his coin purse. "Of course, if you would rather keep your gold and perhaps turn a proffit-" Ademar's hand stopped just short of his belt. "I would be willing to pay you fifty gold in exchange for the spell book and we will consider the debt paid."

The pale elf glanced at his companions yet, found no answers in their expressions. "We will keep the book." He stated again as he counted out exactly two hundred pieces of gold stacked neatly ten high and two rows wide on the wizards table. "Our thanks for your services good sir." The rogue said as he deftly collected the three items and turned from the room. Quickly his three companions followed, all of them happy to be out of the stuffy chamber.

On their way back to the overcrowded barracks the small knot of companions discussed how their newly identified items might best suite their own needs. It was readily agreed upon that the ranger Raell would carry the Lantanan amulet. The other two items were not so easily placed though. Cor'Nal had historically been the protector and healer of the party and it seemed logical that he should carry the wand. On the other hand, Ademar argued that perhaps they would be better served if someone else, perhaps himself, keep the wand in the event that the druid were separated from the companions or incapacitated in some way. When their discussion of the matter ended the only thing they could agree upon was that they would do something with the wand the following day.

As they were nearing the barracks, the fourth member of the party spoke up quite unexpectedly. "Ademar," the voice of Gareth was even and serious. "what do you plan to gain by keeping that spell book?"

The rogue was road weary and mentally frayed from weeks on the trail fighting unknown enemies. All he wanted to do was lay his body on a cot and rest in the relative comfort afforded by their host. He did not want to have this conversation now nor here but, he remembered that Gareth was not yet used to the long life of an elf and he did not yet realize that there would always be another day for such discussions. Rubbing his open palms over his face, Ademar turned with a small sigh.

"I don't know exactly." He turned his emerald gaze upon their stalwart companion trying to show him that his words held no secrets. "I don't trust these men who we do not know and the wizard seemed too eager to have it."

"Perhaps the man is just eager to bolster his ability in order to help defend his homeland." Gareth offered in counterpoint. "Besides, you trusted them enough to take our weapons." He had intended it to be stated as a mere fact but when he heard it in his own ears it sounded like an accusation. The warrior noted a grief-stricken grimace cross the rogue's face. It passed quickly but he already regretted bringing up the confiscation of Est'Perolyne.

Choosing to let the slight pass without comment, Ademar paused a moment and picked his next words carefully. "Call it a feeling, and instinct. I just do not feel comfortable giving away something such as this to a stranger. I can not do it in good conscience." Behind them Raell snorted in quiet derision. Again he chose to let the barb pass without comment. "Let us hold it in safe keeping for the time-being. If a need for it arises we can address it then."

Gareth nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation. Ademar smiled and spoke as another idea entered his mind. "Come my friends, I think there is still a bottle of wine in my pack. We can share it and perhaps find someone inside who has some dancing dice!" Raell groaned and Ademar smiled all the wider.

Dead Again

2011-03-28T16:21:00.002-04:00

This recap begins shortly after the companions have finished taking the north end of the mountain pass south of Forna Nogue and Colonel Garret's camp. The companions, after a short respite, decide it is best to make way without resting for the evening, believing that they still hold the element of surprise. Assuming that none of those fortifying the north end of the hilly pass were fortunate enough to escape.

That night, they leave the remainder of Garret's force behind. Nine survived the initial attack, including Garret, but the Colonel surprisingly asks to join the companions, believing that he will be more help in the short term, at the vanguard. The companions accept his offer, and they leave immediately. Cor'Nal shapeshifts into a squirrel and hides away in one of Ademar's loot bags in order to (circumvent the rules) rest and regain the use of his spells without slowing the entire group. While staying a few minutes behind themselves along with Garrett, they send Raell and Gareth ahead to scout.

Shortly before nightfall, Gareth and Raell are stopped in their tracks by the sound of slow-trotting horse-hooves. They scramble to find a hiding place amongst the rocks of the high-ground. Gareth assumes this is in order to ambush the scouts. He is wrong.

Once the scouts come into view, approximately 70 feet or so away, Raell opens fire with his longbow, much to Gareth's surprise. After a short battle, Raell successfully kills one rider, but the other wisely turns and flees. Easily outpacing the two heroes on foot, who disregard a chase entirely.

Gareth, a man who admires and respects Raell greatly for his bravery and moral fortitude, resists his instinctive urge to berate the half-elf for his seeming tactical incompetence, and instead opts for stern looks and biting sarcasm. In response Raell has little to say, but seems annoyed by the attention regardless. Raell has no idea at this time how serious his mistake was.

Raell and Gareth make the decision to wait in there current position to wait for the others and report their mistake. When they arrive, Raell decides to leave out the details of how the second scout escaped, though Gareth makes a half-hearted attempt to do it for him, hoping Raell with accept responsibility. Raell refuses to take the baton. While annoyed and suspicious, Garrett says little knowing that he is among strangers. He also knows that these companions are powerful, and while he does not fear them individually, he respects that they have lived this long in these small numbers and leaves them to their own devices and seeming lack of leadership/accountability.

That night, a hurricane bearing down off the eastern coast of Katja-Lor brings a torrent of rain, along with it come winds averaging 80 miles an hour with gusts consistently in the range of 120 miles an hour. Oddly, the companions decide to trek on, though they do not get far. Several times Ademar is dumped by the force of the waters in the now-flooded canyon pass and gusts of wind. He is twice in the throes of drowning but he is able to save himself both times. After struggling in this manner for only a mile or so of travel. They decide to wait out the two-day storm in an artificial outcropping created by the powerful druid.

After the storm ends, an extreme winter chill comes on the wind, dropping temperatures to a finger-numbing 20 degrees on the still-damp warriors. A quick "Endure Elements" spell by the druid for the Colonel and all is well. This day the companions walk the full length of the rest of the mountain pass. In order to make sure that the for ahead is what they expected to encounter, Cor'Nal shifts into the form of a small bird and flies South. He is not surprised when he finds a force approximating the one they had encountered before, but this time with one extra giant. The three giants however seem less a threat than before as they are apparently the far less dangerous variety of hill giants and not the stone giants they encountered earlier.

Cor'Nal returns to his copmpanions to report the force of two-score Katja-Lorians and three Hill Giants. After a quick discussion over strategy, they rush to attack.

Cor'Nal again flies ahead of the group, waiting for them to come into view. When he sees them, he transforms the North side of the Eastern ridge, what was before a sheer stone wall, into a makeshift set of stairs, so his companions can easily climb to meet their enemies. After that, he casts the spell "Windwall" in order to keep the enemies across the other side of the canyon from successfully entering the fray. The plan as intended, works flawlessly.

The battle rages and the Katja-Lorians take heavy initial losses while the group remains largely unharmed. Besali seems top take the brunt of the initial damage from the first Hill Giant to enter the fray, but Cor'Nal quickly intervenes to assist his furry friend. Bravely, Gareth and Ademar turn back toward the north to engage the rushing giant when it seems that it may be too much for Cor'Nal and Besali top handle alone. With cries of "We can take 'im, Ademar", Gareth begs the elf on, and the combination of spell, arrow and steel make quick work of the first giant who falls heavily into the roadway upon death.

During the fight with the giant, Raell and the Colonel have pushed Southward along the ridge, killing all Katja-Lorians unfortunate enough to find themselves in their path. Eventually, a second giant hurls himself over the rocks in their path, while a third does the same behind them. Raell and Colonel Garret are now trapped between two giants, with a couple of Katja-Lorian grunts thrown in as garnish.

Unseen by the group, a red-robed figure blinks into the battlefield, below at the Southern end of the ridge. This is the turn of the tide.

The giants in the fight with Raell and Garrett score several huge blows before the first one is killed, falling twenty feet to the stone floor beneath. Several seconds after the fight with the two giants begins Gareth and Besali join the two warriors while Ademar and Cor'Nal provide support in the form of arrows and spells.

During this time the robed-figure makes his presence felt and immediately engages who he believes is the biggest threat. It doesn't take him long to learn that Cor'Nal is the one who must die first. Silently, foregoing any threats or declarations of superiority the robed-figure efficiently begins casting various spells which, at first, have no effect on the powerful druid. A few rounds of this futility ensue as the druid and the robed-figure trade shots, the druid seemingly gaining the upper hand, before the robed-figure resorts to evocation, casting a lightning bolt that sends the druid reeling.

The final giant is felled by a trip attack from Besali shortly after this. It is the second such attack that Besali has successfully employed on this giant. The companions are moving in for the kill as this giant is still alive, though mortally wounded. Before they can do so however, the robed-figure sensing the druid much less a threat than before, casts a fireball down upon the tightly contained group of warriors. This blast kills Colonel Garrett and Raell Kromwell instantly. Besali escapes with burnt dog hair and Gareth, while also wounded, survives the blast intact.

Another short barrage between the robed-figure and the druid as Besali finishes the felled giant. Once the giant is vanquished, the robed-figure blinks away in a dramatic flash of light and sound. He is gone.

The group takes a moment to inventory the fallen. It isn't long before Ademar comes to the conclusion that both Colonel Victor Garrett and his friend, Raell Kromwell are both dead.

After the realization, he, Gareth, Cor'Nal and Besali move to finish the fight. The Windwall spell, having ended by this time, makes the warriors across the cavern dangerous again. Ademar deftly tries to taunt them into fleeing or surrendering. After a short time, less than a minute, they choose the former.

Cor'Nal chases the remainder of the Katja-Lorians, those that do not meet death from Ademar's arrows, south of the canyon, into a clearing where he meets them with a "Flamesword" spell. Stupidly, seeing that they outnumber the elf six to one they attempt to take him to save whatever face they can with their surviving superiors. They fail miserably as the druid slaughters them to a man.

Before Cor'Nal returns, Ademar begins looting the corpses. He finds very little to celebrate about as his friend, at least in the short-term, seems to have died for very little. They end the session with discussion of how to move forward with the dead they have in their midst.

Do they push on to Eystlund, or return to Arcadia in hopes that Lord Darmot Kromwell will put forward the coin to revive his dead brother...

Perhaps Lord Kromwell will wish to fight in his brother's stead, now that he has reason to ignore the wishes of the ruling Houses of Arcadia.

What do You Stand For?

2011-01-31T20:23:00.003-05:00

Recently we crossed paths with Colonel Victor Garrett, an officer in the service of the Arcadian Army. At the request of Raell’s half brother, Darmot Kromwell- an Arcadian lord of some repute, our group had agreed to seek out this man and his soldiers in order to gather a report on their progress in this budding war that has come to Eystlund. Once located, the good Colonel revealed to us that he and his force had come against an impasse. He needed to get his men through a narrow trail in the mountains which was controlled by Kitja-Lorian mercenaries and giants. When we offered to help the mired Arcadian forces we were regarded with skepticism which I can fully understand. How could three elves and a half-human, cure a problem which one hundred skilled Arcadian soldiers could not? But, above this skepticism was the very pointed question which struck me, and I believe some of my companions as well, completely off guard.

He asked, “What is it that four elves want with this? Why do you care, honestly?”

I do not believe that Master Garrett meant us any insult or, that he was untrusting of us as elves. The man honestly could not understand why we, of all the peoples on Majius, would come to the aid of he and his men without provocation and without pay. Elves are not uncommon in the land but, they do not generally concern themselves with the affairs of the world at large. This has led me to many restless hours of contemplation when I surely could use sleep and light-hearted dreams. Who are we exactly? And, why are we running toward a reported war when every sane mortal is running away from it?

Well, I tell myself that I know who we are. We are a storm bringer, a wolf-friend. We are a dwarf tracker, and he who cleanses evil from the land. We are a new-born man; a protector of the weak. We are a vengeful night shadow and- And what? What am I now that my blood oath has been completed? The question of who I am now rests just as heavily on my shoulders as the query of why.

Many nights I have been visited by the specter of Deacon Jones, an innocent man whom I wrongly assassinated; the people of Snoam ’Schlabach who I allowed to be cut down by orcs, especially Magda Dervish; and Anna McDunugh who we did not try hard enough to save. They haunt me in my temperance and so, I have often given to staving off those specters with generous doses of wine before stumbling off to oblivion. Will I ever do enough goodness in this world to wash these stains from my hands?

I think I am just now beginning to see what can be accomplished by my companions and I. We have great potential to rid many evils from this world but will we ever reach it? I sometimes find myself hesitating in battle, holding back the deadly power of Est’Perolyne as I wonder if the enemy before me is truly an enemy or, if I am being manipulated once again. Sanastarus has given me a second chance in this realm and I desperately hope that I am picking the right path moving forward. I pray to the Elf-father that he may give me strength to face each new day and I hold faith that I have found companions who will help me on my path to redemption, wherever that may lead me. I see now that I have found a new purpose, a reason to move forward. I know that it is my duty to protect those closest to me, my traveling companions who have gone to battle at my side so many times. But, to a larger degree, it is now my responsibility to seek out those of ill-intent, those others who share dark souls like my one-time mentor Kendrick Cwik, and the rotten dwarf slaver Farkas Winslow.

Why do we care? What do we want? We care because we have seen too much innocent blood spilled on the ground in the name of greed and power. We care because our conscience will no longer allow us to stand idle. We care because our souls can take no more darkness. In our hearts I think my companions and I all want the same thing, we want to know that when our last day in this realm finally comes, that we did all that was in our power to make the world better than it was when we came to it. We want to face the gods with a clear mind and a light spirit.

I know that I am not perfect, I indulge too much in drink, I take liberty with the property of others, and I leverage the subjugation humans have toward their women to my advantage. But, I feel that I am finally on the right path and, although my habits may not change drastically in the future, I am now doing that which is right. When I slip from this world I will do so triumphantly and all will know that when I meet Sanastarus himself he will welcome me to the home of my ancestors. I hope with all my being that my companions will be able to say the same thing when they meet the gods.

-Ademar Helyanwë

11, Attina 1014 pr

Lost Steel

2011-01-12T01:22:00.006-05:00

‘Zender, take a deep breath and think about what you are about to do’. It was something Zender’s mother told him whenever she saw that her son was upset over something or that his temper was on the verge of destroying all that lay in his path. The majority of the time, it was her youngest son that she was looking out for. ‘You have your grandfather’s temper, it sent him to his grave and it will do the same to you if you don’t take care.’ It was something he thought of often the last few days. While the teachings of his god might get blotted out by the red ball of rage, his mother’s voice never was. As Zender stood over the body of Bishop Drent, he remembered her words again and took several deep, calming breaths.

“That was a hell of a shot kid, I am shocked you didn’t take his head clean off.” Zender could hear Commander Anderson behind him but he didn’t turn to look at him.

“It is no less than what he deserves. Still, he has questions to answer and not from me.” After bending over to pick up his hammer, Zender turned to face the older man. “What is to become of the temple, will we all share his fate?”

“You fellas might take a beating in the court of public opinion but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. You are that Zender fella York told me about?” The priest just nodded his head. “Well, when word gets out that you brought those kids home and you helped arrest that one, it will be fine. Now I am going to need some help from those slackers outside. Can you call a couple of them in for me and then I need you to keep your people out of here for a little while. We need to search this whole place, see if we can find anything else out. Does he have his own room or is this it?”

“The first door on the left, just inside the hallway is his room. Take anything you want or need to prove my brothers and I had nothing to do with what he did.”

“No problem” he remarked as he waved his hand in the air. “By the way kid, thanks. He might have left me to bleed out had you not come along. Just don’t go anywhere until we get done here, just in case I have to ask you a few questions, understood?” Commander Anderson raised a single bushy eyebrow at the cleric as he spoke. Zender could only nod at the older man, he then took one last look down at Bishop Drent as he walked back towards the entrance of the temple. Shaking his head as he walked, he pushed open the doors to the outside and called out to the waiting guards.

“Commander Anderson would like three of you to come in, the rest can wait outside.” Zender watched the gaggle of men standing about, not a single one moved to enter the temple grounds. “He said now!” the cleric shouted at them. The first of the three jumped right away, the next two got pushed forward by their companions. Zender just eyed the men as he held the door open for them, pointing them towards the office where Commander Anderson was waiting. He could hear Anderson telling them to ‘truss’ up the one on the floor for transport to the city jail. Zender couldn’t even watch, he just turned towards the main temple doors and went inside to join his brothers. Sitting in the back row, Zender looked forward at Prior Methner behind the altar, leading the group in prayer. It will be his turn now, Zender thought to himself. Prior Glen Methner, he was a good man to take up the spot. If for no other reason he often disagreed with Drent on temple policy.

Once Prayers were completed, Prior Methner stepped from behind the altar and came forward to the first step. He lifted his hands up and blessed the gathered priest and asked if anyone had anything to say before they were dismissed for their afternoon chores. On an average day, someone would stand up and tell the Prior if anything was needed, fire wood for the kitchen, hay for the stables, feed for the chickens or anything else that might have been needed. The Prior would then go to the Bishop with the request and the Bishop would give approval for the funds to be taken from the temple treasury. This however was not an average day. As Zender stood up, having forgotten the shield strapped to his back, the sound of metal scraping on the wood pew filled the temple. As if their heads were all being pulled by the same string, twenty men turned around to look at where the noise had come from. Zender felt a slight twinge of guilt over the damage that he had caused but he had to speak now.

“Brother Zender!” Prior Methner said. “Come forward, I see the trouble in your young eyes.” As Zender walked up the ale towards the altar, every man in the temple had their eyes on him. Most of them focused on the hammer he wore at his hip. It was not normal for a man of the faith to come strolling into temple with both weapons and armor. Some of the older brothers took it as a bad omen. Yet some of the others, the younger brothers were in awe. They too were told the stories by Bishop Frost of a time when Clerics of Solarth would ride on the field of battle with the Knights of Ulygnguard, defending their king or country. Not that anyone had told those stories within these walls in many years. As he reached the foot of the altar, Zender went down to one knee to say a prayer to his god. With that completed, he turned to face his brothers in faith.

“Three days ago I found a woman sitting in here, late at night. Some of you may have heard her cries over the loss of her children. I could not sit here and listen to her story and not do what I could to help, to ease her pain. I set out with a small band of fellows who were all seeking the same answers as I. Where were all these children going? Who had taken them? This was not just one or two who had come up missing. More than twenty were taken from all across Eystlundtowne. With some luck and perseverance, we were able to find where they were taken. North of town, in a deep hole, they were being held by some evil men. Men who sought to do some kind of dark rites, using these children as a sacrifice. My companions and I, by the good grace of Solarth, were able to rescue some of the children. It was then that I learned something most unsettling. It would seem Bishop Drent had a hand in giving some of the children over to these cultists. I only know this because we found several letters signed by him, stamped with his seal.”

What had been a captive audience turned into an outraged mob as this last line left Zenders mouth. Every brother in the temple stood up to voice their disbelief. Zender lifted his arms out, asking them to please let him finish, it wasn’t until Prior Methner came down from the altar to the floor where Zender stood did the voices quiet. No one spoke but all eyes in the room were on Prior Methner.

“Brother Zender will be allowed to continue, one more outburst like that and I will find a use for all this excess energy.” The Prior then held out his hand for Zender to continue.

“Bishop Drent has been arrested by the watch commander. The watch is also checking the Bishops office and his room to see if there is anything else linking him to this crime. They have asked us to stay here until they have finished.” Zender then looked down at the temple floor, resting his hand on the top of his hammer. “Pray that they find nothing else. So please, remain seated and I will come back for you all when it is all clear.” Zender then turned to Prior Methner one last time. “I believe this puts the temple in your hands. May Solarth guide your way.” Zender thought he heard the Prior say something in return but it was lost in the sound of his heavy boots walking away from the Prior. As he closed the doors behind him he let out a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his very soul. It was then that he noticed Commander Anderson standing in front of him.

“We’re all done kid, seems Drent was trying to run off with anything that could have pointed at him. If anything else comes up, let York know. And before I forget, we found a hidden door in that office of his, we didn’t touch anything but you might want to take a look at it. Good luck kid, hang in there. Just remember, every day the world turns over on someone who was sitting on top of it.” With that Commander Anderson turned and walked from the Temple of Solarth. Zender watched his back until the door closed and his view of the outside world was cut off. For one small moment Zender thought about following the Commander out when it dawned on him that his brothers were still inside the main temple, waiting for his word. When he pulled the door open, he wasn’t surprised to see Prior Methner and all of his brothers standing there waiting.

“They are gone.” Zender said in a somewhat relieved tone.

“Very good, now you men get back to your chores, Zender come with me.” Prior Methner said as he started to move. Zender stepped back from the door as everyone filed out of the main temple and went on with their lives. Once everyone was gone, Zender looked up to see Methner standing in the doorway to the Bishops office. “I am waiting for you young man.” Zender felt something in the pit of his stomach as he started to move. Once he was inside the office, Prior Methner told him to close the door.

“Sir, I am sorry about all of this.” Zender said once he pushed the door closed. Not that it would stay that way with the door handle destroyed.

“Sorry for what, doing the right thing? No my boy, you have nothing to be sorry for. I knew Bishop Drent was doing something outside the temple but I did not have the courage to look into it. I forgot that while we may be priest, we are still just men.” As Prior Methner spoke, he moved around the office. Looking at everything the guards had torn apart in their search of the office. He stopped in front of an old bookshelf in the back of the room. “No man is perfect, even you for all the promise you hold, have short comings. Drent told me long ago that he had a problem with the dice before joining the church. I assumed that this was the demon he was facing. I was wrong, as I said, no man is perfect. Now, come help me with this.” He said while pointing at the bookcase. As Zender stood in front of it, he could see the opening in the wall behind it. The guards had not pushed it all the way back into place when they finished. Zender had expected the full bookcase to be heavy but it moved with ease. Looking into the opening he saw a stack of books, several small bags and what looked to be a man covered in an old bed sheet.

“What is all this?” Zender asked.

“Those books are the temple ledgers, to help keep track of how much money we have in the vault, what we have spent it on and how much we have had come in. I assume those bags are filled with coin that have not been entered into the vault as of yet or perhaps Bishop Drent never intended for them to be entered. Now, pull the sheet down.” Zender reached out and slowly pulled down the sheet to reveal a full set of plate armor on a stand. “At one time, every temple of Solarth had two leaders on hand, a bishop and the knight commander. The Knights of the Sun were paladins, sworn to Solarth and pledged to protect us and our people in times of great need. While they were often seen helping to protect the land, they were beholden to no king or country. I assume this armor once belonged to the Knight Commander here in Eystlund. So much of our history was lost; we know very little of what it was like before the fall of the order. The only temple that wasn’t burned out during the purge was the one up in Arcadia. Many knights fell defending that temple but many more men were killed trying to take it. The king of the time ended up having to ask the knights to abandon the temple, to prevent the further loss of life. He had to promise them that the temple would not be harmed. Heavy chains stayed on those doors for more than a hundred years but the temple was not harmed.”

“Is that why we have so many rooms here? Is that why the stables are so large? How many knights were assigned to each temple?” Zender asked him without taking his eyes off the age’s old armor.

“As I said, so much of our history was lost, we only know as much as we do because of our elf friends. Not that it matters now. We will never see that age again, you should take the armor. Put it to good use, no point in it sitting in there waiting for someone who will never come. I think your days of doing chores in the temple are over, it would be for the best if you took it. While this temple will always be your home, it is clear Solarth has other plans for you.” Zender wanted to argue with Prior Methner but he couldn’t find the words. “Put the armor on, go out into the world and continue what it is that you have started. Just don’t forget where your home is.” Zender smiled at the older man and told him he would never forget. Until the day he died, he would never forget.

Brass and Bone

2010-12-21T05:42:00.003-05:00

As Zender marched through the streets, he wished he had the forethought to take a horse back to the temple. Not that he minded the walk from town to the temple of Solarth, it was something he did at least once a week but he did feel the need to hurry. With every step he took, the confident feeling he had when he left Lomark behind faded. In truth, Zender was terrified over what might happen to his beloved temple. Zender feared that Bishop Drent had not only put himself in harm’s way, but that the entire temple might pay for his crimes. A walk that should have taken no more than an hour, seemed to last an eternity.

As Zender came within sight of the temple, his worst fears had started to come true. More than a dozen of the city watch was standing at the edge of the temple grounds. Pausing for a moment to clutch at his medallion of Solarth, Zender asked the good god to give him strength. With that done he dropped his hand down to the war hammer hanging from his belt and started to move again. They were all standing there, doing the same thing. Staring at the temple doors waiting and watching for something or someone. Zender approached the gathering of men from behind, walking softly he moved into a space between two of the guards. His voice no more than a whisper he leaned over and asked the guard next to him “What are we waiting for?”

“Watch commander Anderson told us to wait here. Said he didn’t want us to scare all the little women inside with our weapons. Can’t have them soil their pretty white dresses now.” The guard responded without looking at who was speaking to him. Zender leaned back from the guard, looking at his profile, he could feel the man’s contempt for the order. Looking around Zender could see it on the face of most of the guards that were gathered around him. He could read their faces, they assumed the priest were weak, without courage, to be pitied.

“How long has he been in there, I get off in an hour?” Zender asked the same guard.

“Twenty minutes, by my count. He said he would blow his whistle if anything went wrong.”

“Are you all insane, he could be in trouble?” Zender said as he started to push past the other guards. “Make a hole!” he shouted in a deep commanding voice. As the gathered guardsmen parted out of his way, Zender enjoyed the shocked look on some of their faces. Zender felt a hand or two try to slow his progress but he just shrugged them off, pushing forward towards the temple doors. As he reached forward to pull the large doors open, he looked back at the guards he had left behind, all of them were still standing in the same spot, just off the temple grounds. Shaking his head Zender pulled the door open to the interior of the temple. Zender could hear his brothers in the main temple for afternoon prayers, he could also hear something else. Turning to the left he marched towards the office of Bishop Drent.

On any other day, Zender would have stood before this door, knocked and waited to be called in as was proper. Since the day Bishop Frost died and Bishop Drent took over the temple. When Frost was alive, this door was always open and was only closed when some troubled brother was inside seeking guidance from their leader. That changed the day Drent arrived in Eystlund to replace the man Zender had admired so much. Prior Methner always said that Drent was a private man and enjoyed his quiet time. Now Zender understood the truth of the matter, the man was hiding something. Grasping the door handle to open the door Zender nearly crashed into the firmly locked door. This very nearly sent the priest into a fit of rage, there are not supposed to be locked doors in the temple. Zender didn’t even know that a lock had been installed in the door. Pulling his war hammer free of his belt loop, Zender decided he would knock on the door after all.

Smashing his hammer down on the door handle, Zender was satisfied with the crash it made. The new brass handle snapped under the blow from the war hammer, falling to the ground. This sound was followed by the sound of something crashing on the other side of the door. Zender stood back from the door just far enough to give the door a good kick, smashing what was left of the door lock, showing him a shocked Bishop Drent on the other side. Clutching a handful of scrolls and several bags in his over burdened arms, Drent stared at the priest with his mouth hanging open.

“Zender, where have you been? Your chores have not been done in two days!” The Bishop stammered at him. It was then that he started to move towards the open door. “When I get back we will have a talk about this, I will not stand for this kind of behavior!” Zender said nothing, he only waited for the Bishop to get closer. “Report to Prior Methner…” Zender doesn’t know what the Bishop had intended to say, he no longer cared. As he had kicked the door only seconds before, he once again lifted up his foot and kicked the Bishop in his chest. It was only the scrolls he carried that saved the Bishop from a chest full of broken ribs. The scrolls that were now falling to the floor, along with the bags that were filled with gold coins. As the Bishop flew backwards, he rolled over the top of his desk and crashed to the floor on the other side.

As Zender looked around the room, he hoped the Bishop hadn’t broken his neck in the fall. It was then that he saw the old white haired man lying on the floor, with blood seeping from a fresh wound on his head. Zender only hoped that he was not too late to help. Rushing to the old man on the floor, Zender rolled his body over and felt his neck for signs of life. While he could still feel a slight pulse, it was weak and erratic. Placing one hand on the man’s blood covered head, Zender reached out to his god, asking him to heal the poor soul. A rush of heat and warmth filled Zenders heart, soon light formed around the hand holding the white haired man’s head. A small smile of thanks formed on Zender’s face as the man let out a gasp and awoke with a start.

“Commander Anderson, are you well?” he asked knowing he didn’t need an answer.

“As well as anyone could be if they nearly had their brain knocked out of their ear.” He told the cleric. The commander then pushed Zender’s hand away and pointed. As Zender turned he saw Bishop Drent was on his feet again.

Bishop Drent once again on his feet had started towards the door again at a run. Zender did not stop to think, he only reached out to the hammer he had set on the floor moments before while healing the watch commander. Judging by the speed the bishop was moving, Zender felt he only had one option. As he stood he whipped his arm forward, throwing the hammer towards his target. While the Bishop saw the weapon in flight, he could do nothing to stop it from crashing into his head.

It was several days later when the Bishop awoke for the first time. At first he imagined what had happened was only a dream. It was then that he noticed how cold and dark it was in his cell. As he tried to sit up, he could feel the chains on his feet. Ignoring their weight, he swung his legs over the edge of his small bed until his feet and chains crashed to the floor. With one shaking hand Drent reached up to touch the spot on his head where the hammer had struck him, tender to the touch, pain shot through his head. Yet it wasn’t until he looked up to see the dark robed figure on the other side of his prison bars that he started to scream.

Love and Justice

2010-09-10T04:04:00.003-04:00

Zender looked back over his shoulder while driving the wagon. Most of the children were sleeping, even with the morning light shining down on them. There was one, a small girl, no more than seven or eight years old with long blond hair chatting with William. While Zender had not known the big man very long, he had never seen the man as happy as he was in that moment. Once they carried the children from the dungeon, it seemed a great weight was lifted from all of them. The fear that clung to them in the dark was abolished by the morning light. Looking past William, Zender could see Hans and Zackary. Zackary warmed right up to the mercenary. Zender only hoped that letting Hans live wasn’t a mistake.

“Pay attention priest before you drive us off into the forest.” Lomark remarked. Zender snapped his head back around and pulled on the reigns to set the wagon back on the well worn path. “You know we are not done down there, we have done nothing but delay the cultist plans, whatever that may be. If they discover that we slipped out with the children, they will just go find more.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, do you still have the papers we found? The sheriff will want to see them.”

“What if the sheriff is in on the plot? Can you trust him priest? Many good men turn a blind eye to evil for a bag of gold.” Zender only shook his head at the wizard.

“Not everyone is like you Lomark, hiding their true self. I see who you are and you are not the image you present.”

“Baaaaaaaah, you know nothing priest.” Lomark said as he snapped his book closed. “Do not pretend to know the darkness inside of me.” As Zender started to laugh the wizard squinted his eyes, “what do you find so humorous priest?”

“You are about as dark as the underside of a fluffy bunny rabbit rolling around in the fields, warming itself in the sun. Everyone has darkness inside of them Lomark but true evil, I do not see it in you.”

“Perhaps you are just blinded by the sun you worship.” With that Lomark pulled his hood back over his head and opened his spell book again. Zender shook his head at the wizard again and gave the horses another slap with the reigns. The forest around them faded away to grassland and they were soon on a main road to town. Sometime after noon the group rode into the main section of town. In his mind Zender expected to see some kind of welcoming party, like something from the stories he had read as a child. Instead all he saw was some fool standing along the side of the road with his mouth hanging open. Zender could only shake his head at the wide eyed young man in his wide brimmed hat, with that absurd feather sticking out of the top. When the dirt roads fell away and ran into the cobble stone streets Zender stood up on the wagon and called out to Zackary.

“Zack, you and William take Hans to the inn. Get some food, get some rest. Lomark and I are going to deliver the little ones to the sheriff. We are going to be on our way back to deal with those cult members before the sun sets, understood?”

“Aye laddy! Food, ale and wenches til it is time ta fight again.” Zackary smiled at the cleric before turning away on his mount. “Come along lads, there be mugs to drain.” Zender turned back to watch the three ride away, the small blond girl was waving to William, as he was waving to her, with a simple smile on his face.

“Interesting, you send Zackary to an inn and expect him to function later. Yes, very interesting.” Lomark remarked from under his hood. Zender decided he had enough of the wizard for the moment and ignored the remark.

“We are almost to the sheriff. You should take off that hood and put a smile on your face. We wouldn’t want to scare the children.” Zender could see the wizard shaking his head inside of his hood. With a smile on his face he had the horses pick up the pace. More than anything Zender was eager to return the children to their families, the faster they handed them off to Sheriff York, the faster they would be at home in their own beds. He also wanted to give him the papers they had found, letters from Bishop Drent pleading with the cultist for more time to find the children they needed. Part of him also wanted to be there when Drent was arrested for his crimes. Zender only hoped that the reputation of the order was not too damaged by what Drent had done.

“Whoa” Zender called out to the horses as he pulled back on the reigns to get them to stop. So deep in thought about what was to come, he had nearly driven past the jail house. As Zender started to climb down from the wagon, he saw one of the guardsmen come out of the building. The guardsman looked from Zender to the children in the back of the wagon and went straight back inside. “Lomark, help the children down from the wagon I am going inside.” Zender ignored the remarks the wizard made to his back and walked straight into the building. From the door Zender could see the guard that had come out. He was standing near a door, hand held up as if he was about to knock on the door, yet he was frozen. As Zender moved past the front counter he understood why. The voice on the other side of the door was one of pure fury. As Zender stood along side of the guardsman, he asked, “Who is in there?” When the guard did not answer right away, Zender placed his hand over the raised fist of the guardsman, pushing it down. “Who is in there I asked?”

“One of the Red Falcon Guard.” The guard said.

“The Kings personal guard? Why are they involved in this?”

"That fool Silvermorn had a fit one night and started spouting off gibberish. From the corrupted souls of the innocent, comes creeping death. Blackened wings will fly in the night to devour the crown and spread blight. Silvermorn told the king it had something to do with the missing kids. Damn court wizards always make things cryptic. Well Captain Herschel took it as a threat. He tends to take that kind of thing seriously. At first, Darius was going to call in the military. York pleaded with the king to be allowed to handle this. Truth be told, he didn’t want the military called in, running all over the capital, pushing him under the rug. Not that I blame him, one little thing like this and the military would be running the constables for a year. One of the search parties that York sent out was found slaughtered. They are not too happy with York right now. It has been over a week and the king wants results, not excuses.”

“So instead of telling him that we have some of the missing children, you are going to stand there and listen to your leader get lambasted. Where is your loyalty man?” Zender shook his head at the man and stepped in front of him. Knocking on the door once halted all talking from inside of the office. “Sheriff York, it is Zender. Could you please come out, we have some good news.” As the door opened, Zender saw the man who had been doing all of the shouting. While he had heard many stories of the Red Falcon Guard, the stories never seemed to measure up to the real thing. When he thought of it later, all he could say was that the man was impressive. Yet in his mind, impressive seemed too small a word to describe the man he saw and the feeling he had when standing under that steel eyed gaze. Looking from York to the man in the Red Falcon Guard tunic Zender wasn’t sure who he should address. “Gentlemen, my companions and I were able to rescue twelve of the missing children. While I regret to inform you that the others were sacrificed by some dark cult, we were able to safely return the ones we found.”

“Thank the gods.” York said while pressing his hands to his face. “Where are they Zender?” Zender waved a hand hoping to lead the men outside only to turn around and see all of the children standing in the door, Lomark was standing behind them all, his arms stretched out to either side. He said nothing, only nodding his head once before turning to leave.

“I also have these.” Zender said as he removed a bundle of scrolls from one of the pockets in his robes. The man from the Red Falcon Guard stepped forward and held out his hand. “They are letters from; I am ashamed to say, from Bishop Drent of the temple of Solarth, to the leader of the cult. It would seem he accepted gifts for having children delivered to them. I only ask that you punish the man, not the entire temple. As far as I know, none of my brothers had any knowledge of this.”

“His fate and the fate of the temple will be up to King Darius and the king alone.” Zender looked at the man as he spoke; true fear began to form around his heart. “York, I expect you will be able to handle getting these children to where they belong. I expect a full report for Captain Herschel before the sun sets. Is that understood Sheriff York?”

“Yes sir, before the sun sets you will have it and the children will be safe in the arms of their mothers by then as well.” York looked like a man who had been physically beaten.

“Do not fail the King. Also, thank the priest; he may have saved your job.” With that the man left the jail house. Never once looking back at those he left behind. Zender looked at York once that red tunic was out of sight. York could only shake his head at the priest.

“Who was that?” Zender asked quietly, as if the man was still about.

“Does it matter? Now, get out of here unless you have something else to tell me. Come back tomorrow and I will see that you are given your reward. That is if you and the rest of you priest are not in the stocks before then.” Zender just nodded his head at the Sheriff and left him with the children. As he rejoined Lomark on the street outside of the jail house, he wondered what would happen to Bishop Drent. Part of him wanted to go directly to the temple and face Drent. Another part of him was terrified of what would happen if he did that, afraid of what he might do. Fear was not something Zender ever handled well. It just wasn’t something he was used to. So lost in thought he was, he had not noticed that they had walked all the way to the inn.

“You are coming in yes?” Lomark asked the bewildered priest. Zender shook his head and looked at the wizard. As he looked at Lomarks face a thought dawned on him. He had nothing to fear. This was not the fault of the temple. This was not the fault of his god. One man ignored the teachings of the good god and gave into greed. This was not a question of his faith. As he placed a single hand on his war hammer, Zender knew he had nothing to fear. Drent knew what he was doing when he abandoned his faith and gave into evil. As a small smile formed on his face Zender started to walk towards the inn. Solarth would see that justice was done, in both this life and the next. As Zender walked past the man in black, Lomark reached out to him. “What madness has taken hold of you priest?”

“No madness, just faith that all will be well. For even in the darkness, those with faith can see his light.” Zender smile at the wizard again and continued on towards the inn. His good mood did not last long once he was within the inn. He could see the large table his other companions were sitting at. While Hans was slowly picking at his meal, William looked to have finished off three plates and Zackary was shouting for another mug of ale. He had two empty mugs in front of him.

“Yes, I told you this would happen.” Lomark whispered to the cleric. “That fool doesn’t know how to do anything other than fight and drink. I shall retire to my room, come to me when he is able to ride again, in two or three days.”

“Four hours, we ride. Be ready.” Zender told him.

“Yes…quite!” The wizard remarked as he turned away. Zender ignored him as he started to move towards the table. As Zender reached into his robes he pulled out the symbol of his god, cupping it in his hand.

“Solarth grant me this prayer.” Zender said as he closed his eyes. “Sleep” was all he said while pointing towards Zackary. The sound of an earthen mug shattering on the floor silenced the room. Every man and woman about turned in time to see the man with fire red hair pass out, slamming his head down on the table. A solid thump of flesh and bone meeting wood ushered in the sounds of laughter. Soon all the laughing faces turned away, leaving the ‘drunken’ man to his fate. As Zender came to stand behind Zackary’s chair the only people looking at him still were Hans and William. “William, take your cousin up to your room. We have four hours to rest before we ride.” The large man nodded his head as he shoved the last bite of food on his plate into his mouth. While Zender watched the big man carry Zackary away, Hans turned a careful eye towards Zender.

“He only had two, is this normal for him?” Hans asked.

“No, I highly doubt this was normal for Zackary. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like in order to make sure the gods work is done. As I told William, we ride in four hours, be ready Hans. Now, if you will excuse me.”

“What do you mean? Where are you going?” Hans asked as he stood up from his seat.

“What I mean is this. In order to keep Zackary alive, I have to keep him sober. He is a skilled fighter and tough as the day is long. Yet if he is pickled from head to toe he is worthless to us and will get himself or someone else killed. I made sure that did not happen. As for where I am going now, I have to return to my home and see that justice is done.” With this Zender turned from the mercenary and marched out of the room. As he stepped out onto the street he lifted his face towards the sun. Feeling the warmth on his face he smiled as he knew this feeling well. For even in the darkness he could feel it. It was the feeling of his god’s love.

The Union

2010-08-31T04:46:00.004-04:00

“All who are shrouded in darkness can be shown the light.”
From the Prayer book of Solarth the Light Bringer.

The young priest stood and looked at himself in the mirror. Zender had expected the armor to weigh more or encumber his movement. Strong and light, it fit him like a second skin. Once the priestly robes were put on, it was hard to see he had any armor on at all. The shield strapped to his back was another story; Zender only hoped that he would be out of the temple before anyone saw him, before he had to face questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Satisfied with his appearance, Zender reached for the last object in the bag his father had left behind for him, a war hammer. Thrusting it through the loop on his belt, the cleric turned and left the room. The only sound in the temple was the woman that was still crying to herself. With dawn more than four hours away, the young priest slipped out of the temple and retrieved his horse from the stables.

The streets of Eystlundtowne were dead at this time of the morning. Yet Zender could smell fresh baked bread in the air so he wasn’t the only person going about his business. Zender didn’t like the idea of rushing out of the temple in the middle of the night but he could not risk being seen by Bishop Drent. The Bishop would be more than happy to keep him busy with other task; none of them would include helping that poor woman find her missing children. Zender believed that there were more important things to do than weeding the vegetable garden or scrubbing pots in the kitchen. He had been given a sign that there was a greater need for his talents. One that he could not ignore, he did have a younger brother after all. What if Rath had been one of the missing children? Shaking the thought from his head Zender continued on with his night ride. Zender was also sure that had anyone dared to take Rath, they would return him the next day, pleading with mother to keep him.

Zender found the sheriff’s office to be a regular hub of activity for it to be so early in the morning. There were men uniformed rushing in and out. Stepping down from his horse he tied it off outside and started to make his way into the building. Zender had been here several times before in the past with his father but that seemed to be a life time ago. Looking at the bench under the wanted posters, Zender smiled to himself. His fingers had found many splinters in that old bench. Zender then looked to the older man who spent most of his time barking out orders to others. When Zender saw the badge of office sewn on his shirt, he knew that was the man he needed to speak with.

“Hello sir, I am here to help, what can I do?” Zender asked him.

“Look kid, I don’t have time for games, get the hell out of here and don’t get any mud on your mothers dress on the way home.” Sheriff York told him.

“No, you do not understand. I am Zender, Cleric of Solarth and son of Windfall the bounty hunter. I heard there were some missing children and I wanted to come offer my services.” Zender was rather pleased with himself, he was sure this would change the tone of the conversation.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are; I don’t have time for this. Someone get this little shit out of here before I have him tossed in a cell.” He said as he turned away and went off in another direction. Zender was stunned and more than a bit angered by the rejection he felt. He was sure that he would be given something to do, something that would help. Turning away he started to leave only to pause at the wanted posters on the wall. Letting a slight smile crack his face he sat down on the old bench and pulled out his prayer book, Zender was determined to sit there until a use was found for him. As the sun started to brighten the window in front of him, he wondered if he was just wasting time.

“Why are you still here?” Zender looked up at the guardsman who was asking the question, placing a single finger in his prayer book to save his place he stood up.

“I found a hysterical woman in my temple last night; she lost both of her children. I am here to help in any way I can, I have to be able to face my god knowing I did all I could for her.”

“Look, old man York doesn’t have time to baby sit you. Hell, he told me that if you don’t get out of here I’m to toss you in a cell. If you really want to help, head over to the Dew Drop Inn. They are going to send out search parties from there to see if anyone can find anything. Go over there and join up with one of the parties if you really want to help.”

“That was all you had to tell me, may Solarth shine his light on you this day.” Zender returned his prayer book to the pouch on his belt and made his way out the door. Fetching his horse, he started to walk to the inn the guard mentioned. He knew where the inn was, it wasn’t that far away. It was also one of the larger ones in town. Zender was pleased with himself and enjoyed walking in the morning light. It felt good on his face, a true blessing he thought. As he approached the inn, he could see what looked to be a good twenty horses, all of them waiting for riders. After tying off his own mount he approached the inn and pushed his way inside past the few people who were standing near the door.

“Well, this is not what I expected.” Zender said to no one at all. The common room was filled with what he assumed were normal patrons. Sitting at the tables, eating and drinking ale. None of them in any uniform he recognized. Looking around the room Zender searched for just a place to sit. The only table with open seating had four other men sitting around it. As he drew closer to the table he paused when he saw the black robed figure sitting there with them. It wasn’t until he saw the man’s face did he continue to walk. While the robes were different than what Zender had seen him in before. He knew the man’s face; he had even spoken to him a time or two while buying herbs for simple healing poultices. Placing a hand over his Medallion of Solarth he pressed on towards the table. As he walked up behind the chair he looked at the gathered men and asked if anyone was sitting there? The black robed figure looked at Zender, raising a single eyebrow in his direction.

“Sit if you wish.” The black robed figure said while pointing at the chair. He then turned away, disinterested in the priest. Zender reached out and pulled the chair back from the table. As he did this, the man in the next chair leaned over and vomited on the floor, a rancid steam of eggs, ale and bile splashed on the floor. “See what I have to deal with priest.” The black robed figure said. As the man who puked tried to stand Zender reached out to help.

“Shuts up Loooooooomark.” The drunken man said as he struggled to stand with Zenders help. He then stuck out a hand to the priest, “Names Zackary, Zackary Red Beard, that there is my cousin William, the elf is Christos.” Zackary tried to sit back down in his chair and crashed to the floor. As Zender sat down in his own chair, looking around at the other laughing mercenaries he wondered just what it was that he had gotten himself into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Revenge is rooted in darkness, those who serve the light pray for justice.”
From the Prayer book of Solarth the Light Bringer

“Who is that?” Zender asked as loud as he dared. The group did its best to stay hidden, while watching the man in night black armor. The sudden and unexpected death of Christos that morning left the group overly cautious.

“Why are you asking me?” Lomark responded while mopping off his bald head. It was late in the season and the heat in the air was driving the wizard to the point of irritation. “If we had returned to town as I said, we wouldn’t be squatting here now. No, you insisted we push on, follow the trail. Now we sit in the bush like a brace of rabbits hiding from the wolf.”

“I am telling you, I can feel it. That man has something to do with the missing children. He has led us here and…”

“Yes, priest. He led us to a pack of hobgoblins. We are very fortunate indeed. It is too bad Christos is no longer with us to celebrate this joyous occasion.” Lomark said.

“I told you that was not my fault. There was nothing I could do for the poison. I did my best, could you have done better?” The priest asked the wizard.

“Perhaps.” Was all that the wizard said. The two then turned back to watch the armored figure barking out orders to the creatures on the ground. While he tried to concentrate on the forces ahead of him Zender could not shake the image in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. The giant spider that killed their former companion injected Christos with a poison that killed quickly. Far quicker than Zender had been able to deal with in the end. As he gripped the handle of his war hammer, Zender could feel his rage building inside. While he would never admit it to the quick witted wizard, he did feel it was his fault. It wasn’t until the man in black armor rode away did Zender put the thoughts behind him.

“We need to capture one of them, do you have anything?” Zender asked the wizard.

“I have a scroll that may be of use. We will have to move quickly though.”

“Zackary, you and William head to the other side of the trail, hit them from the right flank. We will come up from behind, wait for the signal.” Zender had become impressed with the mercenary. When sober he was brave, willing to do what it took to win a fight.

“What’s the signal?” he asked.

“Just watch for Lomark, you will know.” He told him before the two men moved off. The priest then turned to watch the wizard as he read over an assortment of scrolls that he pulled out of the interior of his black robes.

“You must shield me until I finish the casting, can you handle that priest?” Zender said nothing, only moving towards the group of Hobgoblins on the forest path. So quickly did he move, the wizard had to run to keep up. “Stop when I tell you to.” He said to the priest back. He wasn’t even sure that he was heard, he only hoped. With a half cocked smile he thought it would serve the self important priest well to get caught in the effects of this spell. “Now!” he said as he rolled out the needed scroll. As ordered the priest stopped off to the side and lifted his shield, ready for any attack to come. As Lomark spoke the language of magic written on the scroll the runes began to glow, consuming the paper they were printed on. As the scroll crumbled to ash, the wizard projected the effect towards the creatures, enveloping the area in a field of grease.

Zender watched as the cousins stepped out on to the path at the edge of the grease. They all watched with some amusement as the creatures struggled to move. “Don’t let any of them get away. I want to question the big one.”

“Where in da bloody hell are dey gonna go? Lookit da sorry bastards, dey can’t even move.” Zackary shouted back at the priest. Zender only pointed, some of the creatures had started to thrust their weapons in the ground, pulling their grease coated bodies out of the grease.

“Interesting.” The wizard remarked. “Next time I shall combine this with the use of flaming hands. Yes, that would be most effective. See how the grease clings to their bodies. Yes, this is very interesting.” Without taking an eye off the fighting that had started in front of him, the wizard reached into a pouch on his belt, pulling out a pinch of sand. Speaking the words of magic while dropping the sand in the air, three of the creatures who were still able to stand went down face first into the grease. A twisted smile crossed Lomarks face as he pulled dagger from the sleeve of his robes. Unlike some of their companions, these monsters would not see death coming.

Zender watched the fighting with satisfaction. His companions were taking care of the hobgoblins with ease as far as he could see. He stood at the edge of the grease patch and watched the supposed leader, the one who had been talking to the man in black armor. While it was the largest of the creatures and was having an easier time of moving, it wasn’t doing much better than his fellow hobgoblins. As the creature reached the edge of the grease it pulled itself free and stood up, facing the cleric with a roar. Holding his medallion of Solarth in one hand, the cleric pointed to the hobgoblin and said a single word, “die”. Using a prayer of command, Zender made the creature believe it was dead. As it fell to the ground the fighting came to a swift and sudden end.

“ZENDER” Zackary shouted across the path. “William’s hurt, get over here!” The priest forgot about the creature on the ground and took off at a run around the grease patch that was still covering the ground.

“What happened?” he asked as he found the warrior out cold on the ground. When no answer came he squatted down and rolled over the body. A deep gash crossed the warriors chest, blood was flowing at a rapid pace. As he laid his hands on the warriors chest he said “Solarth, giver of light and life, grant me this prayer of healing to save the life of this humble servant.” A gentle light formed around the hands of Zender which then spread to the chest of William. As the healing light faded Zender sat back to watch the big man. Watching the rise and fall of his chest as he was breathing. As his eyes started to open, a smile crossed the face of the cleric.

“Umm, hello.” William said while looking at the cleric.

“Be more careful William, I can only do that so many times a day. I want you to rest here for a bit until we are ready to go. Zackary will keep an eye on you ok?” The big man nodded his head and rolled over on the spot his blood and been pooling in moments before. He did this without a single care; such is the world of William the Dim. As Zender stood up again, he turned around to see the smiling face of Zackary Red Beard.

“Thank ye lad!” he said as he put his arms around the cleric.

“Don’t thank me; thank the good god who made this possible. We could have lost him today. Really, he should think about getting some better armor. I know he is a big man but running around in bits of leather will not help him.” Zender tried to push away from the warrior while talking but found his strength was lacking. Once Zackary let him go, Zender returned to Lomark searching the bodies of the creatures they had just killed. The magical grease that had once covered the ground was now gone. “Lomark, help me with this one.” Zender said as he pulled a rope from his pack. “I want to tie him to this tree so he can’t get away when he wakes up.” While the wizard protested having to do manual labor, he was interested in what the cleric had in mind for the creature. Once that was completed, they only had to wait for the creature to wake up.

Zender watched while Lomark continued to search the bodies of the fallen, ignoring how many times items were put into hidden pockets of the long black robes. The priest knew if the wizard found anything important, he would make it known, at some point anyway. Lomark was fond of holding back information until it served him best. He would even hold back the smallest of things until he could achieve the most use or profit from it. When Lomark unrolled a map that was in the pack of one of the creatures, Zender knew this was something he should see. As he was about to call out to the wizard, the hobgoblin roared.

“Untie! Now!” it shouted at Zender.

“I will let you go when you tell me what I want to know. Where are the children being held? What are they doing with them and who was that man?” The roar the beast let out continued on for some time. Zender watched as the beast continued to struggle with its bindings, his patients was starting to run thin. Lifting up his hammer he pressed it into the throat of the creature, once again asking his questions. “Where are the children being held? Who has them and what are they doing with them?” With each question he pushed just a little harder on the hammers long handle.

“Lord Morkyth will crush you!” The hobgoblin growled at the cleric, still trying to free his self from the ropes.

“Lord Morkyth, I assume that is the man in the black armor I saw you speaking with. Now, where are the children?” Zender asked.

“The little ones feed the beast. We give little ones to humans in black robes, smell like death. They feed the beast.” The creature gave Zender a toothy grin as it spoke, as if it enjoyed the idea of harming the children.

“What?” Zender asked in a state of shock. His mouth standing open he felt his blood run cold. Many long hours were spent in the temple, in study of not only his god but of all the gods. Priest of Orcus, corruptors of the living, priest of death and disease. Zender looked to his companion, for the first time in days the wizard had removed his hood from his head, if only to make it clear that he was now shaking his head at the priest. Zender could feel his grip on his hammer growing tighter.

“Hahaha, I bet beast enjoy little ones. They be tender, no fat. Good meat. Their blood is sweet, drink it like wine.” Hobgoblins have never been accused of having an over abundance of intelligence. Yet it could see the distress it was causing the priest as it spoke, it took joy in this. It never even knew the danger it was in.
“Where are they?” Zender shouted at the creature as he dropped his shield to the forest floor. “Tell me, NOW!” The hobgoblin just continued to laugh at the priest in white.

“Where they belong, in the belly of the beast.” The creatures laugh filled the air, making a flock of birds take flight from a nearby tree.

“Tell me!” He shouted again. Zender took his hammer into both hands while pacing back and forth in front of the creature. His fury building with every step he took. The hobgoblin looked on, thinking that he was causing the human pain with his words. The creature never learned how to tell the difference between a human in pain and a human who was angry. As Zender stopped in front of the creature again he asked one final time, “Where are they?”

“Dead!” was the last thing the hobgoblin ever said. It was in that moment that Zender felt his mind break. Lifting his hammer Zender took aim and started to swing. It was then that the hobgoblin saw his mistake. Assuming that this human in white was weak or like the others it had seen. Like the one who delivered the sleeping children many nights ago. As the war hammer connected to the hobgoblins head, all thoughts of anything went away. As the creatures head was crushed between the hammer and the tree, it had no thoughts at all.

“Interesting.” Lomark said to no one but himself. He tightly held on to the map he had behind his back. “Yes, very interesting.” Lomark wondered just who his new companion really was. He had seen him work before now, yet this was something different. This anger, this raw primal rage was something new, something the wizard had not seen coming. As he turned away from the carnage in front of him he wondered what else this priest was capable of and how it could be of use to him.

“Lomark, show me the map.” Zender said to the wizards back. Lomark turned and faced the cleric, watching as the cleric cleaned the brain matter from his weapon.

“Who are you? Do you know cleric?” The wizard asked while holding out the rolled map. “I know who I am; I know the nature of my being. So I ask you now Zender, who are you?”

“I am a servant of the god Solarth, anything else you want to know?” Lomark could hear the irritation in the voice of the cleric.

“Does he approve of his servant? Does your god know of the darkness inside of you?”

“Lomark, why don’t you let me worry about what my god does or doesn’t approve of? Now, I need an hour, keep an eye on the cousins, I don’t want them walking off without us.” The wizard only nodded his head and held is hands up. Once the wizard turned away Zender unrolled the map and started to move off into the forest, pretending to look at the map as he walked. Once he was sure he was well away from the prying eyes of the wizard he put the map away and continued on.

Once Zender was deep into the forest he stopped, looking around at the small dirt patch where nothing grew he nodded his head and dropped his shield and pack to the ground. The cleric then went about the task of gathering a small bundle of dead branches. Using the dead wood, the cleric started a small fire, nothing that would be seen from a distance. Once he was sure the fire would stay lit he pulled three things from his pack, a simple knife, a roll of bandages and a bottle of holy water. He first pulled the stopper from the bottle and used it to wash the blood and dirt from his hands. With that completed the cleric knelt down next to the fire, with the knife in his hand he began to pray in silence. It is unknown what the cleric was asking of his god as he drew the knife blade across the palm of his left hand. The blade was sharp and cut deep into the palm of the cleric. This was done without so much as a grimace or even a wince, as if this was a practice that the cleric had done before. He watched as his blood poured from his hand and held it over the fire.

“Solarth, father, giver of light and life. Forgive me for my transgression, know that your humble servant strives to stay in the path of the light and seeks your forgiveness for going astray.” With this said Zender placed his blood covered hand directly into the flame, watching as the flames engulfed his hand. As the flames fell away Zender set aside the knife and once more picked up the bottle of holy water, pouring what was left of the bottle over the palm of his cut hand. In this Zender received his answer from his god. While the cut was healed, what looked to be an old scar remained. A scar that he would carry with him for the remainder of his days.
Using water from his skin, he put out the rest of the fire and covered the ashes with dirt. With his mind at ease, Zender pulled out the map given to him by Lomark and went about studying it while walking back to his friends.

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Judge a man not only on his actions but how he accepts the consequences of those actions. From the Prayer book of Solarth the Light Bringer

Hans of North Hembers sat on his bunk and looked around at the very few men who were left. When his eyes landed on Marcelo, the leader of the band, he felt nothing but disgust. It was he who had told Hans and the others about the job more than two months ago; solid coin to guard valuable cargo was what he had promised. Hans thought nothing of it at the time until they arrived in this gods-forsaken place. Trapped under ground, living by torchlight, fighting off whatever band of would be heroes or opportunists that would come along, keeping them away from the ‘cargo’. Hans spit on the ground in disgust, as if those crying children on the other side of the door had only been cargo. While Hans had done many things in his life that he wasn’t proud of, this was by far the worst of it all. At the same time, he wasn’t even sure he cared any more.

They were twenty men strong when they came down in this pit, now only six remained among the living. Marcelo freely gave any of his men who had killed over to the priest of Orcus. Men that at one time deserved better than to be given over to those monsters. Now Hans wasn’t so sure about that. The money there were paid was soaked in the blood of the innocent. As a fresh round of crying started on the other side of the door, Hans started to look forward to his fate. Being killed, sent to the abyss only to have his corpse spend the rest of eternity walking the halls of this hell hole. As Hans leaned back on his bunk he started to warm to the idea. ‘I could just lay here until it happens’ he thought to himself. ‘Wait for death to take me, it is what I deserve.’

“Hans!” Marcelo called out. “It is your turn to feed the brats. Shut them up would you.”

“Why should I? The priest take them away, we never see them again. We all know they are being killed.” As Hans shouted at his leader, he started to heat the water for the children’s oatmeal. It was the only thing they were allowed to feed them. “Are they supposed to be fat when they are fed to whatever dark beast they are hiding down there? How many are even left in there, do we even know?”

“Twelve, the priest came and took four more while you were sleeping this morning. Now shut your trap and do as you are told. We have maybe a week here tops left. We are going to walk out of here with a nice fat gold bonus.” Hans stood and looked at his leader, the fires of rage he had been feeling just a moment before started to turn cold in his chest. A numbing cold that would turn your hands and lips blue in an instant like the winters in the northern countries. Hans started to wonder if it was possible to suffer frost bite to your soul as he poured the dried oats into the vat of water. When he reached up to the mantle to pull down the bowls, he could still see his hand shaking from the chill he had inside.

“To the hells with all of us.” He said to no one at all. Reaching into his shirt he pulled out a flask. While he thought he might like to take a good long pull from the flask, it was better to give it to those who needed it the most. Dumping what was left of the contents into the bowls, mixing it into the pasty oatmeal. The bitter whisky didn’t do anything for the taste of the sludge the children were eating but it did help them sleep. ‘If I can give them nothing else, let it be a good night’s sleep. Fear will be back in the morning.’ He thought.

With the bowls filled, Hans took the keys off the wall next to the door that led to the room where the children were being held in cages. When he pushed the door open and light flooded the dark room all sounds stopped. Two large cages held them all, boys in one, girls in the other. They were all huddled together at the back wall of their respective cages; the brave ones who wouldn’t cower from their captors were taken first. Hans didn’t even look at them as he set the bowls on the floor in front of the cages; he knew there was nothing to fear from them.

Hans wasn’t much older than the caged boys when his father sent him off to live his own life. He had seen boys that age die in battle, wearing armor that didn’t fit while using weapons longer than their small arms should have had to hold. These boys had no chance to fight, these where the lambs who were being led to slaughter. The girls all looked the same to him. Stick thin and nothing like the women they would become in a few years time. After setting their bowls inside their cage it dawned on Hans that they would never become those women, women who would have children of their own. Marcelo told him they had a week at the most and then this job would be done. There wouldn’t be any children left to guard. As he pulled the door closed behind him he could hear their bare feet shuffling in the dark to get the bowls of food.

Hans returned the door and cell keys to the peg on the wall near the door. When he turned around he saw Marcelo staring at him. Hans tried to ignore him but something inside of him wouldn’t allow him to do so. Resting the palm of his hand on the pommel of his sword, Hans did the only thing he could think of at the time. He stared back at his leader.

“Yer pathetic you know that? What happened to you Hans, you are not the same man I met on those docks years ago? At one time I could count on you to do a job, now I am starting to wonder if I had too much faith in you. Two years Hans, two years I have been with you and look at you now. A sniveling little bitch suffering under the blood moon.”

“What happened to me?” Hans shouted back while looking around the room at the other men. None of them were watching. The only one that seemed to be doing anything at all was Geoff, who had his ear stuck to the door that lead to the hall outside. “We used to do good work, fight for a cause. Maybe not always on the right side but we fought as men. You always avoided taking jobs that would call on us to do things like this. Those priests are doing something vile to those children and we do nothing but stand here and watch it happen. Their blood is on your hands just as much as it is the priest. The moment you took their blood soaked gold, you damned us all. We might as well have killed them all ourselves.”

“Ummm I think there is someone out there, I can hear them.” Geoff said from near the door. Both Hans and Marcelo ignored the man.

“Blood washes off and the gold was too good to turn down. Do you think jobs for men like us just fall out of the sky, you arrogant little prick, who are you to question me?”

“I am not joking, there is someone out there. I can hear armor, voices.” Geoff scrambled away from the door, getting his armor and weapons. Hans and Marcelo were the only ones who ignored the warning.

“Geoff, there are two dozen kobolds down the hall, we would have heard something if they were attacked.” Marcelo said out of the corner of his mouth, never taking his eyes off Hans.

“Not to mention our former companions, isn’t that right Marcelo. How much gold where you paid for them, you son of a bitch? It is bad enough we are trapped down here you had to give our dead over to those priests. You have damned us all Marcelo, there is nothing we can do to save ourselves. We might as well slit our own throats and join the rest of the undead.”

“I can arrange that for you, happily.” Marcelo told him as he started to draw his long sword. Hans saw the movement in his eyes before it was made, dropping a step back from his leader to pick up the shield that was still lying on his bunk. It was when he turned back, weapon in hand did the unexpected happen. Everyone in the room heard the roar in the hall outside the door. Before this moment, if an enemy had breached the perimeter, the mercenaries would be summoned to deal with the problem. When the crash came, they all knew something had gone very wrong.

Both Hans and Marcelo watched as the door crashed into the room, the lock shattered, the hinges ripped from the wood. He looked at the two new men standing in the door way, one with fire red hair on his head and face. The other was bald as a baby with a grin on his clean face. It wasn’t until the two moved away from the door way did the mercenaries understand what had gone so wrong, why there had not been any warning to the trouble headed their way. When the two large men moved, they all understood. The reason was standing there like the specter of death, draped in black robes.

“Wizard!” Marcelo shouted far too late. Hans saw the small red ball of fire spring forth from the wizard’s hand, growing larger and brighter as it shot into the room. For one small moment he took solace in the fact that he would be warm when he died. As the fire ball exploded into the room, Hans and the rest of the mercenaries were knocked to the floor. While their bodies were smoking and burnt in places, everyone was still alive. Hans let out a sigh and got back to his feet, trying to prepare for the fight to come. “Hans guard that door at all cost, we can handle the three of them.” Marcelo told him.

“Yes, can’t let anything happen to the sheep.” Hans said under his breath. He watched as the two men who kicked in the door rushed in to engage his companions. When Hans saw the man in white robes rush into the room, holding a hammer and shield the light of understanding grew a little bit brighter. While Hans had never fought a cleric before, he had heard the horror stories from his friends. They all told him the same thing, the only thing worse than fighting a man defending his home is fighting a man who believes he has a divine right to oppose you.

Geoff was the first to fall. His body impaled on the sword of the large bald man, his face showed no emotion as he ripped the blade from the body. As Geoff fell to the floor, he just turned to attack someone else. Hans could not believe how quickly his companions were falling, even if he took some joy in seeing Marcelo writher on the ground, his body covered in some kind of green acid. As it clung to his body Hans assumed it was something the wizard did. As the man in white robes stepped over the prone body of Marcelo, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs, Hans readied himself to fight.

“Die!” the cleric said to Hans while pointing a finger towards him. Hans felt his knees start to buckle and the world started to go black. Shaking his head he resisted and stood up straight again, just in time to see the hammer about to strike his head. It was all he could do to get his shield up in time. Even if he saved his head for the moment, it was all he could do to keep the cleric off him. A flurry of white was all he could see as the cleric continued to press the attack, nearly pushing him back to the very door he was guarding. Hans knew in his heart that his end was coming, in a way he was almost thankful for it. Using his shield he pushed the cleric back with the last of his strength. Giving his self a little room to do what he needed to do.

“I yield!” he said to the cleric, dropping to his knees while tossing aside his weapon and shield. Hanging his head down, Hans waited for the killing blow to strike. Eager for it to come and send him off to the fate he deserved. When he opened his eyes he saw the booted feet in front of him but did not hear anything else. Looking passed the white robed figure he saw that his companions were dead. The two warriors were standing not far from the cleric; the wizard in black was searching through the bodies on the floor. Still waiting for the killing blow, Hans looked up to the face of the cleric.

“What is your name?” the cleric in white asked Hans.

“My name? Why do you need my name, just kill me and get this over with.” Hans said as he once again hung his head back down. When the ringing of steel sounded in the air, Hans was sure someone was going to kill him at last.

“Zackary, no. I will handle this. You two go help Lomark. Now, what is your name?”

“What game is this, just kill me already, it is no less than I deserve.” Hans told the cleric. As he stared up at the clerics face, he could see that he would be alive until he answered the questions. “Hans, Hans of North Hembers in the province of Arcadia.”

“Hello Hans, my name is Zender. The man in black is Lomark. Zackary Red Beard is the one who offered to kill you and the other man is his cousin William. Do you know where the children are being held, speak the truth?”

“There,” Hans said while pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “The key to both the door and the cages is on the wall behind me. What do you intend to do with me?” he asked the cleric.

“We could use a hand, another sword arm wouldn’t hurt.” Zender said.

“You can’t be serious.” Hans said to the cleric in disbelief.

“I am very serious, we need help, and I am offering you a chance at life. There is still a lot of evil in this place and we could use your help getting the children out.” Hans was in shock and could not answer. As the cleric stuck out his open hand to the mercenary Hans could only stare at it. “Take my hand Hans we really could use your help.” After what seemed to be an hour Hans reached out and took the hand of Zender. At first he resisted, unsure about standing up again. When he felt the strong pull, he placed one foot on the ground and pushed himself up. Unsure of what his future would hold, he stood up and faced the man in white.

“Just know that I will be watching you.” Zender told him in a soft voice while still holding his hand in a strong grip. “Cross me or my friends in any way, you will die by my hand. Help us with the children and we will go on from there, understood?” Hans couldn’t say anything he only nodded his head at the cleric. The only thing Hans understood in that moment was that he now owed Zender his life. As he turned to pick up his weapon, one random thought came to mind. ‘For however long that is.’ As he slid his father’s sword into its scabbard, he accepted just that.

The Calling

2010-08-26T03:19:00.001-04:00

Thump, thump, thump the ball went down the stairs as the two brothers stood and watched. The younger of the two, Rathnel started to head down the stairs after it only to find himself pulled back by his older brother. The words of protest where on his lips but they fell short. Both sons’ knew the rule; never go down into the cellar alone. It was the one rule that their father had given them. Most of their rules came from their mother yet this was the only rule ever given to them by their father.

“Let me go! I have to get my ball back. If ma sees it down there I am gonna get in trouble again.”

“No! We are not allowed down there without one of them. You know that Rath.” The serious young man told his little brother. “Just tell ma it was an accident, she will get it for you later.”

“I can’t do that! The same thing happened yesterday, I know she is gonna tan my hide for this. She yelled at me the whole time about trying to find a reason to sneak around down there. Will you please get it for me? Ma won’t be back from the market for a while. I can see it from right here, if I can’t get it, you do it.” The youngster said while pointing down into the dark cellar.

“No!” Zender shouted at his brother. “Now go back outside before I tan your hide. If I don’t finish these lessons I will join you on the chopping block. Just leave me alone.”

“Please Zender!” he cried, as the tears had started to run down his face. Zender shook his head at his brother as he sat back down at the kitchen table to finish his lessons. When Zender picked his writing quill up, Rath started to wail. While the math lesson was easy to him, he could not concentrate on the numbers with his brother standing five feet away, crying at the top of his lungs. After a while the young man could only sigh to himself.

“Fine, I will get it for you. You better keep your mouth shut though, if ma finds out I was down there I will know it was you.” As soon as he agreed to retrieve the ball, the tears and screaming stopped. Zender wondered if Rath had just put on a show for him. Rathnel knew how much his brother hated hearing him cry. As he put the quill down again he went to the kitchen window to look out, seeing if he could see his mother returning from the market. “You go stand outside, if you see ma, you better holler out to me. I mean it Rath, if I get caught down there.” Zender shook his fist at his younger brother. While the two loved each other, Rath did all he could to avoid his older brothers temper. This meant he did everything his brother told him to do when he was told to do it. Zender watched as he brother ran out of the house and to the road that lead to the old farm house. When he was in the middle of the dusty road, Zender waved at him and turned towards the cellar steps.

This was only the second time the young man tempted fate by coming down these stairs. Much like his younger brother, he wanted to know what was down there. From the top of the stairs you could see the dried good his mother stored down below in the cool darkness. Bags of grain and flower were stacked up next to several water barrels. Zender counted the steps as he went down, thirteen was as far as he had ever gone. When he got to thirteen he could see most of the dark room. Strange objects lined the walls and a large cloth covered table stood in the center of the room. The first time he dared to brave the steps, he saw that table and something made him turn and run back up. Something about the sight of it made him uneasy.

This time, he could not stop at thirteen. Twenty steps down he went to the cellar floor, looking around the room he saw that his father had moved the table against the far wall. As he reached down to pick up his brothers ball he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Just a subtle flash like the sun shining on the water as it rippled. Standing up straight, ball in hand he looked to see what might have caused it. Stepping into the darkness, away from the light coming from above Zender could see the various weapons lining the wall. His father had amassed a large collection of weapons over the years, most of them he took from the people he hunted. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see more and more shapes standing out to him. He could now see the shelf along the wall. As he got closer he could see all the other items laid out, daggers of different sizes and shapes. In the center of the shelf was a small chest, there was a lock hanging from the hasp in front but it was unlocked. It was then that he saw it happen again.

Zender froze as a single pulse of light escaped from the edges of the chest, even with the lid closed light managed to escape and reflect off the weapons on the wall behind it. His first thought was to run as fast as he could, yet his feet would not move. His mind was screaming for him to run as he took another step forward towards the chest. As a third pulse of light came from the chest, Zender abandoned all hope of avoiding punishment and went to the chest. Sliding the lock off the hasp, he set it on the shelf next to a pair of metal stars. As he opened the lid, he saw what looked to be a few lose gems and a ring or two. In the center of it all was a round silver medallion; on it was the image of a dragon with its wings wrapped around what looked to be the sun. As he reached for it, it let out one last small pulse of light. That light filled his day and made him forget about any trouble he might be in. It filled him with warmth and as he slipped it into his pocket, he knew it was there for him. He only had to come down and find it.

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Days went by and Zender kept the find in the cellar to himself. He knew what the symbols on the medallion were; he had seen them at the new temple in town. He just wanted to understand why? His father was away, working for a local merchant guarding his goods during transport. His mother wasn’t going to be much of a help as she did not care to discuss things of a spiritual nature with her children. Zender knew that while she was a good woman, deep inside she was bitter over the loss of her brother. He had died at a young age and then her father passed a few short months after that. Also, Zender knew better than to tell his mother that he had been in the cellar, let alone that he took something from there. He knew that there was only one place he was going to get answers to the questions he had: the temple of Solarth in Eystlundtowne.

One month after finding the medallion Zender and his family loaded up in the wagon to head into town. Zender rode in the back of the wagon, his legs hanging off the back, while his mother and brother sat together up front. He kept his hand on the medallion in the pocket of his trousers all the way to town. He held it so tight, he imagined the image of the dragon being imprinted on his palm. Not that he dared pull it out to look, he had to hold onto it until they reached town so he could go to the temple. His worst fear at that moment was his mother seeing him with it, taking it away. As the wagon came to a stop, he looked around at where they were. The two large K’s on the sign told him just where they were, Keller Kromwell’s shop. He was the merchant that Windfall was working for; part of his pay was food and seed to be given to his family for free. Zender knew he had to get away from his mother and brother. So he thought of the one thing she wouldn’t object to.

“Hey Ma! I am gonna run over to the Green’s store. Keller doesn’t carry books.” Before she could anything he was off at a run. Just before he rounded the corner of the next street he thought he heard her shout something about his father. Not that he cared about that. He had been waiting for this day ever since he came back up those twenty cellar steps. Nothing could stop him now; he swore his feet were no longer touching the ground as he sprinted through the streets. The temple was only a few more streets away; there he would find the answers he longed for. When the temple was in sight, he picked up the pace. Running through the crowded streets most people did not notice the odd looking boy, running with one hand in his pocket. Not until he ran headlong into another child with a stack of books as tall as his arms were long.

“Fool! Watch where you are going!” The man in red robes shouted at Zender. “You could have damaged my apprentice. Even worse, you could have damaged my books.” Zender kept his head down, not wanting to look into the face of the screaming man. He just scrambled to help the other child pick up the books. Zender looked at the other child as he handed him a stack of books. He was dressed in dark gray robes with a hood over his head. Darker still were the eyes that looked back at Zender. Zender felt bad and wanted to tell the boy he was sorry yet something kept him from speaking. Perhaps it was the single tear on the other child’s face but Zender couldn’t find the words. As he handed the boy the last of the books, the child in the gray robes looked down his nose and sneered as he turned away to follow after his master. After that Zender walked the rest of the way to the temple.

The temple of Solarth had only been open for a few years. While there had always been a temple of Solarth in that spot, it did not survive the fall of the order over a hundred years before. The few priest in the temple worked night and day to get the temple into living shape. Zender looked at the walls and could still see the scorch marks on the walls from when followers of Asmodeus burned it to the ground. Along with several priest that were still inside of the temple at the time. When the order first returned to claim the temple, many man hours were spent trying to restore the old building. While for the most part, it was finished yet it still needed a lot of work. The church only lacked the funds to have the work completed. As Zender entered the temple grounds he didn’t see anyone around. There were no priests working on the modest garden or white washing the walls. He just walked straight up the main path to the temple doors and let himself in.

Standing in the vestibule he looked side to side, there was still not a soul in sight. Shaking his head he moved into the main temple, he looked up at the door frame. He could see the doors that should be there in his mind but they were years from being placed. Walking down the center aisle Zender could see where the pews had once been. There were only a handful of them in the temple now. It would seem that the only thing in side of the temple that had been fully restored was the altar. Zender had his eyes locked on the altar; so much so that he never saw the robed figure that had entered the temple behind him. Zender pulled out the medallion when he reached the foot of the altar, holding it reverently in both hands as he went down to his knees. For the first time in his life, Zender opened up his heart and started to pray. With his eyes shut tight, he spoke to the good god Solarth, seeking answers to his questions.

Bishop Frost had been one of the first humans to join the Order of Solarth when it had first started to attract followers again, he was a massive man who had spent most of his life working as a mason. The leadership of the order knew this; they also knew the amount of work that would be needed to repair the temple in Eystlund. So they chose someone that at least had an idea about how to care for the building before they filled it with the faithful followers they were expecting to flock to them. While Frost believed that the temple foundation was sound, he still did not like the idea of people living in the temple yet. He was good with stone work but the walls of the temple were old, far older than he had ever seen. He had sent a dispatch to a local stone workers guild to have the walls inspected, when they could not set his mind at ease, he reached farther out to a dwarven mason he knew in Arcadia. He had been expecting him on this very day when he saw the strange young man enter the temple. While he had been witness to people coming into the temple to pray, never had he seen someone so young. What he witnessed next he never told another soul, it was something he took to his grave.

The Bishop was never a patient man before he took to the robe. He knew this deep inside and it was something he tried to work on but after close to an hour of watching the young man pray, he started to walk up the aisle. No more than three steps later he felt something pull on the back of his robe. Irritated the Bishop turned around to see who it was, yet there was no one there. It wasn’t until he turned back around did he understand why he was stalled. It was on this day, at this time that his god chose to speak to him. Gone was the boy he had seen enter the temple, in his place was a man. Armor covered this man, a robe of white covered the armor. A shield was strapped to his back and a war hammer hung from his hip. Frost could see the blood stains on the robes, some looked to be fresh, others to be very old. As the image of the man before him started to glow with a faint white light, Bishop Frost went down to one knee. His mind went back to the newly printed book he had been given only a few years before.

While Frost had never been too fond of reading, he knew the value of the book he had been given. From the time it hit his hands, he studied the volume cover to cover several times. It told of the core beliefs of their order, the story of creation and the history of the order. The teachings of their god and wisdom from the orders founding members, thousands of years before. When he came to Eystlund he had been given several copies to share with others like him. Who wanted to learn of the good god and all that he stands for. The passage that came to his mind as he saw the image before him was one he had enjoyed reading. It told of priest who had been given the right to take up arms in the name of the good god. Clerics who walked the land, fighting evil in any form it may take. Frost always wondered if he had been younger if he would have been given that privilege. Now he smiled to himself knowing that he had been chosen to guide those who had found their way to him. As the image of the armored man faded away, only the boy was left behind. As Frost got back to his feet, the boy did as well.

“Oh! I am sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here.” Zender said to him.

“That is quite alright young man. I am Bishop Frost, how may I help you?” He said as he started to walk forward.

“My name is Zender. I found this, well it kinda found me I guess.” He said as he held out the old medallion. The Bishop looked down at the medallion, then looked down at his own that was resting on his chest. His was only the blazing sun, it covered most of his holy symbol. The one the boy was holding out to him was quite different, it also looked to be much older. Frost knew of the significance of the silver dragon but the heads of the order did not want to promote that image. Yet it was still there in the text, things they dared not to change, only ignored.

“Where did you find this master Zender?” He asked.

“Well…” the child paused to look around, making sure they were alone. “I found it down in my root cellar. My father keeps a lot of stuff down there. Dangerous stuff that we are not supposed to go near. He just doesn’t want us to get hurt or anything.”

“How old are you boy?”

“I will be fourteen on the first day of Quintalas.”

“Tell me Zender, what do you think of the temple?”

“It will get better. I think… I think I am supposed to help you or something. I was up there a long time and I started to feel something. It felt like I belong here. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Yes Zender, it does. Come with me young man.” The Bishop turned on his heel and walked out of the main temple turning right once he was past where the doors should be. Zender had to run just to catch up with the Bishop. Zender followed him down a long hallway that seemed to slope down the farther it went. It emptied out into a large room. “This will be the temples dining room and kitchen when it is finished. There are only five of us here right now so there isn’t a need for it right away. The food we grow outside goes to the local families that cannot pay for what they need. It isn’t much but it is a start.” The Bishop then continued to walk through the large room and down a second hallway. Zender then saw what looked to be the only room inside the temple with a door on it. The Bishop opened the door and waved him in.

“This is my humble quarters. It is totally underground but it is away from the main walls of the temple. I can sleep here on the nights I work too late and not worry about the temple crashing down on top of me.” Zender watched the older man move around the room. First pulling a single book down from the only bookcase in the room. Next he opened a small chest, much like the one Zender found his medallion in. From it he pulled out a length of leather cord. “Hold the book and hand me the medallion you found.” Zender hesitated at first but did not feel any ill will from the man so he handed it over. Zender watched as he attached the leather cord to the medallion. “I do not know why it came to you today. I have always known that there was something missing from my life. I didn’t know what it was until a few years ago. Yet I see you, so young and bright, so I ask myself what could be missing from his life? Is that what made you come here, you found this trinket and knew you had to come?”

“Yes. I didn’t know where else to go with it. I didn’t know what it meant until I was at the altar. I couldn’t talk to my parents about it, they wouldn’t understand.”

“Some of the more romantic members of my order call what happened to you the Calling. When the good god first reached out and touched your soul, letting you know that you had a higher purpose in life. While I won’t argue against it, I am a simple man and I don’t think it is as complicated as all of that. Ahhh, there we go.” The Bishop held up the medallion by the leather cord for him to see. As he handed it back to Zender he said “Hang that around your neck, let it rest against your heart under your shirt. Keep it with you always. The book is the prayer book of Solarth. Some of it will be beyond your understanding but study it still. The god has something in mind for you young man. I am not sure what it is but there is no doubting it. Now, would you like me to come with you to speak with your parents? They might need some help in understanding this.”

Zender looked long and hard at Bishop Frost and nodded his head yes. As they were leaving the temple together the young man asked him a question. “Do you know how to defend yourself?” While the Bishop thought it was a funny question, when his laughter died down, he did start to worry. Later that night when he returned to his bed, just before sun up he was rather pleased with himself. It had gone better than he expected.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The booming knock at his door told Zender who it was on the other side. So hard was the knocking Zender thought the door was going to come off the hinges. “Just a moment, Windfall.” He called out as he set down his book. Zender took a moment to straighten his robes. He looked around his modest cell wishing he had time to get away or at least a window he could crawl out of. The visits Windfall made were never pleasant, he still did not understand why Zender had been living in the temple for the last two years. Zender did not understand why his father could not see that he was a man now. He didn’t know anyone that was eighteen years old and still living at home. As he opened the door to his cell he saw that his father was dressed in his night-blue armor and armed to the teeth. He also had a large bag slung over his shoulder. “You know the Bishop doesn’t like it when you come in here like that.”

“Son, Solarth won’t mind. Trust me on this. I don’t think that new Bishop of yours likes anything, I miss Frost.” Windfall swept into the room, setting the large bag on Zender’s bed. He could hear the sound of metal clashing around inside of it. Not that he was paying attention to it, he had not thought of his mentor in months. He tried not to think of him, it was the only way to keep his pain at bay. As Zender closed the door, he waited for the usual speech. “I have to leave.” This was new, he had never come to tell him this before. Zender was almost shocked. “I am taking your brother with me, it is time for him to learn. I want you to check in on your mother now and then. Something doesn’t feel right and I don’t like her being all alone out in that farm house.”

“What do you mean?” he asked his father. While he expected something like this, he knew something was wrong.

“Just promise me you will go visit her every couple of weeks? I might have to move her into the city.”

“Windfall, just tell me what it is!”

“I saw a man in full plate armor north of the city. It was black armor, something about him bothered me but I can’t put my finger on it. I have a lead on the one who did all those murders on Noroku so I really can’t follow up on it right now.”

“Father, this is the capital of Eystlund, you can’t throw a stick without hitting some fool in plate armor like we are about to go to war. Odds are he is here for the games next month. What is the in the bag father?”

“It is time for you to live up to your end of the deal. You made me a promise, you know what I am talking about. I let Solarth have you, now it is your turn.”

“Fine, tell me why first. I know about what grandfather did to you, I know why you have to hunt. Why put that on me though, I need to understand?”

“Zender, it isn’t about hunting. It is about doing something more with your life than sitting in this dark room, reading that book. I know you are meant for something more, I can feel it in my bones. So just try it, put on the armor. Take a walk about town, tell the sheriff you are my son and want to help. You are stronger than you look and I know I didn’t waste my time teaching you how to fight. Get out of the temple, do something worthwhile.”

“Father!” Zender could see the passion on his father’s face. He believed everything he was saying. “They need me here. There is still a lot of work to do on the temple. I should be here where I can do the most good.”

“Fine! Just make sure you check in on your mother. I hope one day you see what I am talking about Zender. The world is leaving you behind while you hide in these walls.” Zender tried to speak but the words failed him. He could only watch as his father opened the cell door and left the room. Part of him knew his father was right but he had to follow the direction of his leaders. Looking down at the bed he started to reach for the burlap bag just as the bells were ringing. It was time to start afternoon prayers. He had to make it there today, Bishop Drent liked to punish people who missed prayer sessions.

Zender did not like Bishop Drent, there was something about the man that set him on edge. While he had no proof, he thought the Bishop was dealing with some shady folks from outside of the city. He was always meeting people outside the temple grounds at all hours of the night. Zender didn’t like it at all. Yet the Bishop kept them busy enough that he did not have time to question anyone about it.

Two weeks after the visit by his father, Zender could not sleep. It was strangely warm that night and nothing he did helped. As he left his room he thought to spend the night in the stables. It was the one guilty pleasure the young cleric still treasured from his childhood. Only he never got that far. The sound of a woman crying drew his attention to the temple area. As he pulled the new doors open, that he had helped carve, he could see her in the first pew. Her entire body was shaking as she sobbed. He quickly moved down the aisle and kneeled down beside her. “My lady, what is wrong, how can I help you?” The woman looked over at him, her face streaked with tears.

“My children…” and the tears started anew. Zender pushed his body into the pew next to her, putting an arm around her seeking to give her comfort. While it took most of the night to get the words from her, he at last understood. Two days before the woman’s two children had gone missing. She went to the sheriff for help, he told her that they had children come up missing every day for a week, he couldn’t help her. She then came to the temple, seeking the guidance of Solarth in the form of Bishop Drent. He told her in no short order that her children were gone and she needed to move on. As the woman spoke and sobbed, Zender felt something break inside. He did not know if it was his heart or his mind but looking at the altar as she spoke, he knew what he had to do. He told the woman she was welcome to stay in the temple as long as she needed; giving her his minor blessing before he turned to go. He returned to his room and reached under his bed pulling out the large burlap bag his father had left behind.

A Curse; Return From the Dead; Dragon Hunt

2010-04-29T10:14:00.005-04:00

Recap of recorded session# 5

The following recap comes courtesy of Lord Darmot Kromwell

This session begins as the last one ended. Ademar, letting his curiosity get the best of him decides to explore a cave on his own. Ignoring the dead ogres, that his party had nothing to do with, he drives deeper into the cave. Only to find himself face to face with a Remorhaz. It rears his head up and before the poor elf has a chance to react the creature bites at Ademar. Biting deep in to his chest, the Remorhaz lifts its head up high. While Ademar puts up a valiant struggle, he could do nothing to stop the beast from swallowing him whole. With one large gulp, the Remorhaz took the elf down where he died in the belly of the beast.

Back in the frost giant’s lair, the rest of the group is looking over their spoils and looking to take a rest. Gareth, stripping down his armor laid out a bedroll. Raell, determined to make Black Rhett sick, was cutting the head off the frost giant who was stealing the ale shipments. Cor’Nal, looking around the room, asked where Ademar was. When Gareth asked why he only said, I thought I heard something. While this behavior was normal for Ademar, Cor’Nal did not relax and wished to go find the missing elf. While Gareth protested having to put his armor back on, the group went to check for the missing elf. With Gareth leading the way, the group went to looking for Ademar.

The group headed down the only opening they had not explored. When the group came to the new cave, outside of dead ogres, the group saw nothing but a ridge where the floor sloped down out of sight. Leuthar, hears something ‘big’ that madkes him uncomfortable and the group decides to fall back so the casters can rest. Returning to the room with the decapitated frost giant, the group takes a rest. The night passes without incident and the group gets up to find out the fate of Ademar. Cor’Nal returns to the rope bridge and uses his stone shape power to create a bridge over the chasm so he may once again summon his wolf companion who could not cross the rope bridge. Once that was completed, the group returned to the cave where they believed Ademar was last know to be.

After Cor’Nal casts various spells on the party members, the group followed Gareth into the room. Using a club they found in the frost giant room, Gareth threw it over the ridge to see if they could draw out anything that might be on the other side. When the club landed, it landed on the beast below, making the Remorhaz rear up and show itself. Not wanting to waste any time Gareth charges at the beast while Cor’Nal and Leuthar launch magical attacks. The Remorhaz slithers forward and bites at the charging Gareth. While the fighter is hurt, he manages to avoid being trapped in the creature’s maw. Lashing out at the creature Gareth notices that his blade got hot when it came in contact with the creature. After taking a magical blast from Cor’Nal, the creature once again turned to Gareth. Biting deep into his chest, Gareth is now trapped in the jaws of the Remorhaz. Leuthar, using a scorching ray damaged the creature but it was still trying to eat Gareth. It was then that Raell killed the creature with an arrow to its face. Gareth was then released from the creature’s jaws as it collapsed back down into the ravine from which it came.

Wanting to find some sign of their missing Ademar, Cor’Nal approached the dead creature’s body but found it was putting out a tremendous amount of heat. So much so that Cor’Nal and Raell were burned. After a bit of healing was given to Gareth and Raell, Cor’Nal went in search of the stolen shipment of ale. Finding one full cask, Cor’Nal rolled it back into the room with the dead, hot, Remorhaz. Smashing the cask into the creature cooled it off enough so Raell could cut the beast open. With the belly of the beast wide open, the first thing to fall out was half of a large skeleton. Assuming it was an ogre, the ranger and druid continued with their grim task. Next they were able to find a smaller whole skeleton of what seemed to be an elf. As Est'Perolyne was also in the belly of the beast, the companions knew they had found their friend Ademar.

There was a large pile of gems with the body, Cor’Nal took the body of his friend and the pile of gems and stuffed them in a large sack with Est'Perolyne. Cor’Nal explained that he had a way to bring the elf back to life. While Cor’Nal collected all that remained of Ademar’s remains, Raell started to cut out a large patch of the creature’s skin. Hoping that when Ademar did return, Raell would have armor made of the creature’s skin for him. With that task completed, the group collected their loot and started to leave the cave. All the while, Leuthar remained silent in his discomfort. Believing that he had taken ill while sleeping, Leuthar asked if they could rest before leaving the caves. With the exit in sight, the group decided to rest in the rust monster cave yet again. The night passes without incident yet Leuthar is even worse when he awakes in the morning. Cor’Nal attempts to cure the Halfling's illness but it has no affect.

Unsure of what is causing the illness, Leuthar took a broach off that he had found a few days prior and tossed it at the druid. Assuming this is what caused his problem, he told the druid to take the beetle shaped item. Cor’Nal thinking nothing of it just dropped it in a bag with other items the group had found along the way. As the group started to leave the cave, Cor’Nal announced that he was leaving on his own and that his companion Besali would follow the orders of Leuthar until he returned. Cor’Nal then changed shape into a Dire Hawk and flew away to a mine near Snoam-Schlabach. Raell turning to Gareth told him that he was now a free man. He invited him to return to Henutsen with the group or he was free to go as he pleased. Gareth, deciding to press his luck said he would stay with the group.

Gareth, Leuthar and Raell with Besali in tow set out for Henutsen. Driving the wagon the group had brought with them. When the group first sets out, they have a solid canopy of trees over head, as they get closer to the main trail the cover lessens and they notice a strange shape circling over head. As they stop to look, it is plain to see it is the white dragon high over head. Leuthar looks to Raell and suggest they find a forest trail to follow back to Henutsen. After some discussion, they decide to leave the empty wagon behind and just ride the horses. The group sticks to the edge of the forest as best they can to avoid catching the eye of the dragon. In the process, the trails they take make the trip back twice as long as it needed to be. In the end it all turned out to be for naught. As the group comes to a clearing they see the white dragon soaring over the trees towards them. Madly kicking their mounts, the group dashes for the nearest tree line hoping to avoid the giant beast and its frosty breath before it is too late.

As the group crashes into the tree line, the dragon is coming in for a landing. Massive gusts of wind slam into the trees as the dragon’s wings beat the air. Now deep into the trees, the group cannot see their mounts or the dragon. Yet they know it is out there, somewhere.

Elsewhere Cor’Nal flies to The Olde Snoam Mine. Still in the form of a bird the druid hops into the mine. Cor’Nal then finds a small room where he can work. After changing back into his elven form, Cor’Nal lays out the remains of Ademar, saying a prayer over them to Kutenai. After this was completed, he uses a rod of resurrection on the remains of the elf. A great light fills the room and fills the druid with a profound amount of joy and peace. As the light clears the room, the body of Ademar fully formed again and alive. Ademar, naked as the day he was born looks around in confusion. Unsure of where he is. When he sees his druid friend, he questions where they are. As soon as the druid sees his friend he casts a spell on him to help him resist the bitter cold of the mine. After which he gave the elf a spare set of clothes. After being told where he was and how he was brought back to life, Ademar had one question.

“Where is all my gold?”

Cor’Nal returned the few items that survived being eaten. It was then that Cor’Nal asked his friend for one thing. That Ademar was not to venture off on his own anymore and that they needed to work as a team from then on. Still having the bitter taste of death in his mouth, the thief was quick to agree. Then the druid extended his hand to the thief, expressing his joy at seeing Ademar returned to life. What started as a simple hand shake, ended in a gentle embrace between two kindred spirits. Once the two parted, Cor’Nal put a question to Ademar. Asking him if he wanted to continue on with the druid or if he wanted to go off on his own. “I can take you anywhere you want to go!” the druid told him. While Ademar pondered the question, he got himself dressed. In the end, Ademar could not give up on the druid and agreed to continue on with the group. As the pair started to leave the cave, Ademar picked up the expended rod of resurrection and tucked it into his pants.

Farther away, the trio of Gareth, Leuthar and Raell huddle in the tree line, still looking out for the white dragon. While Raell is trying to get the group to move on, Gareth refuses to leave without his items. Pointing out that all he took with him into the tree line was his weapon. Everything else he owned was in his bag on the back of a horse. Raell feeling bad agrees to try to find his mount. Moving slowly, the pair looks and listens for the dragon. They cannot see or hear anything yet, as they look around the clearing they can only see one horse of the three they were riding. Gareth went back into the tree line then to retrieve Leuthar who had buried himself in a pile of snow with Besali. Gareth kicked at the snow pile hoping to draw the halfling out, yet he refused to move or even speak. Raell, growing tired of being out in the open starts yelling at the halfling, telling him that if he doesn’t get moving, he will climb in the snow pile and pull him out. While he is reluctant, he agrees to go with them. Sticking to the edge of the tree line, the group makes its way towards the lone horse they can still see.

As luck would have it, the horse they could see was the one that carried Gareth’s gear. Raell let out a whistle and the animal came over to the group. Gareth mounts up on the horse while Raell runs alongside of them. Leuthar however decides that he will just ride on Cor’Nal’s companion Besali. While the wolf doesn’t seem to care for the halfling, he allows him to ride on his back. While the group continues to head back to town, they keep a sharp eye out for the dragon. Thankful that they do not see it, the group finds its way back to the town of Henutsen. Just outside of the city gates Raell turns to Gareth and warns him about the town. Stating that the town is filled with the worst of humanity and that he should be careful as to what he talks about. After a quick stop at the Tread Light Inn, Raell and Gareth head to the other side of town to see Black Rhett at the Longest Mile. Just before leaving the halfling behind, Gareth asked Leuthar if he was feeling well. The halfling had grown pale and was looking worse than at any time before.

As Gareth and Raell left the halfling behind, Raell suggested that he see a cleric.

Elsewhere, Cor’Nal and Ademar exit the mine where the thief was brought back to life. Looking at the vast amounts of snow, Ademar continued to lament the loss of his magical boots. He then questioned how the druid was going to get him back to Henutsen. Using a length of hemp rope, the druid tied a loop and put it around Ademar. It was then that he transformed into a dire bat and flew away clutching the rope, taking Ademar with him. Flying back the same way he came, Cor’Nal saw a pair of horses in a clearing near the road to Henutsen. It was then that they saw the wagon that had been left behind. While he saw no signs of his companions, he thought it best to land, gather the horses and salvage what they could from the wagon. With a giant sack of goods, Ademar mounts one of the horses while Cor’Nal flies over head. While the pair were making good time, still ten miles away from Henutsen they are ambushed by a trio of Gricks. The creatures lash out with tentacles at Ademar, drawing fresh blood. In a panic, Ademar lets go of the one horse he was leading and tried to flee. Cor’Nal in a rage blasted the trio of beast with a flame strike, killing them all. As the flames from his spell fade, there is nothing left of the creatures but ash and bone. So great was the gout of flame, it also killed the horse Ademar left behind when attacked. With Ademar unwilling to slow his pace anymore after the attack, the pair was able to make it back to Henutsen without any more problems. After getting back to the Tread Light Inn, Cor’Nal and Ademar return to their rooms to rest for the night. Not knowing that Leuthar was just down the hall from them, putting study time into a book of necromancy.

On the other side of town, Raell and Gareth walk into The Longest Mile. Seeing Flanders behind the bar, Raell asked if Black Rhett was in. When he said he was, Raell then told Flanders that Gareth would need a room for the night. The ranger offered to pay for his room and anything else he wanted. Anything he wanted at all. Gareth thanked the ranger and went about seeing what The Longest Mile had to offer. After a bit of posturing by Flanders, Raell was escorted in to see Black Rhett. On this evening, Rhett was not alone. He was in the company of two of his employees, Marcus Two Blades and Keelhaul Thom. Pulling a bloody sack from his shoulder, Raell held it up for Black Rhett to see. Raell watched with a grim bit of pleasure as his eyes got larger in his fat head. “Please do not do what you did before.” He asked the ranger.

Raell smiled as he set the bloody sack on the floor and explained to him who had stolen all of the missing ale shipments. When Raell told him of the giant, he seemed to question him. Raell, happy to show Black Rhett the proof, opened the bag on the floor and pulled out the frost giant head. Rhett looked at Thom and asked him to look at the contents of the bag. Thom sticks his hand deep into the bag of ears and eyeballs and starts looking over the contents. Rhett seemed satisfied with that and discussed payment, trying to low-ball the ranger. Raell reminded him what the agreed upon payment was and waited. While the coin was counted out by Marcus, Rhett offered Raell the use of the ‘finest whore’ in the house on him. Raell wanting to continue on the MacBrady line agreed.

Back at the Tread Light, Leuthar hears a knock at his door while trying to study his book of necromancy. Digger Menthic yells at him through the door, asking to see him. Leuthar invites him in when Digger tells him they have another job offer for him and when he is ready to head down stairs. Leuthar thinks about it for a moment, prepares his spells for the day and heads down to the meeting with Kayzen. Once face to face with Kayzen, the halfling is warned that a wand was found near the body of Deacon Jones, which was the last job Leuthar did for the Black Glove XIII. They told him that the Baron’s men had the wand and were looking into the murder. Leuthar assured Kayzen that he wouldn’t have been so sloppy as to leave behind anything like that. Kayzen then offered Leuthar another job, the murder of Will Wilson, also known as Cam Crowley. Kayzen told Leuthar of all the murders this man had committed and said they could not abide by his type any longer. After he was told some basic facts, Leuthar only wanted to know how much the job paid. Kayzen then told him how much and that if he did the job well, there may be a spot in the Black Glove XIII for him.

After Cor’Nal deposits Ademar in his room, he leaves the inn behind and goes off in search of a still body of water in the forest. Once he finds that he takes out a coin he took from the dragon horde and cast a scrying spell to spy on the dragon. After more than an hour, he fails in his attempt to scry the dragon. Cursing at his failure, Cor’Nal returns to the Tread Light Inn to rest for the remainder of the night.

After dark, Leuthar not wanting to waste any time on his new assignment heads to the other side of town. First he secures himself a room at the Longest Mile. From there he goes to look for the house of Will Wilson. After looking around the house he decides that the best way to enter the house is through the upper floor window. Using a potion of levitation he scales his way up the side of the house. Looking in the first window he comes to, he sees an older man, about to turn in for the night. After inspecting the rest of the house he comes back to the bedroom window and forces the lock open. Knowing he could open the window, Leuthar changes his shape to that of a troglodyte. With that completed, he opens the window and floats inside. Wilson, feeling the chilly draft sits up demanding to know who was there. Leuthar pulls out a weapon and launches himself forward to attack the defenseless man in his night clothes.

While he took a nasty hit, Wilson was able to roll off the bed and grab one of his nearby weapons. In the end it did him no good. When the fighting was done, Wilson was dead along with two of his personal guard. One was half hanging out of a now broken window; the other was dead in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. The upper floors of the home were bathed in the blood of Wilson and his men. Leaving nothing behind but the tracks of a troglodyte on the blood splattered floors the halfling searched the house after he pulled the guard back in the window. Leuthar took his time searching first the bedroom of Wilson and then the rest of the house. He first found a large stash of coins in a chest in the bedroom and a memoir of Wilson’s life. Leuthar, flipping through the book, turned to the last pages that were written. In it Wilson commiserates about himself and his one sided relationship to the Baron. Leuthar tosses the book aside and takes a set of fine clothes that were also in the chest. In another room Leuthar finds a statue of Geedes, along with various other items and religious books on the god. Leuthar looking about the room was stricken with a moment of inspiration. Using the body and blood of Will Wilson, Leuthar desecrates the statue of Geedes. Finding little else of value in the home Leuthar looks to leave the house, only to notice one of the town guards outside.

Rushing up the stairs Leuthar watched the guard outside of the house while trying to plot his escape. Unknown to him, the guard that had crashed through the window, bled down the side of the house. While the sight of the broken window drew the guard’s attention, the sight of blood made him reach for a whistle. Soon the night air was filled with the piercing sound of the guard’s whistle. Leuthar looked out the other windows of the upper floor saw no easy way to escape without being seen. Reaching into his bag of scrolls, Leuthar looked for help in the form of magic. Momentarily lamenting the loss of the scroll, Leuthar summoned an Unseen Servant. First sending the invisible creature out the window, Leuthar willed it to go around the house and make noise to distract the guard. While the guard went to look for the source of the noise, he did not stop blowing the whistle. Leuthar then had the Unseen Servant attack the guard, making him retreat to the road and then down the road in a panic. As soon as the guard was gone, Leuthar jumped out the window. While he hurt himself jumping out of the second floor window, he was able to limp away. Having to avoid the arrival of more guards along the way, the halfling was able to make it back to his room at the Longest Mile.

First thing the following morning, Raell told the whore he was with the night before that if she was with child, he would pay her two hundred gold pieces to keep the baby. Raell then went about the task of replacing his armor that was eaten by the Rust Monsters. From there he went to find a tannery to have Masterwork Studded Leather armor made from the skin of the Remorhaz for Ademar. Along the way to Tread Light, Raell finds Ademar in the street on his way to the blacksmith’s shop. The two traveled together to the shop, Ademar was checking on the status of two blades he had commissioned. At long last, the weapons Ademar had made were completed. Two beautiful gleaming blades, crafted by a master smith. The two then went together to resupply their depleted quivers. Once their shopping was completed Raell went to see Cor’Nal. He told him that he was going to spend the rest of the day in the wild to replace his lost animal companion. The two agreed to meet the following day to discuss the location of Farkas Windsow. Once the ranger was gone, the druid changed himself into a bird and once again set off to find the white dragon.

Back at The Longest Mile, Leuthar comes down from his night of rest into the common room. He sees Gareth having breakfast. He also sees a pair of the town guards speaking with Flanders behind the bar. While he attempted to scoot out of the inn without being noticed, Gareth spotted the halfling and invited him to have breakfast with him. Leuthar agreed to stay only after making sure the human warrior would foot the bill. Once the town guards left the inn, Gareth called over Flanders to order the halfling a meal. While the two ate, Gareth questioned Leuthar about the group, trying to find if they were trustworthy. Wondering if he really had a future with the group and where they were going next. Leuthar did his best to assure the human that they were traveling with good people but did not know where they were going next. Once the meal was completed, Leuthar left the Longest Mile and returned to the Tread Light Inn.

Far from the city, Cor’Nal is still flying about, searching for the dragon. North West of the city he sees a commotion in the trees, as he flies closer he can hear something pounding its way through the forest. As he darts down under the canopy of trees, he finds the source of the noise. A large white yeti is making its way through the forest. The druid stares ahead in shock, knowing this was the same creature he had seen before. Determined to know more about the creature, he begins to follow it. The druid watched as it stalked through the forest and into a clearing where it found a herd of deer. The druid did nothing but watch as it killed a deer and ate it. For more than an hour the druid followed the yeti until it came to its nest on the side of a hill. Taking a look around, taking a note of his location the druid took flight once again, in search of the white dragon. He continued to search for the rest of the day, without a single sighting of the great white beast.

Back in Henutsen, Leuthar returns to the Tread Light Inn. While he sees one of the Black Glove XII members behind the bar, he only returns to his room to work on creating scrolls. As he works, he can’t help but notice, he is feeling worse than the day before. Whatever illness he is afflicted with seems to be getting stronger. At the end of his rope, the halfling goes in search of someone to help him. Unsure of where to go and unwilling to pay the bridge tax again, Leuthar goes to the temple of Geedes. While they let the halfling in, he is told that he came at a bad time but they will do what they can for him for a price of one hundred and fifty gold. Leuthar claims to not have that much money and leaves the temple. In the end he had to pay the bridge tax while on his way to the temple of Myrrdin. While at the temple of Myrrdin, Leuthar discusses what he is feeling with one of the priest. As Leuthar told him that he may be cursed, he was told he would find no help in the temple and that he needed to seek out a sage. With nowhere else to turn, the halfling goes to see Gaen Baliol. After some small talk, Leuthar tells Gaen that he believes that he is cursed.

Gaen tells Leuthar that he should go to the temple of Geedes. As Deacon Jones was quiet skilled in dealing with such problems (Hmm, a bit of karma? -E). Leuthar tells Gaen that it could be caused by an item that he has. The sage, desperate to see all that Leuthar has in his bag of tricks, tells him to lay out everything he has. After looking over the items Gaen picks up a bag of dust that Leuthar found in the dragon’s horde. After casting a spell on the bag he tells Leuthar that it is called dust of appearance. It is used for making the invisible, visible. It was also the cursed item that was causing his illness. He then offered to dispose of the dust for the halfling. Leuthar left Gaen’s shop, lighter in the coin pouch but free of the curse. Much the same way Cor’Nal did later that day when he had a few items identified by the old mage.

Mid afternoon Raell returned to Henutsen with his new companion Xander. A great eagle that lived in the peaks around the mountain city. Once he entered the gates, he went to the Tread Light Inn to find Cor’Nal, Ademar and Leuthar. The four companions went together to the pool of water in the forest where Cor’Nal cast the scry spell before. Only this time, they were looking for something else. Using the toenail clippings Cor’Nal recovered days before he cast his spell to find Farkas Windsow. As the image began to form, the druid described what he could see. The image of the dwarf first appeared, he was sitting on a bed in a large room. As Cor’Nal shifted his focus around the room and then out they could tell where the dwarf slaver was. In the guest room of the Baron's palace.

(This is the end of the recorded session. I will let the DM and Cor’Nal write about the solo dragon fight.)

Derek Steadyfingers

2010-04-21T18:32:00.001-04:00

Derek Steadyfingers (born Dereque Kel’Nestessir) held the last of the highwaymen who attempted to accost him by his shirt collar with the fist of his left hand. He lifted the beaten, bleeding man from the dirt of the dusty road just enough so that his back no longer touched the ground. The man remained motionless as Derek stood, straddling his torso, though he was clearly still alive. His eyes lolled in his head like marbles in a child’s palm. The broken flesh of his lips told the tale of the encounter they had with Derek’s right fist. A tale that was not yet finished being told.

Thunk! The sound of Derek’s right fist upon the highwayman’s mouth again. His head snapped back for a moment before returning to its original position. More blood upon his lips to wet the crust that had dried there in the moments leading to this latest blow.

“Who sent you?” Derek screamed. Uncontrollable anger was not usually part of Derek Steadyfinger’s emotional repertoire but the elf was finding it extremely difficult after this most recent attack. He knew he was being followed, sensed it days ago, but could not understand who or why at this time. He was a rogue after all, it could be anybody, but Derek was the most careful of his kind, and in over a hundred and fifty years, had never been captured or arrested. Barely a housemaiden had been awakened from slumber during his tenure as a common house-burglar and since he had gotten himself in the jewel trade, well, let’s just say perfect might seem like hubris, but what of hubris if such brash sensibilities about oneself turned out to be true?

Yes, Derek would consider himself the perfect thief, if he considered himself a thief at all. Instead, Derek liked the word rogue and considered himself a freelance procurer of all things shiny and pretty. Offering those things procured back at a considerable markdown from their original prices, and oftentimes even to their original owner. Derek wasn’t particular about such things, and always liked to see a happy customer after all.

“Piss… off…” Was the whispered, blood mist response from the road agent.

“Wrong answer.” Another punch from Derek’s calloused right fist. The highwayman’s lower lip split almost completely to the upper part of his beard. More blood, far more than before and the eye lolling had gotten worse as well. Derek didn’t have much time.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again, and if you don’t tell me what I want to hear I’m going to have to punch you again.” His voice was calmer, more reasonable than before. More, Derek.

The raider closed his eyes slowly; the lids were as horizontal stage curtains at the close of a romantic tragedy. He wasn’t going to live much longer.

Derek reached for one of the arrows he had fired into the highwayman’s thigh, an admittedly errant shot that should have been fatal, and would have been, had Derek not been outnumbered and been forced to fire so quickly and so often. He twisted the arrow as he grasped it. The effect it had was exactly as desired as the highwayman’s eyes snapped back open, a quick scream emanated from his bleeding mouth and he inhaled sharply, presumably to scream again but Derek muffled whatever would have come next with an open palm.

“Shh, tell me friend… and I will ease your suffering.” His voice was gentle, a soft whisper on the summer breeze.

The road agent’s breath slowed, became raspy as death approached. His eyes remained open through some miracle, the color had run completely from his lips and sweating face as more blood drained from the wounds he had received. Wishing the pain to end, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Drahg… drago…” His whisper was barely audible though Derek’s face was only inches away.

“Dragons?” Derek shook the dying man at his collar. “What of ‘dragons’? I know of no dragons! I’ve never been within miles of one that I know of.”

The man’s eyes began to close again, the death-sleep had begun to overtake him, he would be dead in moments.

“No, no! Not yet.” Derek shook him again and reached for the arrow shaft once more, though he thought it would do little good this time. As if the highwayman could sense the motion and direction of Steadyfinger’s hand his eyes snapped open once more before Derek’s hand made contact. The elf stayed his palm just short of contact and leaned closer for what he expected to be the man’s last words.

“Drahgov… Drahgov… vin.” The word must have been a name, or perhaps it was nonsense. Either way Derek Steadyfinger’s, an elf nearly two-hundred and twenty five years old, had never heard it before.

“Drahguvvin.” Softly, Derek repeated the word to himself.

The man’s chest rattled and he coughed a spot of dark-red blood that spilled over the corners of his mouth and further stained his road-filthy shirt, a portion of it pooled in the split of his lip that Steadyfinger’s fist had made. He wheezed again as his chest rattled for the last time. His body become limp, moreso than before to Derek’s amazement. When the wheeze stopped, Derek let go of the highwayman’s collar nonchalantly and his torso fell to the ground, his neck whipped back as his lifeless skull cracked heavily upon the gravel road.

The elf stood, believing himself no closer to realizing who wanted him dead than before. He set about reclaiming what he could from the wreckage of battle; his rapier, his longbow, a dagger and any spent arrows that could possibly be loosed again. Once he had gathered all of his own belongings he dared enough time to loot the corpses of the dead, four in all, for any clue to what had brought on this disorganized ambush. He found nothing of a clue, but the 37 pieces of gold and near one hundred silver pieces he did find seemed a pittance for the work he’d done here today. He checked the saddlebags of the horses they had rode in on, pilfered what food he found agreeable as well as their waterskins and, after seriously considering taking the horses and selling them in Goodale, the small city that this road he was traveling on led to, he opted for speed instead and besides; why risk adding Horse Thievery to the list of things that could be attributed the elf if one were ever fortunate enough to take him into custody?

Instead he slapped the three surviving horses each on their rears and sent them in opposite directions, hoping to confuse any who still followed him. He then dragged the corpses of his attackers to the side of the road, propped all four dead men against the underside of the dead horse who lay there along its left flank. As he stood back to admire his work, Steadyfingers found that they comically resembled drunken companions awaiting a chartered wagon. Derek expected whoever hired these sloppy highwaymen to come through this area soon enough and he hoped the discovery of this display would have one of two desired effects: It would either discourage this “Drahguvvin” from pursuing him further or it would convince him to employ higher caliber, better equipped agents. Derek hoped for the former, but the latter would provide him with better equipment to loot, as well as more coin to take from their corpses once he bested them.

Derek always tried to find the silver lining in every cloud.

Once finished with admiring his handiwork the young elf took to the saddle of his own horse, a four year old reddish-brown stallion he called Lightpurse. He gave the steed a gentle urging with his spurs and slapped the reigns as he spoke in elven, directing the horse back toward the South. Dust swirled up behind mount and rider as they trailed away from the mess that Derek left behind; a mess that would intrigue more than anger the man responsible for the attack. As intriguing as he found Steadyfingers’ methods in dispatching his hired men, or the bravado in which he displayed their corpses once dispatched, he would do neither of the things Derek had expected. Instead he would continue as planned. He would have Faramin, his Goodale puppet, make certain to select the elf when choosing the next raiding party just as he had arranged all the others to be selected to this point. If the road agents couldn’t kill him, then Raylock the mage would.

Raylock had been wildly successful up to this point and the mage was turning out to be more efficient than he’d ever expected, lasting much longer and ending the careers of far more ”heroes” than he ever expected his gold to pay for. Yes, if Raylock was expected to live much longer, Dragoven might find a place for him in his new kingdom. But alas, he was not, so he would not.

Lightpurse made the distance between the site of Derek’s ambush and the town of Goodale with little discernible effort. He negotiated the rolling hills and Once again, Derek found reason to be proud of his companion and even prouder of himself for having the good sense to procure him when he did. He saw potential in the steed at the time, despite having little actual equine experience or knowledge, and leapt at the chance to take him when the opportunity presented itself.

Coming into town, a smallish, though busy village of mostly human population, Derek inhaled the robust aroma of the malted hops and barley for which the town of Goodale was famous for. Unlike many elves, Derek enjoyed the odd pint of stout here and there and looked forward to enjoying one before the business at hand was to begin. Unfortunately, that pint wouldn’t be had today as Faramin’s lineup, for which he was expected at Highsun, would be taking place only moments from now and Derek needed to find a place to hitch Lightpurse. He grimaced as he dismounted, looking to the sky before leading his mount to a fairly clean-looking stable. The clouds were growing thicker and darker, and Derek thanked Sanastarus, a deity whom he usually had little to say to these last hundred and fifty years, for holding off on the coming storm until now. Not wanting to believe that the bandits he overcame just hours ago would have had any more success under the cover of cloud and rain, but grateful not to have had to find out, regardless.

After hitching Lightpurse at the stable, the name of which was already escaping him, he set out to the town square six silver pieces lighter, an expensive sum even for a large city. Derek made a mental note to visit the stablebuck later in order to recoup his lost coin, but now wasn’t the time to risk being caught.

“Not that I’ve anything to fear in that regard.” Derek, smiling, whispered to himself.

Moving deftly through the bustling streets Derek saw the town square, an ornate, heavily flowered area, several hundred feet ahead of him. He eyed who he believed to be Lord Faramin, a man of average stature with short brown hair graying at the ears flanked by two uniformed guards. Near them, a young brightly silver-haired elf stood in front of a dozen or so armored warriors, mostly human. A second, red-haired elf stood a step and a half behind him, occasionally offering counsel, his arms folded across his narrow chest as he leaned in to whisper his advice or observations.

I’m late. Derek thought to himself as he absently put a finger to his split lower lip. Though I do have a good excuse if they decide to inquire.

He frowned at this though internally he was grateful that an elf (or pair of elves) seemingly held some sway in choosing the next group to deal with Faramin’s great matter. Breaking through the line of onlookers now Derek moved to join the lineup, he looked up in time to see a red-headed dwarf, one who apparently already dipped into a fair share of ale this morning, waddle his way to the opposite end of the line that he was about to bookend.

No way that one gets picked. Derek Steadyfingers thought to himself. The silver-haired elf glanced at the dwarf and frowned noticeably in response to his tardiness and apparent lack of sobriety. He seemed not to notice Derek, or if he did, didn’t seem to care. This was a double-standard that Steadyfingers could certainly support and, not surprisingly, he felt no sympathy for the dwarf.

The silver-haired elf opened his mouth to speak.

It was then that the rain came.

Cor'Nals journal

2010-04-09T15:29:00.001-04:00

As I sit in my room awaiting the events that are about to unfold I wonder if this is truly the path that Kutenai has in store for me. My path has lead me into the wilds on plenty occasions but more and more time seems to be in the civilized areas. I miss the ground under my back while I lay on the ground to look upon the sky or the smell of the air while the rain is beating down upon me. I grow wearier by the day of these places and wish to stretch my legs and run in the wild once again beside Basali. And poor Basali he has been my faithful companion for some time now and always answered my call no matter what type of threat there was but does he not deserve better? I have not watched him and listen to what it is that he is wanting. Would he like to be set free down south around Goodale where we had met so he might live the remainder of his life in the peace of the forest and possibly find a mate? Or does he truly wish to stay by my side and continue to adventure and fight my enemies? I believe that he will continue to fight with me until the end of his days if I ask him to but I do not wish to keep a most loyal creature such as him from truly living a free life. After we deal with the Baron I am going to head to the forest and watch and listen to Basali to see if he wishes to continue on the path with me or return to the area in which he became my friend.
But what will I do without the one creature that has been with me through so much and put his own life before my own on more than one occasion? Perhaps Kutenai will guide my thoughts to another of his creatures that will wish to become my friend and ally once more. Maybe he will bestow a great blessing upon me and allow me to befriend the great yeti that I had went and seen just a few days past? A creature such as that would be a great honor indeed and to think of the great things that we could achieve if we were together. I will have to pray very hard to the great Kutenai indeed in order to receive a blessing such as that then we might be able to rival even some of the greatest blights that cause nature harm. Whatever the gods decide I will continue to be grateful for and continue on my quest for greatness.

I am unsure of the new companions that myself and Adamar have allowed to join with us. Raell even though he seems to have some sort of connection with the wild seems a better fit for a Kingdom than the forest but he has been there when things were tough. Gareth seems like a noble person that had just received a run of bad luck when we found him. Since then I have spoke with him on several occasions and he seems very trustworthy and good willed. Luether on the other hand I feel is as evil as they come. I have been putting together the deaths that have occurred around the town and now he is in league with the Black Glove XIII who is supposed to be a guild that is trying to help the town but I’m afraid to think that they are just as evil as the rest. I can’t wait to leave this place even though they say that the people are here to make a new start for themselves I really have my doubts.
One question that keeps bothering me is what will Adamar do if we dispose of the baron? Will he continue on with me and allow me to aid him in the search for the person that did him such harm and when we find him will we bring him to answer for his crimes or is Adamar going to be the judging hand for him? I believe that the turmoil for him is great but what does that say for after he has been found and brought to justice? Will he continue to stand by our sides into battle or will he return to the great forest that we hail from? I hope that he continues with us because I think that he will be an even greater asset once his mind is free of this burden.

Of Giants and Dragons

2010-02-17T11:31:00.003-05:00

Recap of recorded session# 4

The following recap comes courtesy of Lord Darmot Kromwell.

This session finds our heroes in the midst of exploring an ogre cave. Sent here by Black Rhrett to find several missing ale shipments. At the start of the session, Raell is picking himself up off the floor after being shoved off of a steep incline by an ogre. Said ogre stood at the top of the incline long enough to take an arrow to the chest from Ademar before running off into the dark unknown. After some debate over how to proceed, Cor’Nal used his abilities to reshape the stone slope into a very nice set of stairs.

After a quick climb up the new stairs the group went off to find the ogre. As the group marveled over the clean and smooth cave floors they continued onward to find not only the ogre they had seen at the slope but three more of his ogre friends. As a javelin sailed over the head of Cor’Nal, battle began. With a mix of steel and magic the group cut down the ogres until the final two fled. Not wanting any of the creatures to get away the group gave chase. Around a bend and down a long dark hall the group continued to chase the creatures. The ogres lead the heroes down a series of passages only to lead them back to the cave entrance. It was there that the ogres made a serious mistake and went outside, into the druid’s element. Fire rained down from the sky to obliterate the running pair.

Still inside the cave, the half blind ranger stopped near an opening to adjust his equipment so he could carry his own light. While standing there unaware of any danger, the group aroused a nest of rust monsters. Thrusting his weapon away and drawing his bow the ranger screamed like a little girl, trying to avoid the creatures that were attracted by the scent of his armor. As the creatures moved past the group, they took swipes at others but could not resist the draw of the ranger’s armor. While the group did the best it could to quickly take down the savage rust monsters, nothing they did could prevent the destruction of Raell’s armor. Even with Cor’Nal’s faithful companion chewing up the creatures, Raell was left without any armor. As he stood by silently, crying over the loss of his breastplate, Leuthar removed the glands from the rust monsters hoping they would sell in town.

With the dreaded rust monsters destroyed, the group moved on. Checking the bodies of the first dead ogres, the group watched as Raell lopped off the ears of the dead beast. Ademar found one of the bodies contained a belt of healing potions. With the looting of the dead completed they continued deeper into the cave. The group passed into what appeared to be a staging area, where they could readily ambush unsuspecting adventurers. As they looked around at the filth and refuse they found something that shocked them all. A living and breathing human male, bound by rope. Badly beaten and out cold the human appeared to be a prisoner of the ogres. While the group was willing to spend a little healing to bring the man into talking condition, the untrusting bastards did not want to untie the poor soul until they had a chance to talk to him.

While the man seemed to improve after a very small healing spell by Cor’Nal he did not awaken. Taking a more direct approach Raell smacked the bound human to wake him up. Once the human was awake he was attacked with questions from the untrusting group. He stated his name as Gareth Denton from North Hembers in Arcadia. He told a tale of woe of his adventuring party being ambushed by ogres. While he was captured the rest of his party was slain. He also told the group that he was being kept alive to be fed to something called Frosty. After Raell untied Gareth, he tried to talk Gareth into leaving the caves. Asking only for a weapon and a chance at revenge for his fallen companions Gareth pleaded with the group to stay with them. They were reluctant to agree but in the end he was allowed to join the group. If for no other reason than to keep an eye on the human. Raell gave Gareth a hammer to use for a weapon but that did not solve the problem of a lack of armor for the warrior. From there the group pressed on, continuing to explore the caves.

Finding a fork in the path the group pressed on down the right hand path. Finding a large empty room, they continued to press on to the south, deeper into the caves. As the group continued on Ademar signaled to the companions to stop, warning that he could hear something from the room ahead. Raell growing impatient with being blind tossed his light into the center of the next room. As light filled the once dark room, it showed three ogres waiting for them. Not waiting for a hail storm of javelins to come their way, the heroes were quick to launch an attack. Gareth, with no armor and just a small hammer in hand runs into the room screaming for revenge, quickly stopping short when he saw the three creatures in front of him. Gareth watched the battle rage around him, feeling his confidence grow he moved into the battle himself. One by one the ogres fell to the group, who completed the battle with little to no harm done to their selves. As the group started to search the room and the bodies of the ogres, Raell went from body to body removing the ears from each creature. Ademar finding a discarded Rapier he offered it to Gareth so he may have a proper weapon, after some convincing.

After the battle, Raell told Gareth to stay back during the battle as he did not have any armor. Not liking the rangers tone he started to demand payment for his services if he was going to follow orders. Looking around the room at the group, he demanded one fifth of the party’s findings. This only drew more outrage from the companions, as Raell tried to remind Gareth that he was only alive to due to their kindness. In the end he agreed to a lesser share, if he could stay with the group. His only desire being revenge for his fallen friends. As the group moved on they found a second staging area where the ogres had stored the gear they had taken from Gareth and his friends. Gareth was pleased at finding his armor and other minor items he had lost to the ogres. Once again Gareth was properly armored and ready to fight.

As the party pressed on, the group found what appeared to be a room where the ogres rested and took their meals. Finding nothing of interest beyond minor pilfered goods, the party pressed on. Not long after they came to another small room where Cor’Nal spotted some kind of creature hanging from the ceiling of the cave. He called out to the group that it was a Choker. Caught by surprise, the druid stood by helpless as the creature lashed out at him, wrapping him in his tentacles. As the group attacked the creature, Cor’Nal was able to break free. Raell, using his bow was able to kill the creature in the end. As the searched the room they found a strange belt with seven flask of acid. After waiting for the druid to heal himself the group pressed on. As they pressed on the sound of rushing water filled the cave again. Finding a second rope bridge, they stalled discussing how to get over to the other side. After much debate, the turned away from the rope bridge, hoping to explore other areas of the cave before trying to cross the rope bridge.

Deeper and deeper the group went into the caves. As Raell and Ademar discussed wine and rocking chairs Cor’Nal called for the group to halt. Soon all the companions could hear the deep breathing sound coming from up ahead. The farther they went, the louder the sound grew. Soon all the companions could feel what was ahead of them, the air so thick with frost and fear it became clear just what kind of creature was ahead of us and who it was that the ogres called Frosty. Not wanting to rush headlong into a fight with a dragon unprepared, the group fell back trying to find a safe spot to rest.

The group wanting to find a safe place to rest, fall back to the area where they first fought the rust monsters. Using the nesting area, the group set up a watch rotation and starts to rest in order to prepare to fight the dragon. While resting Raell continues to question Gareth about his past and where he had been. Gareth tells Raell about his part in the Arcadian Civil War. Stating that he had fought in the war under Arturo’s command. Raell fishing for information on his distant relation asked Gareth what he thinks about his half brother.

After a night of rest, the group plans on how to attack the dragon. After a quick plan is hammered out, protective spells are cast on the party by Leuthar and Cor’Nal. Cor’Nal, obsessed with wanting to kill the beast reaches down deep within and uses dark magic, forbidden by the gods. As the group travels down the passage, Gareth complains of an arctic cold breeze coming from ahead. When they get to the end of the passage they find a massive cavern that opens to the sky. They also find a large sleeping white dragon. Next to the dragon is a human with long white hair in white robes. He sees the group come into the room and jumps up to wake the dragon. The dragon, not liking that he was awoke from his nap sits up and chomps down on the old human. He gives the human a little shake in his mouth and whips him across the cavern, crushing him on the wall. The human in white, lay dead in a bloody mess.

Gareth, marching forward to attack the beast falters a step as dragon fear washes over the room. All but the druid are affected, who seems immune. Ademar launches a pair of shots at the beast but they fly wide. The dragon turns to look towards the group, taking a deep breath say’s that he has smelled them before. Cor’Nal not caring to chat with the beast launches his first magical attack at the beast. Flames fill the air and explode around the creature. Leuthar summons a flaming sphere and launches it at the dragon. Not wanting to wait for the small creatures to overwhelm it on the ground the dragon launches into the air. Raell fires a shot at the creature while hiding behind the druid and curses as he watches his arrow deflect off the scales of the beast.

The magical assault continues from both the druid and Leuthar as the creature stays in flight. Drawing a deep breath, the dragon unleashes its breath weapon at the druid. Cor’Nal laughs a deep and hearty laugh as his sphere of protection prevents the breath from doing any damage to the companions around the druid. Gareth holding his weapon overhead wanders around looking at the flying creature with a hopeless look on his face. Flames once again fill the air, striking the creature with a massive explosion. The once pristine white scales, scorched and smoking the dragon drops down to directly attack the druid. Repelled by the druids forbidden spell, the frustration continues to build for the dragon.

Gareth seeing the creature fly down, rushes forward to attack the dragon only to get whipped by the creatures tail. Raell and Ademar unleash a worthless barrage of arrows that fly past the dragon without hitting him. The druid’s faithful companion charges and lunges at the creature biting deep into the dragons flank. After a third massive flame strike from the druid the dragon takes flight, leaving the cave. Cor’Nal not wanting to let the creature live changes into a bird and takes off after the beast. So swift is the flight of the dragon, the druid only catches a minor glimpse of the creature as it escapes off into the distance. The companions look around at each other, stunned at the fact that the dragon fled, they then look towards the massive pile of treasure that the beast left behind. Gareth begins to salivate over a beautiful set of full plate in the pile of coins. All the while Ademar begins to collect a massive pile of gems, inspecting each with a careful eye. The group overjoyed at their victory, fail to notice the frustration on the face of the druid who is angry at himself for letting the dragon escape.

Leuthar using his magic powers begins to scan the horde. He finds a small scarab, a bag of dust and a container full of scrolls. He tucks away the bag of dust and the scarab while looking at the scrolls, the rest of the group is oblivious to his actions as they are standing about trying to figure out what to do with the large pile of coins and the plate armor. While Raell and Gareth haggle over the armor Ademar walks over to the body of the human that is lying dead on the floor. Pale white skin and white hair with pink tinted eyes. The group assumed he was some kind of albino. They then saw a medallion around the man’s neck with CoW in elven scrip and the image of a white dragon etched into it. The group studied the medallion but where clueless over what it was for, the only thing they cared about is how much they could sell it for. After dividing up the dragon’s horde of coins so the group could carry it out of the cave, they started to explore the rest of the cave.

As they traverse the cave they once again come to a rope bridge. While the group was hesitant to cross the bridge they knew in order to find the stolen goods Black Rhett wanted, they would have to cross. Cor’Nal changed shape into a Dire Hawk and carried some of the group across the gaping chasm. Gareth was far too heavy to carry across so he had to risk the bridge. Once the entire party was across they pressed on, even deeper into the cave. They find a large open area with the bodies of two dead ogres. Raell not wanting to pass up extra body parts cuts off the ears of the creatures. Leuthar points out that one of the bodies appears to have been chewed on. Not finding anything else in the room, they press on. The next open area they come to the party finds the room full of ale cask, most of them smashed or empty. Now knowing the fate of Black Rhett’s stolen ale shipments they press on to search the rest of the cave network. The next room they come to they find more than a dozen ale cask, being guarded by a trio of female ogres. Ogres who are also keeping company with a Frost Giant.

The group quickly launches at attack against the creatures. As Raell and Ademar fire arrows, Gareth charges forward to attack. Scoring a wicked slashing blow against the first of the ogres. As it stumbled back from the attack, it lived long enough to die in a magical assault by Leuthar. The enraged frost giant, screaming at the group reaches down and picks up a bolder to throw at Cor’Nal when it see’s the bird shaped druid summons a pair of wolves. Boulders fly across the room, striking both the druid and Ademar as Gareth cuts down a second ogre. Raell seeing Ademar hurt joins him in launching arrows at the giant. As the fight rages on, boulders continue to fly at the archers. Raell seeing Ademar struck by the boulder fires a nearly lethal arrow at the giant hitting him in his open mouth. As Gareth cuts down the third of the ogres, the entire group turns its attention to the giant who was trying to drink a potion with an arrow stuck in the back of its mouth. With the entire group attacking the giant, it was only a matter of time. While the giant was able to put up a fight, it fell to the bite of one of the druids summoned wolves.

Raell wanting to see the look on Black Rhett’s face went about the grim task of cutting the head off of the frost giant as the others searched the area. After all the treasure was discovered, the group set about to rest before trying to leave the cave. As the others laid down to rest Ademar decided to explore another area of the cave. Finding a large open area, Ademar looked around, seeing the body of a dead ogre that had been mangled. Ademar moved deeper into the room, seeing that the floor dropped off into a lower area. Unable to resist the lure of the unknown he moved closer to the ledge in the center of the room. As he neared the ledge, something rose up out of the hidden area. Ademar was now face to face with a Remorhaz and very much alone.

Raells' return

2010-01-08T16:54:00.003-05:00

Recap of recorded session #3-

This recap begins with our companions standing just outside of the cave they were previously exploring. Raell and Salem are both deceased while the remaining party members are all in poor health especially Luethar and Cor’Nal who are both badly wounded and completely out of magic. Devoid of healing potions also, the party finds that the now dark and cold wood they came through to reach the cave presents a very real threat to them on their return. After a short debate on whether to re-enter the cave and rest for a while or push on back to town before they can be attacked by the cave denizens again, the group opts for the latter choice and makes haste for they nearest path back to civilization.

Luckily the group manages to return to Tread Light and the safety of their rooms without incident. Knowing that at this late hour (around midnight) there is no hope of finding anybody to help resurrect Raell, the remains of the ranger are hidden in the wagon along with the owl bear heads and the group retires to their respective rooms to rest.

The following morning in a role reversal it is Ademar not Cor’Nal who awakes first and immediately begins corralling his companions to begin the day. Luethar grumbles about the early hour and declares that the meeting is “not necessary”. Despite the halflings indifference, Ademar pushes forward with questions about what to do about Raell and the options available if they can not resurrect him (remember that all but Raell are unwelcome in Black Rhett’s company). After few resolutions are made the elves head downstairs for a light morning meal while Luethar remains in his room, still not wanting to show any association with the often troublesome elves.

With breakfast out of the way the pair head out to the Temple of Myrrdin to see if the priests there will be able to bring Raell back to life. Once across the bridge they find themselves in front of the temple where they request to see an acolyte with knowledge of the deal made with Raell over resurrecting Ryan MacBrady. Before long they are shown inside where they speak with the priest in charge of the resurrection. He leads the elves into a chamber where they see an altar and the residual items from a ritual along with the, now living, Ryan MacBrady, sitting in a chair off to the side. He seems somewhat confused, as if the ritual was just completed only minutes ago. When Ademar hails him the look of confusion on Ryan’s face only deepens. The priest interjects attempting to explain that Ryan refused to return to his body but, during the ritual they found the bodiless soul of Raell who they brought back in place of the soul of Ryan. The world seems to come back into focus and the man who was once Ryan and now contains the soul of Raell speaks. He talks about how he was tricked by the priests into coming back by not mentioning that he would inhabit a body other than his own. Truly disgusted by his current state, Raell wishes only to gather his items and those of Ryan and be gone from the temple.

During this time Luethar goes to see Gaen Baliol in an attempt to identify a pair of bracers and perhaps buy some scrolls and other magic. Gaen welcomes the halfling in eager to see more coins in his purse. Luethar enters and states his business which gets the old man scurrying about gathering up spell components and, as a token of good intent, a dusty goblet which he half heartedly blows off and pours wine into. The halfling wrinkles his nose at it and leaves it sitting on the table. The bracers turn out to be Bracers of Armor +2. Just before leaving the tower, Luethar asks that if any elves should happen to come by looking to have an item identified that he charge 100 gold rather than 50. The mage agrees to this arrangement but in the future Luethar will pay 75 gold instead of 50.

After leaving the Temple of Myrrdin, Ademar goes to purchase arrows while Cor’Nal and Raell head off to take the half-elf corpse and that of Salem out to burn on a pyre. In doing this, Raell cuts off the hand of his previous body and has it preserved in a block of wax in the hopes that some day he will be able to return to his true form. The druid asks about Farkas Winslow and Raell tells him that he needs to be taken alive back to Eystlund although he would much rather kill the slaver than allow him to live. Cor’Nal shows Raell some toenail clippings he found and says that they are the key to finding the elusive dwarf with a scrying spell. The ranger is noticeably more upbeat after hearing the news and happy to hear that the elves will give him their full support. Cor’Nal states that he will attempt to scry the slaver the following morning.

Ademar makes his way to Gaen Baliols’ home in search of information on his bow. Gaen is caught off guard by seeing an elf so soon after his conversation with the halfling yet offers him some wine which so happens to be poured already. Gaen states that he is aware of this particular bow, it is called Est’Perolyne which means “Flame String”, it is of elven make and is very old, probably older than Ademars’ father. More than that is withheld as the old mage states that additional information is 50, errr, 100 gold. After some grumbling the rogue produces two gems and the mage continues. The bow has magic about it which increases damage dealt. Legend also has it that Est’Perolynes’ powers grow as those of its wielder grow, it’s presence can increase the users dexterity, increased accuracy, and faster rates of fire. The sage believes that many of these legends are just that. As Ademar is leaving Gaen nearly ruins his arrangement with the halfling by blurting out “Say hello to Luethar for me.” But, he recovers with a cleaver cover which deflects the elfs’ suspicion to some degree.

Once the corpses of the fallen are ash Cor’Nal returns to his room at Tread Light while Raell takes up the owlbear heads in a sack and makes his way to see Black Rhett. Once he arrives at The Longest Mile the ranger takes the opportunity to get himself cleaned up by purchasing a room and requesting a bath. While he’s at it, Raell also decides to make an attempt at spreading Ryan MacBradys’ seed as he believes Ryan was the last of his line, so he buys the services of one of Rhetts’ ladies also. This is all done on Ryans’ coin of course! Once he is feeling a bit cleaner and a little more civilized the ranger makes his way downstairs to find Flanders. Black Rhett is thoroughly disgusted by the leaking, stinking bag which Raell dumps on his desk (much to Raells’ delight). Raell proceeds to tell his tale including the circumstances of his unconventional resurrection. The old sailor finds the rangers’ story beyond believable and tells him that he will get his gold in five days time if no more livestock are lost (he has to be sure that the creatures killed were the creatures responsible), in the mean-time he may have another job for Raell and Rhett suggests that he remain available.

The following day, (day 8 in Henutsen) Luethar meets with Tink Beldin who says that he has some work for the halfling. A meeting is arranged between Tinks’ employer Kayzen Griggs and Luethar. Griggs gives the halfling a rundown of The Black Glove XIII which he makes out to be a sort of vigilante group who oppose The Old Salt and Baron Von Strom both. Kayzen tells Luethar of a woman who has come to the group looking for help. She says that her young boy has been molested by the Deccan of the church of Geedes and she has been ignored by the Sheriff and has no money to hire Rhett. Kayzen states that this Deccan, by the name of Jones needs to be dealt with and he will pay 750 gold for the job with 100 of that paid up front. Luethar is appalled by the story (quite a feat for the evil bastard) and quickly accepts the job.

Soon after, a chance meeting with Sherriff Throad occurs wherein he ‘reminds’ Ademar and Raell that everyone pays tithing’s to the Baron and they should report to the Baron when they get an opportunity. After Throad leaves, Ademar and Raell go to the temple of Myrrdin to speak to the Vicar about what he owes the church in exchange for his return to life. The Vicar tells Raell of a war brewing between the gods in which Myrrdin may see to unseat Oark as the high god of neutrality. If this comes to bear, the ranger may be needed by the church in their crusade against the followers of Oark. Raell states that he may be leaving the area soon to which the Vicar assures him that they will find him when the need arises, no matter where he may be.

While on the east side of town, Raell stops in to see Rhett and asks if he has any work. Rhett mentions that recent ale shipments to the town have been ambushed and it is hurting his business. He believes that a band of ogres are responsible. The fat bastard offers 200 gold up front and 250 upon completion. Raell takes the job and he and Ademar leave The Longest Mile. As the pair cross over to the west side of town the old man from Low Skye that Raell had paid for information on Farkas Winslow hails them. In hushed tones he tells Ademar that Farkas had left town for a time yet, he has returned and is now seeking information about those who are looking for him.

This day passes without further event. As dusk falls Luethar and Ademar slip out of the inn and make their way to the Temple of Geedes to complete the task put before the mage by Kayzen Griggs. Using his magic, Luethar alters his image to become a half-elven boy and takes on the name Oliver. Pretending to be a homeless child he attempts to befriend some of the children cleaning outside. After many attempts to gain admittance to the temple fail he is ultimately chased off by one of the acolytes. Luethar lingers near the church waiting until darkness falls and the children go home to their families. An unknown priest comes out to the street seeming to make sure all is in order for the night. Knowing that this will likely be his last chance to gain entry into the building, Luethar approaches the priest, and gives a grand, sobbing performance. After a minute of thought and a zone of truth spell, the priest (who reveals himself as Deccan Jones) admits the ‘boy’ through the front door and into the foyer. Through all of this, Ademar watches quietly from the shadows across the street.

Once the door closes behind the Luethar and the Deccan the rogue moves up close to the building concealing him-self in the shadows of a statue of Geedes. As soon as they are inside, Deccan Jones states that they need to get the young ‘lad’ out of those clothes. Luethar wastes no time, launching into a spell intended to charm the priest. The Deccan is unaffected by the spell and is immediately alerted that something is amiss. The halfling wins initiative (by 1) and hurls a color spray spell at his adversary. Again unaffected by Luethars’ magic the Deccan kicks out at him and catches only air as the halfling steps back. The mage counters by conjuring a scorching ray which hits the cleric full force. Robes scorched and smoking, the Geedes disciple calls upon his deity, healing his wounds in a red-grey glow. Another scorching ray is sent into Deccan Jones before Luethar steps back and draws his dagger. A few more quick exchanges take place, none of which do any damage before the Deccan lands an inflict critical wounds attack on Luethar which drains the halfling completely and leaves him laying unconscious on the foyer floor. Just as Luethar hits the floor, Ademar opens the door, sword drawn, to find his companion down and the Deccans’ back to him. Not wasting a perfect opportunity the rogue strikes with his blade in an upward jab which pushes his blade in the priests’ lower back and out of Jones’ chest. Wounded deeply but not yet dead, the holy man turns to this new aggressor and initiative is won by the rogue (by 1 again!) who gets off a full attack taking off Deccan Jones’ arm at the elbow and slashing his throat open with another swipe of his blade. The Deccan of the Church of Geedes falls into a pool of his own blood and dies while Ademar drags the halfling out of the building and administers a healing potion in hopes that he is not yet dead. Luethar comes to and both of them flee the scene leaving one of the halflings’ daggers and a wand of magic missiles behind. The town is soon in an uproar as the priests of the temple comb the area looking for a dirty half-elf boy. They never do find him.

The evening passes uneventfully and morning sees the entire group (a refreshing change after so many individual endeavors, and deaths) heading out to discover the source of Rhetts missing ale. After traveling most of the day down and away from the mountain, the company finds itself in front of a huge cave guarded by two ogres. These sentries are defeated after a short battle after which the companions conceal themselves outside the cave fearing that reinforcements may be on their way from inside. As if on cue two hill giants emerge from the cave, which are also defeated.

Still feeling pretty cock-sure the group loots their opponents and enters the cave. They begin to explore the complex which contains only empty chambers and dead ends, at first…

Holy Shit its the recap

2009-12-08T22:08:00.000-05:00

Session starts out with Raell leaving the market place and heading for tread light inn after buying some arrows. Once at tread light he enters and ignores stuck pigs greeting and heads straight to Cor’Nal’s room where they discuss that no business had gone on at the barons estate over the previous night and Luthor's previous assassination of Will Wilson by someone in the form of a troglodyte so by Raell’s reasoning it could have been Luthor because its unlikely that one would naturally be in town. Cor’Nal suggests that we get everyone together and speak of the previous nights and what the actions of the group should be. Raell goes and retrieves Luthor while Cor’Nal goes to retrieve Ademar and hands him the necklace of protection +1 that he had identified the night before. So everyone is brought into a meeting in Cor’Nal’s room where everyone is informed by Cor’Nal that he has information that shows the dwarf they are looking for is in the baron’s estate. Ademar quickly says no to Raell’s suggestions of asking the baron or paying the baron for the dwarf because he feels that both of those options would prove useless. Luthor then speaks up with another option of working with the black glove 13 and in exchange for the assassination of Black Rhett they will help take out the baron. Raell quickly wastes no time in accusing Luthor of the killing of Will Wilson where Luthor defends his status of being innocent. Raell then suggests that before he is willing to go along with the black glove 13 he wishes to speak with them in person and Ademar quickly agrees with that motion. Cor’Nal then starts asking about how Luthor knows of the black glove 13 where Luthor starts supplying the group with a few shady answers to shift the focus of the discussion. Cor’Nal then says that if things are going to continue that we are going to have to be completely honest with each other and not hold secrets and work as a group which everyone agrees to. The group also discuses what is to be done with Gareth and should they include him on everything or should he be left out should he be a spy for someone. The group agrees that they will finish the preparations for tonight’s doings and then judge his reaction to try to figure out if he is in league with anyone or not. Cor’Nal then ask that Gareth accompany him for the day so he can not only keep on eye on him but judge his character and before leaving the room turns to Luthor and pulls out the amulet of golem bane and says that it wasn’t the cause of the curse and that he try not to pawn things off on him that he senses as a threat Luthor accepts the amulet but after a few thoughts hands it back saying that he would rather someone in the front line hold on to it. Luthor then leaves and goes to try to set up a meeting with the black glove 13. He goes and speaks with Tink letting him know that his group is interested in doing the job but they would like to speak with BG13 before accepting it Tink says that he will see what he can do to arrange a meeting with Kazen. He meets with Kazen and explains the situation with him where Luthor is informed that he will not meet with them in person but he will send Tink, Kazen, Digger and a couple others to speak with the group on Boss Kasey’s behalf at 30 minutes after closing downstairs.
Cor’Nal and Gareth leave for the market place, Raell and Ademar stay in the inn for the day and speak with Stuck Pig. While eating breakfast Ademar strikes up a conversation with Stuck Pig about his life and the things that go on around the town. Raell then after hearing some stories slides Stuck Pig 20g and tells him not to tell anyone and to have fun in the market place. After Stuck Pig leaves them Raell asks if Ademar knows anything about the dealings that Luthor is into in the town. Ademar responds and says that he only knows of one that involved a holy man and that he urged him not to continue them on his own but feels that he would not listen.
While in the market place Cor’Nal sells a few of the items that they have received (most likely for a loss) and happens to pick up 2 diamonds worth 300gp each and 1 diamond worth 150gp a ring of white yellow and rose gold in the shape of leaves going around it with a faint glow of evocation and then finds a man selling wands but the man has no clue as to what any of them do and is charging 50g for each of them. So he decides to just buy all 7 of them and give them to Luthor to use and while he is at it he picks up 20 master worked arrows for Ademar. While on his was out of the market place Cor’Nal spots the Baron and Throd at a clothier and he looks them over for any magic affects and finds that the baron carries none but Throd carries many. Cor’Nal speaks to Gareth and finds that he has never been this far north before and hails from North Hembers where he was an enlisted man and after his service was up he joined a mercenary group and then left that to venture north because he has heard that it is more lawless and that there was gold to be made. They leave the market place selling everything but the goblet and the choker.
The rest of the day goes smoothly and the group meets up and spends the day in Tread Light where they discuss previous adventures and speak to Gareth where they learn a little more of him and judge his character while Ademar fights with his lack of tolerance with wine. After closing the group meets down stairs in the tavern as planned and speaks with BG13 about what they plan to do after Black Rhett is eliminated. Raell gets into a heated debate with BG13 over the topic of Farcus Winslow. BG13 says that they have no concern over the dwarf and they have no intention of a counter negotiation with them the group either accepts the offer or doesn’t but there will be no countering. Ademar is concerned that the BG13 has acted out and taken care of things in the same manner as does Black Rhett and they assure him that they are just the voice behind what is done they are not the hammer that carries it out. Raell then brings up the fact that Widow Monterey was not dead or killed by Black Rhett’s doing and that we were involved but did not kill her that she was already dead and that we had to go in to retrieve Luthor at one point for he was in there and dead and that we had went in to retrieve him and bring him back from the dead. This brings the BG13 group to an uneasy stance and they then ask if we are in league with Black Rhett and that they are altruistic and that they don’t want to be taxed any more. They just want the group to break the spokes of the wheel that support the baron in hopes that the baron will fall after words on his own. They want to see the town prosper because it is made up of people that did wrongs and came there to get away and start new but they cannot do it while under the baron's rule and they look to change that. The BG13 states that they are not fond of Raell and that they tire of his talk about the baron the group either takes the offer or not but they will discuss it no longer. The group agrees to take the job and Luthor says the group will do it for 200g per head which Ademar does not seem to be happy with since it’s a job that they have not been able to complete themselves. The group is then given information pertaining to where the people of Black Rhett’s group are and that they are to eliminate only Black Rhett, Marcus Two Blades, Cypher and Keel-hull Tom.
So with some discussion the group heads over to the east side of town where they check out Marcus Two Blades house where there is no smoke coming out of the chimney and the windows are black so after scouting the house the group heads over to The Longest Mile where they get a table and have a drink and Raell decides to get an audience with Black Rhett. Raell speaks with Rhett about any jobs that he might have for him and comes out with nothing more than the information that Rhett’s whole group is in the room with him. For the rest of the night the group sits and watches the inn and as the last of the people leave Keel-hull Tom comes out to throw out a couple of stubborn drunk patrons and gets into an argument with Cor’Nal that got heated but didn’t go any further. The group leaves with the exception of Raell and Gareth who have rooms in the inn and retire to them. Once in their room they lower down a rope and the rest of the group climbs up into their rooms unnoticed. A plan is then devised for Ademar to hide behind the door in Gareth’s room and for Raell to go down and get Flanders to bring up something to fix a supposed leaking roof. The plan goes off without a hitch with Ademar not only hitting him but criting him he is then left in the room and the door is locked behind the group as they go downstairs. Once downstairs Gareth and Ademar take up spots in the stairs Luthor takes up a spot in one of the booths by the front door and Cor’Nal brings in Basali through the back of the kitchen. Raell then goes and pounds on the door where Black Rhett is and telling him that he has seen some people in the stables who he assumes is with the BG13 because they only have one black glove on. Rhett sends out Cypher through a secret door to check after closing the door on Raell. Raell tries to force the door back open and manages to push Keel Hull Tom out of the way and enters yelling they’re here while Keel-hull Tom pulls out a great sword and pushes the door closed again. Cypher then comes back in saying that there wasn’t anyone out there and then they bring Raell into the room and the fight starts with Cor’Nal casting shape wood and takes away 10’ of the wall exposing the still living Raell and the whole group and the fight ensues. Black Rhett and his group is slain with Raell almost dying. After healing Raell the group brings the bodies of the dead inside the tavern and covers up the sight of the battle. Luthor searches the room Rhett was in and finds a secret trap door where he finds Fangis and leaves him for Cor’Nal to retrieve and he heads out of the room for the room Flanders was left in and that’s where the session ends.

The Lay Of The Death Of Ademar

2009-10-26T14:51:00.021-04:00

I had no idea what I was walking into that day. We had been in the cave such an extended time that I no longer had any recollection of day or night or even what day it was. My companions and I were weary of being beneath the ground but there was one more unexplored corridor, with one more unknown cavern beyond. We had to make sure that we would not be attacked from that direction before we rested, hopefully for the last time in this sinister subterranean world. Raell, the ranger trapped within a hulking barbarian body, had set off to explore the passage but I had stopped him. I knew that I was better suited to the task. Sneaking around in the quiet darkness had become my area of comfort, the one thing I seemed to excel at. “Go rest, I’m sure there is nothing down there.” I told him. “I’ll go have a peek and be back before you get your rations out of your pack.” With that I moved off silently down the passage.

It was just like many of the other passages we had encountered in the complex. It seemed to have been carved into the stone by the underground river which raced nearby. The roar of that river could be heard faintly still, and the slight tremor caused by its passing pulsed below my feet. Though the corridor was dark there was just enough residual light from my companions in the other chamber that my keen eyesight had no trouble guiding me. ‘Another reason for the elf to do the scouting.’ I thought to myself, imagining Raell groping around blindly in the darkness.

It did not take long to reach the end of the corridor which opened up into a very large chamber. The ceiling rose quickly out of sight and the floor was only visible through half of the room before it dropped over a ledge at the far end. The room appeared to be empty at first. I was ready to turn around and call it a day when I spotted something near the lip of the ridge, it looked like a body. They say that curiosity killed the cat, well, it has certainly brought me my share of hardship yet, I could not resist.

Onward I crept across the bare stone floor, my eyes were darting everywhere looking for danger, the hair on the back of my neck was on end, what a rush! As I neared the body, that of a mutilated and obviously dead ogre, the smooth floor gave way to a surface covered in small broken stones and lose gravel. Just as I reached the rim of the gorge my foot slipped on the gravel surface ever so slightly. I cursed myself silently as a few small stones rushed over the edge to fall with a soft clatter to the floor below. After a few tense seconds where my heart remained still no danger came so I turned to examine the ogre corpse.

That is when I heard it, the sound of something very large moving very fast, the sound of air rushing over scales and horns. The sound of my doom. I turned immediately back to the ridge just in time to see a massive head lift over the ledge. Covered in white and frost-blue scales with multifaceted, black eyes, the beast rose up even with my face to stare at me. I do not claim to be worldly in my knowledge of dangerous dungeon beasts but in that fraction of a second a barrage of information flooded my mind about this particular creature. Remorhaz! My blood turned cold even though I could feel the heat of the creature radiating over my body. My mind screamed for me to run but my legs were frozen in fear, it seemed even more terrifying than the dragon we had faced only hours ago!

Without hesitation the monster reared back to attack. Hunger burned in its eyes and its ruddy back plates glowed red hot in anticipation of this morsel before it. With blinding speed the remorhaz snapped forward, jaws gaping wide and full of jagged fangs. I had never felt pain like what was inflicted upon me that day. When those massive jaws clamped down around my torso it felt as if a hundred glowing hot swords had pierced my leathers. At least one of those teeth pushed through my lung and many others crushed ribs and pelvic bone but that was just the beginning. As I screamed in anguish the creature continued its assault and I realized in horror that there was nobody around to help me. Not about to release me it rose up again, its neck stretched out straight as I was lifted high into the air. In desperation I punched at the beasts’ eye, the only thing I could reach, but it was a vain attempt. The pain was unbearable at this point and, as the monsters’ teeth ground against my broken bones my world began to fade into a red haze.

Throwing back its head, the beast eased up its grip on my body and I thought for a fleeting moment that it was losing interest in me and perhaps I could escape. I was wrong. Revulsion filled me as I felt the creatures’ throat opening up below me, its jaw hinged like that of a massive snake and I could feel my legs sliding down its open throat as I no longer had control of or feeling in them. The remorhazs’ neck muscles constricted hard as the monster began to swallow. Extreme heat rolled up around me and I silently prayed to Sanasarus for a quick end while screaming in agony. I watched as I sank slowly, deeper and deeper into the creatures’ gullet. I tried several times to reach for one of my daggers, that I might inflict some sort of damage to the thing to make it release me but they were out of reach and my arms were held tight within the beasts’ esophagus. As my head passed below those massive jaws the thing swallowed again and I was pulled deeper down while I watched helplessly the closing of those jaws and the falling of complete darkness upon me. Again I screamed in pain as the heat flared up and the monsters’ insides began to squeeze. When I tried to take in a breath there was no air, in panic I tried again to punch, claw, even bite my way out of the disgusting, slime covered tomb but it was too late. I had lost too much blood, I had no control of my lower extremities and my upper body was held immobile. The red haze faded to black as I finally succumbed to my wounds.

********************************************************************

I don’t know how long it was but after my meeting with the remorhaz I awoke seemingly from a night terror. I found myself in a familiar though, strange location. I was back in my room at Loomis’ Frostbit Inn. ‘How could this be? This place no longer exists, I’ve seen its ashes and bare foundation!’ Strangely, this scene seemed more surreal than the remorhaz cave. I looked about the room for a moment, seeing my equipment in a heap and Est’Perolyne, that magnificent bow, leaning against the wall next to it. Everything seemed in place but something was not right. Slowly I stood up from the bed and walked to the small mirror sitting atop the changing table. Within its reflective surface I noticed with a start that my face and hands were completely unblemished! I dropped the mirror and it shattered into jagged shards. Looking at the broken facets brought a hundred different reflections of myself, some were versions of me as an old man, others showed my scared face, many showed my childhood staring back at me curiously, none of them were the same.

I turned away from the mirror and walked to the window, this had to be a dream, this could not be real! Looking outside I could see the town of Snoam-Schlabach in flames. Men lay everywhere in impossibly deep piles their dead eyes seeming to be looking directly at me. Women ran about frantically and children screamed relentlessly as orcs and worgs stormed the streets, viciously hacking down their helpless victims with bloody swords and axes. The streets ran red with innocent blood which pooled around the inn and reflected the flickering orange flames that towered in the smoky sky.

One particularly large orc stalked into view, he was covered head to toe in armor and thick black dreadlocks hung about his shoulders. His malevolent yellow eyes looked straight at me and his tusked mouth split into a wicked smile as he took notice of me.

“No, you’re dead.” I heard myself say. “I watched you fall, you can not live.”

Tonguescums’ smile spread even wider as I spoke and he lifted a massive scimitar, the one Cor’Nal had claimed as his own, in one hand, it was dripping with dark blood. In his other hand he raised a disembodied head by its thick red and gray hair. The features of Pieter MacBrady were unmistakable despite the ashen skin tone and blank milky eyes which seemed to bore into my soul.

I wanted to scream at the orc chieftain, wanted to curse him and damn his wicked actions but found that I had no voice. Another figure walked up next to the beast, this one was squat and stout, a dwarf! This dwarf was also armored and with sickening realization I saw it for what it was; the MacBrady ancestral armor. Patch looked up at me as he stood next to Tonguescum and sneered at me from beneath the ornate helm which was a bit too large for his head.

“Like me boots elf?” He asked sarcastically as he lifted one foot from the bloody ground to afford me a better view. They were rotten, tattered, and ill fitting yet he wore them like a badge of honor. I felt bile rising into the back of my throat.

One by one, over a dozen individuals emerged from the burning town and stood outside my window. They were the evil of my past, the wrongs I had committed, the consequences of my actions. The mob outside began screaming at me, taunting me, cursing my name. They wanted my soul, wanted me to burn with them in hell. All the while the blood deepened around me, began seeping into my room over the window sill. I had to get out of here! Turning to my gear, I plucked up Est’Perolyne and a quiver of well made arrows slinging them over my shoulder. As I was strapping on my sword belt something began pounding at the door. The wall holding the portal shook violently, the pinewood door was no match for the force on the other side. In a splintering explosion the door flew inward. Through the opening came a pair of gigantic blue-white hands which gripped the upper lip of the opening and proceeded to tear the roof right off of poor Loomis’ inn. I found myself staring up at a frost giant, the very same giant my companions and I had defeated not so long ago!

Knowing that this particular monster was vulnerable to fire I pulled an arrow from my quiver and knocked it against the steel-like black string of Est’Perolyne. I smiled as the triangular tip of my arrow began glowing then, as the fletching reached my cheek and I sighted the arrow it burst into flame. Finally something in this situation was working properly. I held my breath for a heartbeat to steady my hand then let fly my flaming missile. I watched in anticipation of the hit while reaching for another arrow. The arrow never made it, several feet before the giant the flame went out. When it finally reached the monster the missile bounced off as if I had fired it into a stone wall.

The giant laughed loudly at my failure and a massive club appeared in its hand. Wasting no time it swung the business end of the crude weapon in an overhand chop at my head. I dodged to the side missing the strike but stumbling to fall on the blood soaked floor. Again the giant struck and again I dodged, for several moments this went on all the while the chanting outside continued in a dark and foreboding tone and blood began to rush into the room with frightening speed. It was not long before I was out of breath and bogged down in the warm, sticky, now knee-deep, pooling blood. I had no where to run, no help, and no hope of escaping. Fear gripped me tightly like a snake would squeeze a mouse. I found it impossible to breath, impossible to move.

“Sanastarus forgive me!” I cried out to the smoke choked sky. “Please, help me!”

The mob outside began laughing hysterically at my petition for help from a god who obviously was not listening. The maniacal cackling filled my ears and my heart grew heavy as I realized what they already knew, I had been abandoned. Turning back to the giant, I looked up into its cold eyes, the club was poised for another strike. My hand went limp around Est’Perolyne and the glorious bow splashed wetly into the pool of blood. I watched as the giants’ massive arm pumped forward but this time I did not move, this time, my world went mercifully black.

********************************************************************

For a long while all I knew was the darkness but slowly, as the sun creeps forth in the predawn, a gray mist rose up about me. I felt no warmth within the lazily swirling mist but neither did I feel cold. Actually there was no sensation at all, no pain, no touch, no scent, I could not even tell what direction was 'up'. For a long while I floated there in the mist, unsure of what horror I would face next. I felt strangely at peace despite the disturbing thought which crept into my mind. What if this was my fate? What if I were destined to float in this gray nothingness for all eternity? Would this be any better than the torture I would find in the pits of hell?

Before the thought could take root, a sensation came over me, the feeling that I was being watched or perhaps someone, or some thing, was seeking me out. This impression lingered and I turned about in the mist straining to see what might be out there. All I found was the swirling gray mist.

Without warning something brushed over my shoulder startling me from my contemplation. Seconds later it returned, fleeting at first, it became a soothing and firm caress. Warmth washed over me and a sense of urgency filled my being, an urgency which I did not understand. I realized that I had closed my eyes but I quickly opened them as I sensed myself moving swiftly through the mist, being pulled along by this unknown force. The vapor parted before me and swirled madly in my wake as I hurtled through the emptiness like a ship cutting through the sea at full sail.

Before I knew it the mist was gone and I found myself soaring like a bird over a vast, verdant, forest. With alarming speed which I could not control I hurtled lower and lower until my feet dangled dangerously close to the treetops. A small clearing appeared in the boughs ahead of me and, with a neck snapping change of direction that should have put my stomach in my throat (but strangely, did not), my being plunged downward toward the ground a hundred feet below. For reasons beyond my understanding, I remained calm as I plummeted toward the ground. Just before smashing back to the earth my momentum broke and I landed softly, my booted feet greeted by soft, fragrant, clover. Instantly the force which had been tugging me along dissipated allowing me free will.

It took me many heartbeats to notice but, I realized that this peaceful glade was very familiar to me. I was back in Kemmermere, a place which was a days hike outside the city of my childhood where my friends and I spent many a day in dalliance. It was strangely quiet now though, no bird song issued forth from the treetops; no rustling of small animals in the brush; not even a breeze to shake the foliage. The lack of life in this familiar place sent a shiver down my spine. Movement caught my eye just at my periphery. Turning to my left I found the only animated thing within the clearing. A dragonfly flitted about a few paces away from me, it's green jewel-like body glinted in the soft light as silvery, iridescent, wings beat furiously at the still air. Once I noticed the creature it began circling me then darted off toward the treeline. When I did not follow it wheeled around and returned to circle me again before dashing once more toward the trees.

I did not see the significance at first but, finally, sunlight revealed an old and long forgotten tale to my minds-eye. A tale which my grandmother had spun for me in my early childhood about the views of the elves before they had left the wild and moved into their great forest-cities. It was the belief of the ancient fey that dragonflies were messengers, carrying important information across the world and delivering it to those who knew how to gather it. Unfortunately the tale mentioned nothing of how to procure information from insects. At this point the dragonfly had given up on flying out toward the trees and settled on flying rings around me as I stood there in contemplation. Having no better plan I decided to follow the creature and see where fate would steer me.

"Lead on little one." I said to the bug, somehow feeling that the creature could understand my words.

In a flash of jade and a vigorous hum of beating wings the dragonfly made it's way up a small rise and toward the trees. I vaguely remember following for a short time before encountering a building just over the rise at the very edge of the trees nestled between two sprawling oaks it was a building very much out of place, which I knew had never existed there before. As we approached I made note of the details of the domicile. It was of sturdy design using stone for the walls with a high peaked, slate roof. The shutters were open showing real glass in the window frames. The dragonfly lead me right to the front of the building. I was not prepared for what I found when I approached those windows.

The building was apparently a tavern. It abounded with men and women sitting about large mahogany tables in tall chairs eating, laughing, singing, and of course, drinking. The one individual which did not belong was at a small table by himself, a hulking figure who's olive skin and broad, almost animalistic features instantly set him apart from the rest. An oft used greatsword leaned against the table in it's sheath and he sat with his back to the door, almost sullenly taking long pulls from his tankard.

"Vrock?" I whispered to myself in surprise. Seeing one of my past companions filled me with hope that I would not spend eternity alone. Without a second thought I moved to the front door and threw it wide before stepping inside. I began to move toward the half-orc but, for the second time in as many moments I was caught off guard. Magda Dervish stood before me blocking my path. A strange, mixed look of happiness and grief was stamped upon her face. I opened my mouth to speak but she placed her index finger over pursed lips and snatched my arm with her free hand leading me quickly behind the bar and into a back room. Once inside she glanced back into the taproom before closing the door behind us.

When Magda turned back to me her expression was stern, a look I had seen often in times past when there was work to be done. "Ademar," she began "we've been expecting you I'm afraid."

"Expecting?" I asked. "What is Vrock-" I began, becoming thoroughly confused at how she knew I would be arriving and why the half-orc had not passed on to someplace other than what appeared to be Magda's ideal version of Homebound.

"Yes dear, expecting." The plump barmaid cut in before I could run on. "I was warned that you would be stopping at Homebound on your way. Don't you fret, I'll do me best to explain what I can." It was then that I noticed the dragonfly which had led me here was perched upon Magda's shoulder. Noting my deepening confusion she pressed on. "I haven't much time so, I'll get to the point. You are no longer among the living as I'm sure you know by now. I'm not knowing what brings you here- just as I'm unsure why Vrock was brought here. But, I do know that this is not where either of you belong. I'm knowing that you have two paths before you now and that you have very little time to make your choice." She glanced over her shoulder again seeming to be unsure of exactly how short her time for explanation might be. "You can continue on your path to a final rest, where'er that may be, or you can find your way back to the land of the living. I'm told that Cor'Nal is even now trying to guide your spirit with the aid of Kutenai, no doubt you've felt his touch already. This is a rare opportunity you have before you Ademar."

I stood there for several moments as the weight of what Magda had said sank in. To her credit she stood by, quietly awaiting my response. The pressure of this one decision pressed heavily upon me. Did I truly want to return to the corporeal world and the trials which awaited me there or, would I be content to remain- where? What was my option? Back to the swirling gray mists, a descent into the nine hells, something else? I did not belong here with Magda and Vrock, I had been told as much already. My head swam with the possibilities and I longed for a glass of wine to sooth my troubled mind.

I believe that Magda knew what was best for me that day and she could see my internal struggle plainly. Feigning that her work awaited her she interrupted my mental struggle.

"Ademar," she said softly "might you do me a favor before you make your decision?"

Being deep in thought, I merely nodded, giving her words and manner little thought.

"There are several racks of lamb out back in my storage shed, would you mind bringing them in while you think on your fate. It would be most helpful."

I should have paid more consideration to her reddening eyes and nose or the forced calm in her voice but I was oblivious to all those things, not seeing them clearly until it was too late for it to matter. Nodding my head again I walked toward the door leading out the back of her storeroom.

When I emerged from Magda's tavern the sun was bright in a cloudless sky. The rickety old storage shed stood directly across from the door just as I remembered it in Snoam'Schlabach. The door was slightly ajar bringing back dark memories of my past. I shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the snake creature that nearly ended my life. Looking beyond the outbuilding I noticed that the forest was vibrant and alive. Birds sang, insects fluttered about on the breeze, and small animals scurried through the undergrowth. In a word, it was perfect, a place I could have remained in for all time.

Faintly I heard Magda call out behind me. "May the gods smile upon you Ademar." The comment seemed horribly out of place to me and I turned to ask why she had said such a thing but I found that the tavern was no longer there as if it had never been. It should not have surprised me but it did.

For a moment I stood quietly in the glade at the edge of the forest taking in the purity and beauty of the place. I longed to remain in this place, comfortable warm and safe. At the back of my consciousness I felt an incessant tug upon my being. I now knew it for what it was, Cor'Nal was reaching out to me, imploring me to return to my physical being.

For a long while I tried to ignore the call. I stood among the ancient trees of my youth breathing deep the sweet scent of wildflowers and damp earth underfoot. The summons, a constant tugging at my soul, did not subside. I though of all those who I could be with again if I were to stay. Old friends, my grandparents, Deedra... Her aged face and bright eyes came clearly to my mind and the thought of her nearly buckled my knees. How could I have been so selfish, how could I have forgotten my oath?!

With a great sigh I turned back to the shed at my back, it stood there still with it's door cracked open, barely. I still had purpose on the face of Atalanxia, I still had a task to complete and whether Sanastarus gave me his blessing or not I needed to see that work to it's end. Before I could change my mind I strode forward to the rickety shed and opened the door wide. Blackness greeted me there, impenetrable and frightening. The call to return strengthened, nearly pulling me into the void but I resisted. Perched upon the very precipice of my return to the living I paused and took one more look around at what could be a peaceful eternity.

"I will always have another chance at death." I said to any who might be listening. With a wry smile I scanned the scene once more trying to commit it all to memory before I succumbed to the call of my druid friend and walked again into the darkness.

The Scholar and The Opportunist

2009-10-24T22:35:00.003-04:00

Gaen Baliol was once a scholar of magic and history who was schooled at a secret School of Wizardy in northern Eystlund. Being the sort who was just as interested in magic history as he was in magic itself Gaen spent as many nights reading history texts as he did studying his spellbook. Eventually, his thirst for knowledge led to the forbidden. Though Gaen was uninterested in learning the dark arts for personal use he was greatly concerned with learning of the rise and fall of those who did so in the past.

Over the course of many years Gaen "borrowed" many forbidden texts that were locked and hidden away by his masters. He squirreled them within his own quarters until they became too cumbersome for his tiny dormitory. Eventually, Gaen took the lot of them to a nearby cave to study them, devouring them nightly by candlelight.

Gaen's comings and goings eventually led to his discovery by an elf of the name Ji'Seera. Ji'Seera was an elf of wicked nature and took her opportunity upon discovering Gaen's theft to force him to take more from the masters, lest she expose him for a thief. Ji'Seera however was not interested by the history of the magic that was forbidden to the understudies of the school, but the potential power that knowledge could bring, and so forced Gaen to remove old tomes that explained how one could conjure the power forbidden them.

Fearing expulsion and possibly worse, Gaen obliged. Over several weeks he carefully took what books he could under the noses of the schoolmasters, but Ji'Seera was never satisfied. Eventually, when Gaen could no longer abide the guilt of his crimes he refused Ji'Seera when she demanded more. Defiantly he told her that he would throw himself upon the mercy of the mages council before taking any more and would quickly implicate her extortion if she were to attempt to force him into doing so.

This enraged Ji'Seera. Over the next year and a half she studied and copied every relevant spell and ritual that she found worthy of the texts taken by Gaen. When she finished the exhaustive work she made a final attempt at swaying Baliol at procuring more of the forbidden magical tomes for her. Although Ji'Seera had grown exponentially more powerful than before, Gaen steadfastly refused but stated that as long as she left the situation alone, he would keep her secret if she kept his. Ji'Seera was visibly disappointed but seemed to understand, much to Gaen's surprise, and she left his dormitory without further incident.

The following day a senior member of the mage's council was found dead. It was believed that a spell of necromancy was used to sap the councilman's lifeforce. The spell, it was determined, was one found in a tome of a forbidden nature. One that had been locked away in the deepest depths of the school's basement library centuries ago. A place where only the most senior instructors and the most advanced students were allowed to enter, only now, that tome was missing.

Ji'Seera reported to the council that she had found Gaen Baliol to be keeping odd hours and leaving the school grounds for a small cave to the west. The council investigated, and that day found within the cave Ji'Seera led them to every tome and history book that Gaen had squirreled away for himself, as well as all those spellbooks and tomes of dark ritual that he had stolen for Ji'Seera at her demand.

Word quickly spread through the university that a cave had been discovered near the school with countless stolen spellbooks. Gaen knew it was a matter of time before he would be arrested. He knew that he'd be found guilty and at best be executed, and at worst have his hands cut off and his tongue torn out as punishment. He knew Ji'Seera's word would be accepted over his and so he fled. Leaving all things he loved and all people he knew behind.

20 years passed as Gaen Baliol roamed the northern continent. He had heard word at one time that the noted bounty hunter Windfall was even contracted to find him at one point. Flattered as he might've been if he had in fact been guilty of what he was wanted for, Gaen supposed that it was only fitting. Indirectly, it was his fault after all that a senior councilman was killed, even if he himself didn't cast the spell. Regardless, the threat of one with prowess such as Windfall after him meant that now, more than ever, he needed to find a place of permanent refuge, or die a fugitive.

Eventually, the legend of a village of outlaws was discovered by Baliol to be in fact a reality. A tower, though a very small one, was already within the town and currently empty. Perfect. He immediately bought it from Baron Von Strohm and has been there for the last decade. He has not been harassed since his arrival, and likely would've forgotten all about the troubles of his past if he hadn't received a message by courier, five years after his arrival, that Ji'Seera De'Logue, elven mage, had been made a senior member of the council he had fled from 25 years ago.

The letter, left under his door and delivered to him by a courier he never saw, was unsigned, though at the bottom, where a signature would normally be were the words...

I will keep your secret, if you keep mine.

North Bound

2009-09-25T11:56:00.007-04:00

As Ademar Nightwalker ran to keep up with his newfound companions, Cor’Nal and Besali, he told himself again that morning had come far too early this day. His eyes were bleary and heavy-lidded, his head pounded with every jarring step, his limbs ached from the previous nights’ merriment, and his stomach protested loudly to not having been fed breakfast. It was late summer and the companions had finally left the comfort of Goodale in search of fame and fortune nearly a year after deciding to do so. It was their first morning out, and while Cor’Nal was eager to be on the road, Ademar had overindulged in his farewell celebration making mid-afternoon seem like a much preferred time for them to leave. That had been one of many arguments the rogue had lost to the calculated logic of the druid.

Ademar had to work hard to keep pace with the longer gate of both the wolf and the taller elf. Panting hard, sweat dripping from his face and running in rivulets down his arms and back, the elf was greatly relieved when the small troop stopped for a midday break. In the small glade deep in The Crown Wood, Ademar Nightwalker dropped his heavy pack and collapsed in a gasping heap. To this point Cor’Nal had been completely absorbed in the world around him enjoying the time back in the forest but, at the sound of equipment and body falling to the ground at his back he turned around seeming to remember his counterpart for the first time this day. A wry smile crept across the druids’ face as he beheld the spectacle of the thin elf on hands and knees forehead nearly touching the ground, wheezing for breath.

“Is there… a reason… we don’t have… horses?” The rogue puffed, seeming to be even more pale than usual.

“Actually there are several reasons.” Cor’Nal responded fighting hard to hold back his laughter.
“Room and board through the winter, extra blankets for said room, wine -only the best-, wenches, gambling, paying back a certain person for ‘lost goods’, paying the fine constables of Goodale to look the other way while investigating ‘lost goods’, shall I go further?”

Having finally caught his breath, the rogue pushed himself up on his haunches sitting with his head still bowed like a dejected child before the taunting wood elf.
“There are days that I hate you.” Ademar replied quietly.

Unable to contain himself any longer Cor’Nal burst into uncontrollable laughter. The druid did not begrudge the rogue for being himself, it had actually played into his favor as the overindulgent Ademar had spent all the money he would need to travel back to Caercaster and was now forced to accompany him further north in search of adventure. He found the entire situation humorous despite the fact that they were many months behind his intended schedule.

After a leisurely lunch break the trio was off again. Their planned route would take them northwest through the Crown Wood just outside Goodale and into the rugged lands beyond to a place called Snoam-Schlabach. It was said that there were actually two towns there between the foothills of the Greystoke Highlands and the craggy wasteland known as the Laandsraad and that a great deal of strife existed there. Despite Ademars’ complaints, Cor’Nal had decided that, where there is conflict there will be adventure and opportunity to create a name for himself bringing honor and glory to his family. The pace after their rest was decidedly slower to Ademars’ great relief though, it didn’t stop him from complaining.

“Curse my luck! I’m getting a blister already.” The rogue grumbled as they navigated the forest.

“Will you be this irritable for the entire journey?” Cor’Nal asked as they continued to march along.

“Not unless the weather becomes cold and wet.” Ademar replied smartly, knowing that they were heading into a land where the weather was always cold and snow or freezing rain were often encountered. Cor’Nal could only roll his eyes as they continued on.

For three whole days they traveled the uneven ground and thickly packed pines of the forest before they noticed the first signs that they were approaching the edge of the wood. More light was filtering in through the boughs and more undergrowth was encountered. Just after midday on the fourth day their quiet passage was broken up by an unexpected noise. Off to the east of them and down a small ravine came a deep voice speaking a very broken version of the common tongue.

“Why Vrock not listen to Grock? He tell me not to trust smelly one-eye. He say wine no good no way. Well, he wrong, wine good but now Vrock stuck in woods with no food. Stupid, smelly, one-eye!”

With not a word spoken between the elves they began making their way silently toward the conversation taking place. Cor’Nal motioned to Besali, to move out to the end of the ravine in a flanking position and the wolf obliged swiftly and silently. Carefully the elves moved from tree to tree taking care to watch their footing and remaining quiet while they drew their bows and knocked arrows.

As they reached the lip of the small valley and peered down the elves reactions were simultaneously aggressive. Bow strings stretched taught and fletching went to cheek as rogue and druid alike took aim at a hated ancestral enemy. Standing at the bottom of the ravine was a hulking beast standing a full head taller than most men and just as thick as many of the old pines they stood among. Although olive skinned and broad of brow, this creature seemed somewhat different than the orcs both elves had encountered in the past. Its skin was not quite as dark, its jaw line not quite as animalistic, tusks did not really protrude from beneath its lip, something was slightly out of place. Why a lone orc? Were there more of them milling about? Was this some sort of trap? The arrows were held at bay for a moment, neither elf sure of exactly what they were up against.

For nearly an hour the trio followed this strange character about the forest. After passing through the ravine for a third time Cor’Nal decided that this particular orc- no, half-orc as this beast was not of full orc blood, was obviously lost and definitely alone. The druid motioned for Ademar to stop. After only a few moments the half-orc moved off again on the same track that he had followed previously. As the misplaced creature wandered away the elves and wolf emerged into the clearing at the bottom of the small valley.

“I wouldn’t want him scouting for me.” Cor’Nal remarked with a frown.

“What do we do about him?” Ademar asked. “I almost hate to kill the beast. He doesn’t seem smart enough to hurt anybody.”

“True, but he is an orc, or at least he has orc blood, that much I’m sure of.”

“Is that alone a reason to kill it? Maybe there is a way to use the brute.” The rogue mentioned off handedly. “It sure would be nice if you could teach him to carry our packs.” That comment got the druid thinking.

When the half-orc came around as expected for the fourth time the elves and wolf were still standing in the ravine awaiting him. With a start the beast nearly fell over itself to pull a massive great sword off of his back. “Pointy-ears!” He growled in a low, gravely voice, yellow eyes narrowed suspiciously and he assumed a defensive stance, sword at the ready.

The companions held their ground and remained calm. Besali stretched and yawned before lying down to watch the half-orc seemingly bored already. Ademar stood back trying hard to look at ease while remaining ready should the creature attack them.

Cor’Nal stepped forward boldly, he had learned that strength and bold action were respected within orc society and he prayed to Kutenai that his plan would work.
“Well met good sir.” The druid began, holding out his hand in greeting. “We are looking for a brave warrior named Vrock. Could you tell us where we could find him?”

The half-orcs’ expression went from suspicion to pride then back to suspicion before ending in confusion as the elf spoke. For several breaths the half-orc mulled over what the druid had said before responding.

“Me Vrock, son of Grock. Brave warrior! Strong warrior!” Vrock proclaimed loudly. Then his voice lowered and suspicion furrowed his broad brow. “Why you looking for me?”

“We two elves are traveling in this dangerous land and we are looking to hire some protection from the beasts of the wild.” The druid lied. “We have heard that the warrior Vrock can assure our safe passage to the north.”

The half-orc stood before them, sword still at the ready in both of his gnarled hands. He listened intently and as Cor’Nal talked a frown worked its way onto his face. Seeing the frown on Vrocks’ face told the druid that he had to sweeten the pot somehow to earn his cooperation.

“We are going north to find treasure and adventure!” He proclaimed enthusiastically. “If you choose to help us we will give you a share of the take.” Behind Cor’Nal Ademar choked and coughed, a wounded look of shock and despair upon his face. Vrock smiled.

“Food?” The burly half-orc stated more than asked.

“Of course, you are welcome to eat with us this eve.” Cor’Nal told him thinking that things were going well.

“No, food now. Vrock hungry.”

As Vrock noisily devoured all the provisions Cor’Nal had packed for himself it was Ademars’ turn to smile while the druid stood by in astonishment at Vrocks’ appetite. Finally with a belch that rattled nearby pine boughs Vrock, son of Grock announced that he was ready to travel.

With the added appetite of Vrock forcing the group to forage for food much sooner than anticipated their forward progress slowed to a crawl. It took several more days before Cor’Nal was confident that they had enough food stocked to make it across the empty land between The Crown Wood and foothills of the Greystoke Highlands. Once the group was finally underway on a seldom used trail to the cold northern reaches of Edlrige their pace quickened. Vrock carried most of the supplies which greatly reduced Ademars complaints although he still found opportunities.

Within two weeks of travel Cor’Nal reported that the companions were nearing civilization. This was welcome news to Ademar who had not anticipated how severe the cold would be once they left the protection of The Crown Wood. As they had climbed nearer to the mountains the temperature dropped from cool to cold. Frost was an every morning occurrence and no matter how large the fire was stoked Ademar was always cold at night. When they finally came to the small camp known as Whitewall just south of their destination, the frost cover had given way to snow. Ademar was now cold day and night no matter how many layers he wore or how vigorously he marched. Inversely, Cor’Nal never seemed cold despite being dressed in only a light shirt, breeches, and his mysterious wooden armor. The smug druid just smiled all the wider whenever the rogue moaned over the weather. Vrock also seemed unaffected by the cold, insulated in his heavy hides and thick cloak, he marched on with the elves apparently happy with his current arrangement.

The group rested in the mostly abandoned mining town of Whitewall for two days allowing Vrock to eat his fill and Ademar time to thaw his chilled limbs. Norton, the tavern keeper in town, told the companions that there was indeed trouble brewing between Snoam-Schlabach and its neighboring hamlet Schudlichton although he seemed doubtful that there would be much in the way of coin to be had there. The reprieve was short lived. The druid predicted another snowstorm to be on its way.

Much to the chagrin of Norton and Ademar alike the group headed out from Whitewall Camp into the deepening snow and cold bite of a winter which had not yet even started. In the difficult and unfamiliar terrain it took the companions almost three whole days to finally reach their goal.

Over a hill in the midst of a mild, late-evening snowstorm it came into view, a small hamlet maybe 80-90 buildings in all. Mostly modest homes, only about three-quarters of which seemed to be permanent structures. But at the southern-most edge, along where the closest thing to a road could be discerned, lay a building larger than most but smaller than a few. Plumes of fragrant gray smoke, visible against the moonlight, billowed out from the chimney. Its roof of tarred pine branch and log walls of the same type wood. The only kind that could grow this far north. Instinctively, in their years of traveling they knew the building could only mean one thing.

"A bed." Cor'Nal said to himself.
"Food." Vrock said to himself.
"Heat." Ademar said to himself.

Of course all three things really meant one thing: An inn. Even now, uphill, upwind and still a mile away the smells and sounds were unmistakable. Rowdy banter, spiced potatoes and roasted lamb all filled their senses causing their exhausted pace to quicken. Though one more time they wished they'd found some way to acquire horses, flying carpets, goats or any other form of permanent transportation.

They arrived in minutes though it seemed like hours. Freezing, starving and exhausted they each passed but not a one of them read the sign at front that read:

"Welcome to Homebound"
Magda Dervish, Proprietor

Goodale

2009-09-23T15:47:00.004-04:00

Leaving the accursed tower and the forest that held it far behind him, Ademar continued north. He pushed himself hard, traveling completely beyond the borders of Westheath and crossing over into the Dodanna Freelands, a sparsely populated marshland that stretched from the mountains known as The Broken Lands in the west all the way to halfling kingdom of Murgar in the east.

He had been away from Caercaster now for several weeks and yet his journey had just begun. Ademar redoubled his efforts to avoid civilization and curbed his curiosity near interesting places for another many weeks while he traveled always northward and away from his past problems.

Still he marched on not having knowledge of where he was going nor really where he was exactly. The mountains had faded into the distance behind him leaving a vast grassland before him. The few trees he encountered were full of green leaves, showing that summer was fully upon the land. The rains became cool relief as shelter from the sun became increasingly rare yet, he continued on, his soul full of inner turmoil. Eventually the elf did come to terms with his aimless wandering.

At the first snow, that is when I will stop. He told himself. The first snow will mark the end of my travel. There I will find shelter for the winter and then I will return to Caercaster in the spring. He felt that some of the burden had been lifted from his aching shoulders. The fact that he had formulated some sort of action plan came as an unexpected relief to the beleaguered elf. Yes, it will be fitting that Kendrick Cwik dies in the spring. That always was Deedras’ favorite time of year.

*** *** *** *** ***

The predawn glow crept into the massive forest that surrounded Goodale chasing the darkness further west as the sun approached the eastern horizon. The people here had named the large conifer forest The Crown Wood as it sat at the northern edge of the continent like a green crown upon the land. Despite the early hour, two shadowy forms made their way silently across the carpet of dry twigs and pine needles on the forest floor. In the lead was a large grey wolf, its black nose sniffing the air, intently following a scent deeper and deeper into the wood. Close behind the wolf followed an elf covered head to toe in some exotic armor apparently made of overlapping wooden plates shaped like leaves of various trees. They weaved effortlessly through the dimly lit tree trunks, moving with such speed and grace an onlooker would swear they were ghosts.

The elf, Cor’Nal Utharo, was a talented young druid from Sanctuary who had recently traveled the lions’ share of Atalanxia ending up here, in Goodale with his newfound wolf companion Besali. For nearly two weeks the pair had explored the large forest, practicing their stalking skills and enjoying what time they could outside before autumn came, forcing them to find shelter and supplies for the coming winter. The druid knew that summer was fast drawing to an end; as it was a short season this far north. While they ran through the trees this morning a thick white fog hugged the ground, a testament to large temperature differences from night to day which were already moving across the land.

The elf was not quite sure what Besali had caught scent of but he knew it must be something new judging by the eagerness in the wolves’ strides. Without warning Besali stopped. Cor’Nal, following so close behind him nearly ran over the animal before coming to a halt. Besalis’ hackles stood on end, his body was rigid and his brown eyes were fixed on something just ahead of them. Taking a moment to catch his breath Cor’Nal dropped a calming hand to the shoulder of his companion while scanning the forest ahead of them. Inside the predominantly pine forest it was not difficult to see past the bare trunks and sparse undergrowth and spot the source of their morning “hunt”. A slim figure lay up against one particularly large tree next to the grey ashes of a small campfire. Judging by the slight build and diminutive stature of the figure, the druid thought that it might be a woman or a very young human man lying beneath that black cloak.

Wanting to get a better look, Cor’Nal started forward while motioning for Besali to stay put. As he approached the form something caught him off guard, something the elf never expected to see this far north. A pointed ear protruded from the black cloak, the ear of a Cala'Quessir! Forgetting only for an instant about his surroundings, Cor’Nal took another step closer to the sleeping figure. His foot came down on an upturned twig accompanied by the sharp snap of breaking wood. Instinctively Cor’Nals’ hand went to his sheathed scimitar. His instinct served him well that morning. Within the blink of an elven eye the once prone figure sprang to life. The black cloaked elf was now on his feet and a long sword came across at Cor’Nal in a sweeping horizontal strike. Steel rang out on steel, a pure harmonic note sang out in the deep forest breaking the calm silence of the morning. Both elves found themselves staring at each other in bewilderment. Several tense moments passed before Cor’Nal spoke.

“ Well met friend.”

The tension between the elves evaporated quickly with those simple words and the cloaked elf retracted his blade. Both parties assumed non-threatening stances yet their blades remained naked as they continued to measure each other. This elf Cor’Nal noted had seen his share of hardship, bearing horrible scars on his hands and half of his face, now visible after his cowl fell away during the strike. It was the elfs’ eyes that held Cor’Nals’ attention though, something familiar about those bright green eyes which were even now darting about, making note of every detail about him, eyes which grew larger after taking note of the wolf watching intently from a distance at Cor’Nals’ back.

Seeing that no conversation was forthcoming from the cloaked stranger Cor’Nal attempted discover what he was about.

“An elf is an unusual sight this far north, especially with autumn fast approaching.” He began.

“Yes, that is unusual.” The stranger said in a measured tone, his eyes flicked back to hold Cor’Nal in a hard stare.

“Fear not my elven brother.” The druid replied, taking the initiative to sheath his weapon. “I bear you no ill will. I am just as surprised as you at this unexpected meeting.”

The black cloaked elf responded in turn, sheathing his sword although his eyes continued to watch both Cor’Nal and Besali warily, apparently ill-at-ease with the situation.

Moving slowly, the druid took a cautious step forward, moving almost as if trying not to spook the stranger before him, and extended his right hand in greeting.

“My name is Cor’Nal Utharo. I am the son of Legawyn and Nydia Utharo of Kemmermere.”

The cloaked elf stepped forward also, taking Cor’Nals’ forearm in acknowledgement yet, those green eyes remained on the wolf.

Recognizing that Besali would continue to be a distraction, the druid gave a shrill series of whistles not once looking back at him. Without a sound, the wolf stood and loped off into the forest, back the way he had come. Picking right up where his introduction had ended Cor’Nal continued. “And that, is my companion Besali.”

The elf opposite Cor’Nal relaxed at the exit of the large canine, his emerald eyes flashed back to the druid. “Pardon my manners.” The stranger spoke in smooth, practiced elven seemingly genuinely humbled by his lack of proper protocol. “I have long been on the road and in the wild. It makes one somewhat, suspicious of others. My name is Ademar.” After a slight hesitation he continued. “Ademar Nightwalker, also of Kemmermere.”

That name brought light to Cor’Nals’ memory; he remembered now meeting Ademar while delivering a message to the Helyanwë family many years ago. What had happened to the young Ademar to cause him to take up an alias? From what the druid could remember the Helyanwë family was a well-to-do merchant clan why would he stray so far from the comforts of Kemmermere? Deciding that Ademar must have a valid reason to abandon his family name, Cor’Nal chose to feign ignorance of his kin but he was interested in how he came to be in Goodale and hoped that Ademar had news of Kemmermere.

“So, what brings you to the wilderness of Eldridge my friend? And, what news of Tel’HithTal?”

Ademar thought about the questions for a moment, seeming to be carefully constructing his answers before responding.

“My family thought it would be advantageous for me to travel the world for a while. They are trying to gain knowledge of the goings-on beyond our borders. We are hoping to open up more trade across Atalanxia. I have been throughout Westheath, The Dodanna Freelands and Nargosath, before coming here. In the spring I will be returning to Caercaster to report my findings.”

Cor’Nal nodded throughout Ademars’ explanation seemingly believing the entire thing though he secretly wondered why he would return to Caercaster, a city of humans rather than the forest of Kemmermere.

“As for The City,” the rogue continued, “They were still rebuilding when I left nearly two years past. Regulus Silverfire is determined to have every detail within the citadel perfect which has made things difficult for the craftsmen to say the least.” Happy with the direction the conversation was turning, Ademar asked a question of his own. “If you ask news of Kemmermere you must have been away for quite some time yourself. What of your journey Cor’Nal Utharo?”

Happy to be having a conversation with another elf, the druid happily told Ademar of his journey which had taken him all about the continent over the past two decades and how he had ended up in Goodale looking for adventure. The conversation lasted long into the day, stretching on to dusk.

Knowing that winter was fast approaching, Cor’Nal suggested that Ademar stay in Goodale and continue his travels in the spring. Beginning to tire of traveling, Ademar readily agreed with the druids’ suggestion but decided that he would prefer the comfort of a bed in an inn to the hard ground of the forest floor. Reluctant to leave the wild but unwilling to let go of this newfound link to his homeland, Cor’Nal relented to this request. Throughout the fall and all through the winter both elves worked for Iwan Welsher, a fourth generation brewer of his families’ famous Welsher’s White ale. Using the silver they earned from Iwan the pair waited out the winter trading stories of their homeland in the warm shelter of The Wizards’ Charm inn.

Vlad

2009-09-13T18:59:00.004-04:00

The young dwarf sat with pleasure wenches on either side of him at the bartable of a well-known tavern in Goodale called the Broken Skull Inn. A place where the ale was expensive (likely to be expected in a town called Goodale) and so were the wenches. Neither mattered to the dwarf as he was the type who wasn't interested in handing over his silver for the standard wench or the average ale. No sir, only the finest wenches and ale for Vlad Pwent but he thought if the circumstances were different, today he might reconsider. Yes, he thought to himself, today would be different. The entertainment here was good after all (he was surprised to see a band of minstrels playing in such a small town) the food wasn't bad by dwarven standards and the continuous flow of ale provided the dwarf's head with just the right amount of a delightful buzzing to keep him in good cheer.

Indeed, Vlad Pwent thought to himself, this day will be different.

At that thought he lifted his latest tankard of ale, one purchased only moments ago, and drained it to the last. Satisfied, he slammed the tankard down to the table dramatically, straightened himself in his seat, threw his shoulders back and let go of an impressive belch that caught the attention of everyone nearby, only a few of whom seemed to admire the display, not that Vlad cared.

He waved toward the barkeep with one hand and wiped his neatly braided beard with the other. As with most dwarves, Vlad's beard was no exception in being his pride and joy, though when drinking ale, the cloth of his shirt-arm was just as good as any finely knitted napkin. Reluctantly, the barkeep relieved himself of wiping down the wooden ale-mugs he'd just washed and deliberately made his way to the smug dwarf.

Frowning, he spoke. "Another ale dwarf?" The human was massive, even for those of his kind, easily six-and-a-half feet tall and seemed just as wide. His expression and body language, a spectacle of clenched fists and even tighter shoulders, told Vlad he had very little patience, for the little people.

The dwarf offered a mock expression of surprise at the enormous human's reluctance to serve. This lasted for a brief moment before he slowly changed his expression by adding a wry smile, seemingly reveling in the barkeep's annoyance. He then turned his head, looking to the pleasure wench on his left who returned his smile with one of her own. He eyed her up and down like a starving dog would gaze at a freshly roasted rack of lamb. She shifted closer to him, daring a hand upon his forearm and rested her ample bosom against his shoulder. He liked the firm, yet soft caress her breasts made upon him and, if it hadn't been for the recently consumed glut of ale he imagined that, like the one in his head, there would be a buzzing in his pantaloons where there was none now. The dwarf's smile widened, regardless of his lack of rigidity. He grunted an approval as he failed to notice the growing impatience of the barkeep he'd summoned.

"Come now dwarf," The barkeep interrupted. "I do not have time for this." Sweat glistened on the barkeep's balding pate. "What'll ye have, another ale?" He furrowed his sweating brow and pursed his lips into a scowl.

"No barkeep," Vlad said at last. His gaze never leaving the resting bosom of his new female friend. "Bring two. One for me and one for the lady" She fanned herself dramatically as if Vlad's gesture of kindness had suddenly, and quite magically, risen the temperature in the room. Thinking to herself, the wench hoped that Vlad realized that the price of her services slightly exceeded that of a few kind words and a tankard of ale.

"Right," The barkeep replied, slightly amused. "One for you and one for the... lady. He laughed at the misuse of the word and spoke it with disdainful inflection. Chuckling he left the two in order to retrieve their ales.

The pleasure wench to Vlad's right tugged innocently at his undershirt and whined in a surprisingly high-pitched, grating voice.

"Wha' abou' me Vlad?" She pronounced his name like many poor folk of the Southern Eldridge Kingdom: Vlot. "I would also like an ale." She risked an expression of childish neglect, it was a poor attempt and even in his inebriated state, Vlad wasn't fooled. He snapped his gaze toward her, the smile he wore disappearing instantly into a scowl. The wench let go and recoiled slightly. He eyed her for a few seconds before smiling wickedly.

"Get yer own ale, wench! I've nay the gold nor the energy for the both of ye!" He snapped viciously before continuing. His voice became gentler in tone though his words retained their acerbic intonation. "But in a tenday or so, I'll have enough gold for the services of yerself and all yer whore friends!" He then became thoughtful and his sarcastic left his face as it went blank. "Although I'll likely still be too knackered for more'n one of ye a' a time." He whispered the last to himself though the right-side wench wouldn't have heard it anyway as she had already left his company, scurrying away on her plump little feet to sell her wares to more eager, and hopefully even more intoxicated patrons.

Before the boastful, arrogant dwarf could return his attention to the dark-haired beauty that he had become so anxious to begin receiving services from, the barkeep had returned to them with both ale tankards and was impatiently awaiting payment. Vlad reached into his coinpurse and payed the barkeep what he owed. The barkeep took the coins from the dwarf but remained still even after pocketing them, eyeing Vlad intently. Vlad, never making eye-contact initially, looked up at the barkeep sheepishly, half-expecting the barkeep to accuse Vlad of somehow shortchanging him.

"You'd be wise not to speak to the wenches in that manner." The barkeep spat the words threateningly as he crossed his arms over his thick, barrel-shaped chest.

Vlad's expression remained blank. "And you'd be wise not to speak to me in that manner." He curled the corners of his mouth into an arrogant smirk, barely visible beneath his thick, red beard.

"Is that right?" The barkeep taunted, leaning over the table slightly to remind the dwarf of just how much larger the human was than he.

Before Vlad could explain to the human just how right that was the pleasure wench that he had nearly begun to forget about interjected, trying desperately to change the subject in order to avoid a confrontation which almost certainly would end up costing her the patronage of a well-paying customer.

"That's right" She said. "Vlad here is goin' t' be a hero. Ain't ye Vlad?" She spoke loudly to ensure that both of them would give her their full attention. Unfortunately, she got the attention of half the rest of the pub's patron as well.

The barkeep turned to her, unconvinced and half on the verge of uncontrollable laughter. "Is that right?" The barkeep repeated. Suddenly, Vlad began to wonder about the size of this human's vocabulary.

"Yes," The wench continued, half-impressed with herself at seeming to diffuse the encroaching confrontation. "he is goin' to the 'Goodale Cave'. The one about a dozen miles Sou'east a' here" She smiled and looked at Vlad with mock pride. "It's supposed t' be 'aunted."

"I know." the barkeep spat. "The Bearded-Child has been boasting about it since morning." He laughed heartily and then glanced at the dwarf, whose face had begun to redden. "But what he failed to mention to ye lass, is that he hasn't been assigned to Faramin's party yet."

Vlad remained silent, incredibly angry and embarrassed by the barkeep's revelation. He watched as the wench's expression melted from mock pride to genuine disappointment.

"Is 'ee speakin' truth, Vlad?" She asked sullenly.

Vlad paused a moment to consider his next words, a feat which required an enormous amount of will for him even when sober.

"As of now, aye." He spoke the words and felt the gaze of at least a dozen onlookers. Their eyes pierced his back like tiny assassins daggers. "However, I am confident, nay, certain, that his Lordship will find me of adequate quality to represent him and fight for the people of Goodale." Whatever confidence Vlad felt a few moments ago was now whisked away and replaced by the feeling that to all those present, all those listening to himself and the wench, that he had begun to bear a striking resemblance to a horse's arse.

The barkeep threw his head back and laughed. "Obviously you've not been paying attention." He said between peals of laughter. "Faramin has abandoned selecting the adventuring party's." He wiped away a tear, reveling further in the dwarf's humiliation. "Not after the last party he selected went down into that godsforsaken cave and never returned."

"Never returned?" The wench spoke the words in Vlad's head.

"That's right," The barkeep continued. "Faramin has decided that he can no longer bear the terrible burden of sending young men to their deaths himself, so he has commissioned volunteers to select, or bring to town, their own parties in order to travel to the cave and commit suicide themselves. The fools! Though he promises to reward any party that returns with the head of some mage who calls himself 'Raylock' the hefty sum of one thousand gold pieces." Vlad hung on to every word but tried to keep the air of aloofness, he failed miserably as the barkeep continued. "I've heard of only one such suicidal idiot." The barkeep finished his speech, again crossed his arms in front of him. He winked at the pleasure wench who seemed genuinely troubled by Vlad's sudden change in demeanor.

Vlad chanced a look over his shoulder, noticed that over a dozen bar patrons had begun to make their way towards the bartable. Inching closer in order to get a better position from which to eavesdrop on the suddenly very interesting conversation. He tried his best to ignore them and turned his attention back to the sarcastic barkeep.

"What 'Suicidal Idiot' is this you speak of?" Vlad asked humbly.

The barkeep smirked as he looked down on the small (at least to his eyes) dwarf who seemed to be getting smaller with each passing moment. "A vagabond, silver-haired elf... calls himself, Razell. Or some such. Travels with another of his kind, red hair and freckles. I don't know 'is name. Don't care either." He snorted the last bit, pleased with himself.

"Razell..." Vlad whispered absently to himself, staring into his full, untouched tankard. Then he frowned. "An elf!" He reached into his purse to pay the barkeep for the information but the barkeep refused it, holding his outstretched arm palm out toward the dwarf.

"No need. Information's free. I like to watch smart-tounged, loud-mouthed braggarts like you running off eagerly killing yerselves trying to become heroes." He smiled broadly as Vlad wondered what he may have said earlier to make the human hate him so. He supposed he didn't really care.

"Is that right?" Vlad said, knowing the barkeeper's answer.

"That's right." The barkeep repeated to Vlad's expectation.

"Thanks nonetheless." Vlad said moving from his stool to stand on the dusty tavern floor upon shaky, unsure legs. He found himself slightly dizzy from his consumption of ale but tried quickly to forget about it. The same way he forgot about the pleasure wench and the full tankard of ale he left behind as he pushed his way past the gathering crowd and out into the streets of Goodale, in search of this fairy elf. This, Razell.

Again, he thought to himself as the mid-day sun crept behind a large cluster of threatening purple clouds, this day, indeed, will be different.

Oakflame and Silverfire

2009-08-29T07:57:00.003-04:00

The silver haired elf shifted uneasily as he stared out the second floor window of the room he rented of the inn known as "The Wizard's Charm". He looked out over the village of Goodale as the mid-afternoon sun crept higher into the sky casting long shadows across the small town. As his watchful silvery-blue eyes scanned over the nearby "Broken Skull Inn", the abundant farmland that seemed to stretch out, rolling forever out from the town fringe toward the horizon and the majestic site of Lord Faramin's fortress he wondered how, in this small town, was he going to find a large enough group of experienced warriors to take down into that dungeon when all of the willing and able-bodied young men had either already ventured down there and died, or returned unsuccessfully in their task and vowed never to return? Facts that brought he and his elven companion here in the first place.

He sighed and reached for the glass of fyrewyne on the adjacent bedtable that he had poured for himself only moments ago. He sipped it casually as he stared out the window, losing himself in his own thoughts. "Perhaps I should have taken Jerrak's advice." He spoke aloud to only himself. "Maybe I am treading waters too high for my own head." He sighed again and sat down heavily upon the horribly overstuffed bed, taking his eyes away from the window. "Maybe I shouldn't have opened my mouth in the first place." He spoke again to himself. "Maybe I should tell Faramin that I've had a change of heart and respectfully decline." He drained the last of his fyrewyne and set the empty goblet back down to the bedtable from which he'd taken it. "Before somebody gets killed."

"Are you concerned for your own life or perhaps for the life of an old elf like me?"

Razell reached into a sheath at his belt and slipped free a slim dagger as he stood simultaneously, snapping his body out toward his intruder he held his weapon out in front of him, ready to strike.

The sound of soft laughter and the realization of his intruder's identity caused Razell to relax and sheath his dagger. He flushed heavily in embarrassment. If he wasn't certain of his unreadiness to lead a band of men before, he was now.

"Jerrak, my old friend, I apologize. I was daydreaming and did not hear you enter." He exhaled sharply.

The auburn-haired, heavily-freckled elf smiled as he stood inside the doorway to the room they shared. "There is no need for an apology." He spoke in an even voice, apparently unfazed at Razell's anxiety, his tone carried with it a depth and comfort not normally associated with his kind. More than once in his years with the youthful, brooding silver-haired elf had this voice brought Razell down from the heights of apprehension and up from the depths of despair. Without effort, he used it to manipulate the younger elf as a mother would her babes. Sometimes unconsciously, and this was one of those times. "I imagine there is much that weighs on your mind with what the days ahead have in store." He paused and smiled, glancing at the now-sheathed dagger at Razells hip. "Besides, I'm still alive... you haven't killed this old elf yet."

Razell laughed without humor. "Will you please cease with this 'old elf' nonsense? You're barely a hundred years older than I am!"

Jerrak Oaklflame moved inside the room, gently closed the door behind him and sat down in a small wooden chair at the foot of the bed.

"Having second thoughts?" He asked as he folded his hands over his lap.

Razell took in a deep breath and paused a second before answering the question. Was he actually considering turning back and forfeiting all he had cost himself and his friend journeying to this human-infested town?

"No." He said aloud but more to himself than Jerrak. "No, I will proceed with what I promised Faramin." He frowned as his eyes raised to meet Jerrak's gaze. "It is just that I have never taken part in this sort of endeavor before. I've never considered myself a leader, responsible for lives other than my own." He paused as another dreadful thought occurred to him, one that had plagued him repeatedly during his journey here from Kemmermere. "What if I am forced to employ the services of... humans?"

Jerrak laughed out loud. "I would strongly suggest you get used to the idea. There aren't many elves other than the two of us here and we can't do it alone." He crossed a leg over the other and sat back, his body language oddly reminded Razell of typical human crassness. "I warned you this journey would be difficult. I thought it best that you wait, but all you could think about was the reward offered for your, for our, services" Jerrak frowned. "However during our meeting with Faramin you were able to conceal your greed and now he is convinced that you undertake this mission purely for the sake of justice." He spat the last word as though it were a curse.

"I care not for the problems of humans, nor the types of justice they propose, and I will not be made to feel guilty over profiting from their self-inflicted strife." Razell had to force himself to keep his voice below a shout. "It is humans we go to save, yet it is humans we go to save them from! Is it not?"

"Yes, it is..." Jerrak began to reply.

"And what elf, or group of elves would dare do so to their own kind?" His eyes flashed. "None!" He spat, answering his own, rhetorical question. "None that I know or have ever heard tell of."

"I fail to understand your conundrum, Razell. You haven't come here to serve the "greater good". You come here for money alone." The auburn haired elf narrowed his eyes into accusatory slits and sat forward in his chair. "Perhaps you've tried to justify it some other way, but it's true isn't it? You and I are no better than common mercenaries, profiting from the troubles of the humankind you so passionately despise."

Razell recoiled at the word so commonly associated with the lowest caste of the human species: Mercenary. He turned and sat down upon the bed again, his back facing his dearest friend, shoulders slumped, hiding the embarrassed flush upon the fair flesh of his face. Absently he reached for the empty goblet upon the bedtable, his hand stopping short of it as he remembered that the glass contained no wine.

Jerrak raised an eyebrow as his young companion turned away from him. "There have been some, Razell..."

"Some?" Razell asked confusedly.

"Elves, Razell. Elves who have turned against other elves. The 'Dark Ones' for example"

"The Drow turned their backs on us ten thousand years ago."

"We turned our backs on them."

"Stop advocating them. Are you ashamed to walk in the daylight? Ashamed of your superiority?"

Jerrak Oakflame ignored the questions. "Perhaps someday we will talk more of those I speak of; These elves who would, and did, see harm come to others of our kind. I fear now the lesson would fall on deliberately deaf ears." He sighed and stood from his chair, moving toward Razell. He rested a hand upon his shoulder. "We will speak of it when your mind is at ease."

Razell angrily brushed his companions hand away. "Spare me your condescension!"

Despite his petulant outburst, Razell was calming, soothed at the touch of his friends hand. It was true that he had much weighing on his mind. He faced a lineup in the coming afternoon of adventurers who would willingly throw themselves upon the sword of enemies they didn't understand at the command of an elf they didn't know, one who hadn't earned their trust. Razell was confused about the conflict he felt toward potentially leading a band of men to their doom, wondered why the thought brought him such guilt when he cared more for the wind and rain than for the lives of the breeders polite elven society called "Humanus".

Another sigh from Razell before he spoke. "We are the favored of the Gods, Jerrak." His voice lilted musically as he spoke the words in the Northern Elf-tongue. The language of his childhood. A childhood he'd forgotten for reasons unknown to him. "Humans are a sub-race, living their short, spontaneous lives killing and spawning at will. With little thought or regard for anything other than themselves." He waved a hand toward the window nonchalantly.

Jerrak took a step back and sighed himself, fearing the argument he'd had so many times before with Razell and other elves like him. "Yes, we are the favored of the Gods, Razell." He straightened and looked out the window Razell now stared out of. "But it is our responsibility to help protect the lesser races."

"Even if it means protecting them from themselves?"

"Especially when it means protecting them from themselves." Jerrak replied. "Besides, my young friend, eventually, if you spend enough time with them, you may grow fond of humans. Like them, even."

"Unlikely." Razell grunted sarcastically.

Ignoring him Jerrak continued. "Perhaps you'll even grow to envy them, as I have."

Razell fought a gasp, composed himself and turned to face the elf he thought he had grown to know well.

"Say again?" Razell said in the crude common speech.

"Yes. Does that surprise you Razell?" More condescension, Razell thought as Jerrak met his gaze and sat back down before looking away reflectively. "I envy them. I envy them because many of them live swift, glorious lives. Greatly affecting the well-being of a city, or even an entire kingdom while those humans whose lives are filled with suffering begin and end before the youngest elf comes of age." He smiled. "You see my friend, Those humans who accomplish much do so in a fraction of our lifetime. And those humans whose lives are spent with suffering or in disgrace are also, mercifully, over quickly." His face melted into sadness though his smile remained. "And that, my young friend, is a comfort not often afforded by those elves who suffer themselves."

Razell found it difficult to speak, though he supposed he shouldn't be so surprised. Oakflame always did seem to play advocate to the humans when Razell criticized them after all, but to envy them? Razell found himself more likely to pity humans than envy them. Now though, he felt pity only for Jerrak. What would make him so unhappy as an elf to feel envy for a human? Razell could only imagine.

"I..." Razell began.

"Can't believe what you're hearing?" Jerrak interjected.

Razell nodded.

"I figured as much. Do not worry, Razell, I am the same 'old elf' you've always known." He rested his hands upon the arms of the chair, gripped the wood delicately with his slender, sun-browned fingers. "I was careful to keep these thoughts from you, knowing your own." He laughed. "You've never been one to hide your prejudices and if you ever meant to do so around me, you were very poor at it. No, from the first days of our friendship I was more than aware of your deep-seeded hatred."

"They kill elves Jerrak. They drove us to the West during a time when we walked freely among the peoples of the Southern Continent. It is a human who keeps us living in fear of our own borders along that cursed Toryth Vol!"

"Do not dare speak that name!" Oakflame, an otherwise unsuperstitious sort, spat disdainfully. "Yes, its true some humans have killed elves in the past. It's true some do so now, but the elves who retreated to the West during The First Descension did so of their own free will. They chose to stay out of the conflict, and it caused the deaths of millions when we turned our backs to the continent. They have every reason to hate us, perhaps more reason than we to hate them! Thankfully their memories are shorter than ours." He paused long enough for Razell to speak a single sentence.

"I will not listen to this."

"You will, my friend." He tried to hold his anger in check but it was becoming difficult. Razell's intolerance was always an issue, but as a duo they needed to maintain the charade if they were to lead a group under the ground. A force that would almost certainly consist exclusively of humans. They traveled hundreds of miles for what they hoped would be a fortune in gold. Razell's prejudice threatened that at the least, and at the most it threatened their lives. "Humans are not a perfect race by any stretch of the imagination, however neither are we elves no matter how favored we are among the Gods. Believe what you will my friend but in my opinion, your hatred could be best suited toward other things."

The silver-haired elf lowered his head as he turned away from Jerrak. He glanced back once more toward the sky and realized that soon the sun would be obscured by thick, black clouds.

A storm was coming.

"Enough of this talk of racial politics." Jerrak spoke, deliberately returning to the soothing, manipulative tone he'd used for nearly fifty years of friendship. Ever since the silver-haired boy became a ward of Jerrak's father. "Such talk vexes us both. And neither of us will change the mind of the other."

"Yes." Was all Razell could manage. He was exhausted, that much he could agree with Oakflame about.

"Perhaps we should reconsider this Razell." Jerrak said defeatedly. "A thousand gold pieces is..."

"A fortune!" Razell interrupted.

"Yes, but if you do not believe in the cause in which we are fighting then our deaths would be as empty as your wineglass, if we are to find ourselves so unlucky."

"Mercenaries..." Razell whispered, still staring out the window. He cringed at the word so often associated with human "adventurers".

"The mage, this... Raylock, is killing children here Razell." He lowered his voice to a whisper, the last resort Jerrak turned to when desperation was at hand and he needed to bend Razell to his will. It wasn't supernatural, though it seemed to be at times, like the way a mother can guilt her children into acts against their desires. "And not just human children..."

Razell stood, turned toward Oakflame and narrowed his eyes inquisitively, wondered why he hadn't heard this information before now. "Elves?"

Jerrak nodded.

"Then the bastard will die!"

Jerrak smiled.

A Job Gone Wrong

2009-07-31T09:02:00.011-04:00

-Recap of recorded session #2-

Realizing that the DM is busy, I thought I might try my hand at the recap as I have little going on at work today. Please go easy on me, it's my first time, and as always if you see a discrepancy or something that was missed please do let me know.

With the miraculous reincarnation of Pudge who is now Luethar again, the party finds themselves outside The Longest Mile once more. Still undecided about what to do with the ships log that they had successfully recovered from the Widow MonTorrey's house they hold a quick meeting outside the inn. Luethar asks to see the book and after a slight hesitation it is handed over for him to examine. The halfling begins his examination as the rest of the group continues to discuss how they will move forward. Before long Luethar discerns a code hidden within the old, tattered pages and excitedly reads a snippet of the message, "the treasure-". Immediately the DM's best laid plan is dashed as the group votes to keep the book and attempt to defuse Black Rhett's impending tirade when it comes.

Luethar, being in his new, new body has not yet been seen with the party and is asked to stay behind in the parties covered wagon while Raell, Cor'Nal, and Ademar go inside the inn. They choose to get rooms at The Longest Mile and plan to rest the remainder of the day while they wait to hear of Ryan's fate. A mere hour after they arrive at the inn Flanders summons the group for a meeting with Black Rhett.

Rhett is quick to business after demanding that everyone be seated. He is direct to the point asking if the mission was a success. The companions feign ignorance of the whereabouts of the ships log saying that perhaps the previous party found it and never delivered. Raell attempts to shift the subject, saying that the mansion was full of undead including a banshee. Rhett is unconvinced of any of this and blames the part for the burning of the house and the failed mission, suspecting that the party is holding out on him. All attempts at deflecting blame and making compromises with Rhett fall on deaf ears. Rhett quickly tires of the meeting and promises a slow and painful death to them all (especially Cor'Nal) if he finds out that they have his book. Following this most of the group is promptly ushered out of the room by Cypher, Rhett's orc bodyguard. The exception to this is Raell who pokes his head back into Rhett's meeting room long enough to leave him with 300gp as a good will offering. Raell hopes this will diffuse Rhett and leave the group with a window for future work. Rhett is caught off guard by the gesture stating that it is either "stupid or revolutionary".

The group decides to pack up and move to the west side of Henutsen in order to put some distance between the angry guild leader and them. Raell, not wanting to eat at Low Skye again convinces the group to try Tread Light instead. Ademar readily agrees stating that he will not sleep in "that crap hole again". The group collects their belongings and travels to Tread Light, opting to leave Loomis at Low Skye as his room is paid in full and, the companions joke, he has probably found happiness in the arms of Neesa. Raell decides to go to the Temple of Myrrdin to check on Ryan, the elves go to Tread Light to secure rooms while Luethar remains in the wagon reading and attempting to keep from being recognized as part of the party.

********** It is about this time that the DM berates himself for mentioning anything of a secret code or treasure as his plan goes completely off track****************

Tread Light the elves find, is a middle of the road inn/tavern although the help is a little strange. They first encounter Stuckpig, a handicapped young man who walks with a heavy limp and a lame arm. He seems thrilled to see customers and promptly hollers for Tink. Tink is a thin and worn looking man of middle age who apparently runs the establishment. He takes their orders for food and collects for the meals and rooms before disappearing into the back. Stuckpig brings out drinks for the elves which includes wine much to Ademars delight, then promptly begins a conversation with the two asking all manner of questions and giving many answers to the pairs questions (after being slipped a couple silver of course). For all of sympathy Stuckpig's appearance conjures the elves are alarmed his knowledge of slavery and slavers within the town. Although they are friendly with the table boy they regard him with a great deal of suspicion. They do find that Farkas Winslow has visited the tavern recently which is encouraging. Ademar and Cor'Nal also pry a bit of information out of Stuckpig on The Blackglove XIII, another secret and apparently dangerous organization in Henutsen.

At the Temple of Myrrdin, Raell is informed that nothing has changed with Ryan and this will probably not change until tomorrow. Raell decides to sit for a while at the temple apparently in spiritual support of his fallen brother-at-arms. The half-elf barely sits down before Cypher shows up to escort Raell back to The Longest Mile for a private meeting with Black Rhett. Apparently he left a better impression than the rest of the group and Rhett gives Raell a chance to earn back his 300 gold. All he has to do is visit a farmer who has been losing livestock and remedy his malady. He is given strict instructions that if he employs his friends on this mission that he not mention Black Rhett as being involved. Raell agrees and leaves the inn, going straight to the farmer McMartin’s house at the south west side of town.

While Raell and the elves are doing their thing, Luethar quickly becomes bored and wanders over to the east side of town to see what Henutsen offers in the realm of magic. He eventually comes to a three story tower, the tower of Gaen Baliol an aging mage with weathered skin and hair that is more grey than black. Luethar asks if he has any items for sale which Gaen has none. The halfling settles for having his cloak identified (+2 cloak of charisma) and his fortune read. During the palm reading Gaen notices that Luethar has seen death before and no longer inhabits his original body. He also gives a cryptic description of his future which includes a dangerous one eyed dwarf that one of Luethar’s company will fall to, a change in Ryan, and the potential for riches. Gaen also notes that his companions do not always work in his best interest and Luethar should be wary of them.

After eating their meal the elves take their leave of Stuckpig and retreat to their rooms. Cor’Nal takes up the ships log from the Crimson Chimera and promptly shape changes into a hawk then, flys out of his window straight to Snoam Schlabach where he leaves the book in safe keeping with Derris MacBrady. The druid leaves a purse with 100 gold in it as payment for Derris’ services. This journey will take most of the day.

In his conversation with farmer McMartin Raell quickly surmises that he is dealing with one (if not more) owlbear which probably is living in a cave near the farm. He decides that he will need help and promptly seeks out his companions at Treadlight. Ademar and Luethar thinking that they should be fine without the druid on this side quest and, having nothing better to do, readily agree to help Raell. This will prove to be a major mistake.

********** a great deal happens next but in the interest of time I am forced to pear it down a great deal **********************

Around dusk the group (minus Cor’Nal and Ryan) goes to the farm and tethers an injured lamb outside the cave in hopes of luring the owlbear out of hiding. This only brings in a pair of dire wolves which are eventually killed before they can eat the lamb. After regrouping they decide to enter the cave as their trap did not work and darkness is closing around them. Inside the cave they are attacked by carrion crawlers which prove to be a larger threat than expected. The following encounter brings in several dark winged creatures which float about the ceiling before descending on the companions. This encounter decimates the party laying low Raell’s wolf companion Salem twice before Ademar and Raell both retreat into a cave too small for the monsters to follow. Luethar, becomes separated from the group and fears that both the ranger and rogue are dead. Knowing that he will likely not survive on his own the halfling flees the cave and runs directly back to the inn. Luethar brings the druid, just back from his long flight to Snoam Schlabach, back to the cave in hopes that they might save somebody from the massacre. With the help of the druid the flying ray-like creatures are eventually vanquished, but not before Salem is killed. Following this Luethar asks for a moments rest so that he can prepare some spells. He is ignored by Raell who charges on deeper into the cave where he encounters two owlbears. The ranger charges headlong into battle and is handily defeated by the two powerful monsters before the remaining (and heavily injured) party members can intervene. The owlbears are finally defeated but it is a hollow victory as the party is left with two more dead members (Raell and Salem) and the remaining, living members are near death.

The companions scoop up their dead, cut the heads from the owlbears and leave the cave. Heading for the inn they leave a great deal of the cave complex unexplored and a lot of speculation as to what will happen with Raell now dead.

Bath

2009-07-17T17:01:00.004-04:00

Thick steam rose from the water all around him. Soothing heat crept slowly into his thin frame, comforting his aching bones and easing tense muscles. Ademar watched lazily as a delicate hand brushed past his neck, and began stroking his chest, gently playing over the half dozen puckered white scars that dotted his torso, then dipped lower, tracing along a long jagged line that crossed horizontally along the bottom of his ribcage.

“So many scars,” the girls’ soft voice lamented in his ear “a shame to blemish such a beautiful body.”

Ademar was paying little attention to the woman sharing his bath. He had paid for her services not, her conversation. Enjoying the heat of the water the elf simply lay his head back on the woman’s breast and closed his eyes completely relaxing his body which slid lower into the tub. She kept talking despite the lack of response yet, Ademar had already slipped into his inner thoughts and her quiet banter fell on deaf ears.

Strangely though, his thoughts lingered on the scars he wore. Not those which disfigured his face but those that laced his arms and torso, the jagged reminders of the often dangerous life he now lived. The small white rings on his torso were testament to a barrage of arrows which had nearly killed him. The long slash across his upper stomach was the doing of a curious snake creature which seemed to be part man, one of many injuries which nearly ended his life. Unseen beneath his thick copper hair was another disfigurement, a mark left by a boulder throwing giant who had tried to crush him from afar. Various other, less noticeable white lines marked him, the signs of battle.

Battle? How had that become such a normal occurrence in my life? Ademar had seen the passing of 118 winters. In the first 116 of those years he managed to remain unscathed. Only in the last two winters had he acquired these scars, scars that belonged to a hardened warrior, not a delicate elf. He was not built for war, certainly not interested in it, yet, he always seemed to be near the center of conflict.

It’s all Cor’Nal’s fault. It was his idea to come to this frozen wasteland in the first place! Adventure is what he had promised; adventure and gold to help us travel back to Caercaster. Now, two years past, I have come within a breath of death too many times and I am no closer to my goal than when I left. Bitterly, he wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever see his ambitions completed or if he would die in the wild wilderness of Eldridge.

His anger passed quickly though, he found it difficult to be angry with the one person who kept him grounded to his past and never questioned the secret motives of Ademar. Despite Cor’Nal’s sometimes infuriating character traits, he had become a dear friend who had saved Ademars’ life many times. When others faltered in battle it was always Cor’Nal who managed to get them out of trouble.

Unlike Luethar. Ademar didn’t know what it was about the halfling, he hadn’t been able to gauge him. The only thing he really knew was that when violence broke out it was likely that the halfling would disappear. Even in the comfort of an inn or tavern, Luethar was more interested in reading than conversing. He did seem to be warming up to Ryan though which, was encouraging, perhaps he would find his place among them and contribute something…

Ademars’ thoughts were interrupted as a glass was pressed into his hand. Opening his eyes he was greeted by a goblet full of wine. Bringing it to his lips he glanced around the room. It was a good size as far as inns go, and clean too. The bed was soft and piled high with blankets, it even had a chamber pot so he didn’t have to go outside. His survey ended on his equipment piled haphazardly beside the bed. Hidden somewhere inside that jumble he knew, were several pouches full of gems and coins, the spoils of their recent exploits. The smooth skin of the womans’ leg rubbed seductively against his own then, her hand slid along the inside of his thigh. Ademar took a long swallow from his glass before placing it back on the table next to the tub. Perhaps the scars were becoming worthwhile after all…

The Widow MonTorrey

2009-06-26T21:36:00.005-04:00

This latest recap begins with the party outside the Widow's estate. With their new dwarf friend in tow, the badly injured party flees to Low Skye to discuss going forward. Ademar retrieves his horse from The Longest Mile while the others return on foot. Upon arrival, they all head to Cor'Nal's room where the worst of the injured are healed by the druid. While at the inn they discuss what the next course of action will be. MacBrady attempts to get the party to back out of the deal while the others goad him for cowardice. He responds by telling them that he doesn't "mess with the dead". Raell appeals to his sense of honor by telling him that if they don't back their word, no one in town will trust them. Reluctantly, MacBrady agrees.

The next morning, Raell spies the old couple in the common area that he saw two days before and palms the old man a gold piece. Presumably for his continued diligence in looking for his missing dwarf. Surprised, the man accepts the gold coin, going so far as to hide the newly acquired gold from his curious wife. Ademar notices a member of the Baron's constabulary sitting alone at a table. He decides to keep a close eye on him.

Raell heads to the east side of town to scout the rest of the village and get a sense of the geography, paying special attention to specific landmarks. At one point he stops by the busy marketplace.

When the watchman leaves, Ademar decides to follow him out the door. The watchman goes on horseback and Ademar tails him in the same manner.

Cor'Nal strikes up a conversation with Neesa that goes in some strange directions. Among other things, they discuss matters of orcs, inns burning down and Loomis' marital status. Cor'Nal orders a meal and water.

Ademar, still following the watchman heads toward Treadlight where the watchman stops and dismounts. The watchman seems to be patrolling the area when Ademar spies him approach a young man exiting the tavern. They move to the east side of the building where they disappear from view. When confident that they will not return for many moments, Ademar approaches the constable's untethered horse and slaps it on the rear, giggling as the steed gallops away to the south. Pleased with himself, Ademar returns to the Low Skye Inn before being spotted.

Following this Ademar and Cor'Nal head to the marketplace while Raell decides to further scout the east side of town to get more acquainted with his surroundings. While at market the two elves dump some more of their surplus goods and run into a merchant selling showpiece weapons. While intrigued, neither buys anything and Cor'Nal becomes insulted when asked to pay five silver pieces in order to examine one of the merchants more exquisite items. When the merchant is shown Cor'Nal's own "Wildman" scimitar he asks if he may take a closer look, to which Cor'Nal smartly replies: "Sure, for five silver". The merchant is left unamused. A few potions are purchased from the apothecary and after a few more minutes in the marketplace checking on the items left with Aben on consignment, the group decides to wait out the rest of the day in Low Skye, awaiting the cover of darkness.

Upon arriving back at the inn Luethar, who has been quietly keeping to himself since arriving at Low Skye, takes his new dwarven form to Cor'Nals' door where he knocks abruptly. When Cor'Nal gives permission to enter he comes in, book in hand, offering it as a token of thanks for bringing him back to life, despite the unfortunate form he returned in. Cor'Nal tells the dwarf, whom he did not seem to trust even when still a halfling, to set the book in the doorway, on the floor. Luethar obliges and then promptly leaves. Rising, Cor'Nal walks carefully to the book and pokes it with his staff. When sure that the item is not some sort of trick or trap he takes it into his hands. The cover reads: "The Glorious Tome of Understanding", there is no credited author. The book is thick and leather bound, it's pages edged in gold leaf. Cor'Nal is intrigued.

The party wait out the rest of the day and leave, once fully prepared, to infiltrate the Widow's home a second time when night falls. They reach the front door again unhindered, it seems as though fate itself wants them in the house. They open it and enter, quickly closing the door behind them while simultaneously bathing the room in the light of a sunrod. They head downstairs first, giving the stone basement another look to make sure they didn't miss anything the first time. When satisfied that they have looted all they can from this mostly empty room, they head back upstairs, again forsaking the large landscape painting behind.

From there they move into the eastern hall checking rooms as they go, first they encounter a couple of closets, mostly empty, though an invisible force angrily throws a set of knucklebones at Cor'Nal when he tries to examine the upper compartment of one of them. Disappointed they enter the cobweb filled archway that leads to the kitchen. After a brief discussion about what should be done about the cobwebs Raell impatiently tears them down with one of his swords when he tires of the debate. They enter the kitchen to find it unused, seemingly for years, maybe even decades as the rot of the cabinets and the thickness of the dust in the room seem to tell. Instead of moving further west into the dining room they head back to the east hall. Ademar picks the lock on a door along the east wall that reveals a large study. The study proves to be a gold mine of potential information as books on the art of necromancy are found along with a stack of letters from the Widow's husband, Stefan to her while he was away fighting in the primarily fought at sea "Freedkin War".

A painting on the wall of a galley at sea in the throes of a wild, dark-night thunderstorm is noticed by Luethar, who is now calling himself "Pudge". Pudge approaches the painting and reaches for it, in order to see if there is a hidden safe or some other such thing, hidden behind it. Immediately upon touching the painting he disappears, much to the surprise of his fellow adventurers. Raell approaches the painting quickly and, without touching it, peers into the oil painting. Looking closely, he sees Pudge appear upon the center of the ship's deck, near the mizzenmast. Moments later, Raell spies a skeletal pirate who rises up through the deck, materializing into solid form. The skeleton is clad in the trappings of a pirate captain, he pulls a cutlass from its scabbard as ten more skeleton pirates rise from below decks behind him, also brandishing cutlasses. The captain welcomes Pudge to the Crimson Chimera. When Pudge decides against polite conversation and yells "Where's the Book?". The captain attacks, ordering his men to do the same.

Within moments, the rest of the group and their animal companions touch the painting, sending them all inside of it alongside Pudge. A fight ensues, with Cor'Nal dispatching most of the skeletons via a flame strike spell. The rest of the skeletons are also easily destroyed, only the captain being much of a problem, though he too is dispatched with only medium effort. When all of the skeletal enemies have been destroyed, a door, suspended a few inches above the deck in midair appears.

Instead of inspecting the door the PC's decide to infiltrate the captain's quarters, they find a wealth of information and even some treasure as they frantically search the quarters. They also find a sizable wooden box which holds a large, ornately crafted key. In a small chest they find gold doubloons as wide in diameter as a human fist, among other treasures. After taking all they can, the PC's risk opening the suspended door and walk through it, unknowing of where the door leads.

Fortunately, they find themselves back in the Widow MonTorrey's study. They discover moments later that all the items they procured form the Crimson Chimera have disappeared, save the key. It still remains in it's box.

From the study they head north into what appears to be a washroom. There are large wash basins at the north and south of the room and a large iron tub along the east wall. Inside the tub is a disgusting, viscous black liquid from which an insidious stench nauseates those inside the room. The group decides to leave this room with virtually no inspection, only taking a cursory look into what appeared to be a linen closet at some point. They move west into a large bedroom, possibly what served as a Master Bedroom. In it they find an armoire, a large bed and a treasure chest in the upper west corner of the room.

The group finds the room in excellent shape, only slightly dusty compared to the rest of the house. The bed looks as though it were made only hours ago, the blankets at the head are turned up crisply, the down pillows look ready for a weary head. Ademar quickly goes to the chest and attempts to open it. He finds a trap, but has trouble disarming it, setting it off several times. Luckily, his reflexes allow him to escape the flames of the magical trap in each instance. He opens the chest to find an abundance of coin, a pair of "Boots of Elvenkind" bearing the symbol of the elven city of Sanctuary and a pamphlet entitled “On the Perilous Journey of Awakening They That Sleep” by a cleric named Berkely Whitecloak. The writing is essentially a warning to those who would seek to raise the dead, speaking of the horrors one would encounter in this life and the next if they decided to attempt such a crime against nature. It is not as heavy handed as one would think written by a cleric of the white. Shortly after the loot is collected from the chest Pudge finds a magical cloak that makes him appear more attractive, even more likable. They move from the main floor area of the bedroom to the closet area. When they approach, the light of the sunrod is extinguished, apparently for no reason. Then a wild mournful wail can be heard from the floor above. Undaunted, they start another sunrod and enter the closet, finding nothing of value.

They then continue south through the bedroom door and then west back through the cold and dusty kitchen. from there they move into the dining room. There they are greeted by what can only be described as a demonically possessed dinner table. It rattles for moment, before rising on two of its legs. the other two wrapping around in front to form makeshift arms. An evil, vaguely human face protrudes demonically from its surface. It grins evilly as it begins to swing wildly at the group. Despite the horrifying visage of the corrupted table, the group dispatches it with little pain, breaking it to splinters before it does any real harm to the group.

The group then heads north into a storage room, where boxes and barrels contain what sustenance the widow and her husband likely survived on before they became corrupted. Barrels are first moved away from the wall, containing various rotten or petrified foodstuffs. After moving them, a message appears on the wall amongst several symbols of the God of the Undead, Orcus. In moist, apparently fresh human blood the words "Die Whore! die, die, die, die" are scribed in finger scrawl. The crates are then moved away from the wall and inspected. More of the same inside but behind them there is another eery message scrawled by finger in fresh human blood: "You don't belong here!" the words read.

The group decide to leave quickly, but not before Raell can smash and empty two of the barrels, one of which contained what was once wine but is now vinegar and the other with chunky, fetid ale that turned ages ago, spilling their contents onto the floor, with the intent of aiding Raell in a future endeavour. They then decide, satisfied that they have inspected the ground floor adequately, to head...upstairs.

The trip upstairs is frought with peril as there is much difficulty in ascending them. Eventually, everyone makes the climb with minimal harm done. After a little healing, the group inspects doors leading to three rooms on this, the apparent top floor. The first door gives them an overwhelming sense of dread, and so they avoid it. They get a cold, but otherwise normal feel from the second door, and another feeling of dread, though less foreboding than the first door, from the third, which is the one they choose to enter first.

Inside the group finds the room ransacked. Apparently torn apart, again and again by someone, or something, searching for a specific item. In the center of the room stands a large, skeletal being surrounded by an aura of dread. The skeleton is partially armored and wears a scabbard at its side. Pieces of it's former mortal shell stretch and hang from limb and rib. Strings of sinew now petrified connect bone to joint, hanging where muscle once remained. The face is contorted and evil, it's jaws clenched in hateful rage. Pudge confronts the undead monster, calling it by the name he believed it was known by before entering eternal unlife, Stefan. Brandishing a gleaming longsword, it answers by charging the invaders.

It is a tough fight, but the skeletal warrior seems little match for the group. Upon destroying the undead warrior it crumbles to dust. In the room they find a magic cutlass, a bag of assorted jewels and another of healing potions but nothing else of value.

They then proceed to the second, less intimidating room. Inside they discover the last horrifying act of the play that was the life of Widow MonTorrey. The room they find to be completely black. The walls at first look to be painted that way, but upon closer inspection it is obvious that they have been covered in soot. There are white symbols on the walls, glyphs of Orcus of varying size and style. There is writing of a language no one in the group can read. In the back of the room there is a pulpit, it is as black as the wall, a polished horned skull rests at the top of it. In front of the pulpit is an altar of black, carved from solid stone, stacks of books on dark ritual and necromancy circle it. There is no obvious explanation for how it was transported here or how the ancient, rotted floors of this structure still support it. Perhaps it is the will of the house itself.

Upon the altar lies what can only be the Widow MonTorrey herself. She rests on her back, the decaying remains of what was once a white dress draped around her partially rotten, but mostly petrified form. Her hands clenching a ceremonial dagger that she herself has plunged deep into her own heart. Her skin has turned black, her cheeks have sunken and the petrified flesh looks as macabre paper pulled across skull. The final expression splayed across her face is a faint remnant of what looks to be terrified betrayal. As though a promise, whispered into her dying ears had been snatched away just before the final light of her eyes dimmed forever. It is a look of almost unbearable anguish.

But not to these heroes as Pudge wonders aloud, "How much do you suppose that dagger would fetch at market?" referring to the one the Widow had plunged into herself as a final act of devotion to her beloved. It is an antique, after all. Without warning Pudge enters the room, he is instructed to leave the dagger alone but he snatches up every book he deems worth his study. Which is all of them.

They decide no further search of this room is necessary and head, reluctantly to the final one. Ademar reaches for the door handle to check for a lock and is surprised when the door opens by itself slightly, though not enough to see all that it hides. They decide to rip the door open as a soldier will tear away a crusty bandage and enter as a group. Inside, the unbelievably horrifying visage of a nearly transparent elderly woman, vaguely resembling the dead woman on the altar in the previous room, a twisted look of evil and rage is splayed permantly across her anguished face. Her form is mostly human, though her lower half is mostly disembodied as she seems to levitate, without legs, several inches from the ground. The tattered, spiritual remnant of the dress, perhaps the one she wore at her wedding hovers just inches above the ground, though no legs or feet protrude to touch the floor. Her hands are bony blue-gray claws that jut sharply out from the arms of their tattered sleeves, without warning she opens her mouth to scream.

Before she does this, most of the group flee her horrifying sight. The only few that stay behind are Cor'Nal and his wolf, Basili, Ryan MacBrady and Pudge. Once those who have been engulfed by fear flee the undead spirit, she wails as a banshee of legend. Instantly all color and warmth leave the faces of Pudge and the barbarian MacBrady. They both let out a final gasp as they fall to the wooden floor. Dead before they hit ground, their faces twisted in sunken, blue-tinged horror.

Cor'Nal and Basili survive the wail of the banshee however and a long, grueling battle ensues that is won by the druid and his companion. Inside the pair find a chest that contains many various treasure, including coin, a nightmarish looking idol made from various precious metals and stone, a pair of magical bracers, an electrum ring encrusted with pink diamond stones, a moss agate silver earring and an inkpot encrusted with moonstone gems. The rest of the group that had survived return a few minutes later.

From there, seemingly without burden of forethought Raell begins to set fire to the Widow's bed and anything else he can light on the way out of the door. Within minutes the house is fully ablaze, lighting the east side of the darkened town.

The bodies of Pudge and Ryan MacBrady are hauled out of the house with the rest of the group. Once back among the village, Raell attempts to find someone willing to raise MacBrady from the dead. He ends up settling for the Temple of Myrrdin but in the process becomes honor-bound into service with them after signing a contract in blood. Pudge, however is reincarnated, again, by Cor'Nal and this time returns to the mortal coil as...

a Halfling, again.

And now Pudge is called Luethar, again.

Unbelievable.

Silverfire

2009-06-19T17:46:00.005-04:00

Before his trusted elven brothers Ensana Ginbeck and Derek Steadyfingers had joined him; before his path had crossed the surprising human Berkley Whitecloak; and long before his sensibilities had been assaulted by the boorish dwarf Vlad Pwent, Razell had wandered the lands as a sell-sword. His childhood was mostly blank to him, he had grown up in the care of his uncle, Xidias Darkstar in a small village near the western coast of Kemmermere. It seemed that no matter how hard he might try; his past always remained a mystery to him. His memories always seemed pleasant enough yet, did not connect to any concrete facts of his history. The more he tried to remember the cloudier his recollection of the distant past seemed to become.

As he sat on the back of a cart laden with goods which he did not care about, and destined for some town that he did not know, Razell found himself pondering over time he had spent with his late uncle. Xidias had always provided well for the young elf as he grew into adolescence and his early adulthood. Razell had never wanted anything that his old uncle could not provide which kept the young elf ever close to the small cottage they shared on the northwest coast of Kemmermere. After much prodding, Razell found that Xidias had made his living as a soldier and sorcerer in the service of Kemmermere. Later he became an advisor and ambassador for the kingdom before retiring to his small cottage by the sea.

Although his uncle was generous when passing on his vast knowledge of many things, it seemed that Razells’ past was off limits. Every question posed on the subject was hedged if not outright ignored. All he had ever known is that his parents had perished while he was very young and Xidias had taken him in as his own children had long since grown and moved off.

Those children had visited few times over the years but it had been often enough for the young Razell to question his uncles claimed relation to him. While Razell had bright silver eyes and flowing silvery hair with fair skin, Xidias and his children had dark, nearly black eyes, brown hair tinged with a hint of red and dark, bronzed skin. If Xidias Darkstar truly was his uncle it must have been a distant relationship.

Eventually the young Razell had given up interrogations on his uncle. Deciding that it would never get him anywhere he chose to accept what was for its face value. Over the years the boy learned to speak and read not only his own tongue but also the common language of the goodly races. He was given lessons on the world outside of the Forest Kingdom which included histories, economies, customs, and politics of many of the surrounding countries.

On top of these lessons Razell became enamored with the glittering longsword which hung atop his uncles’ mantle. Reluctantly, the old elf agreed to teach swordplay as well. The dance of the blade seemed to come naturally to Razell and it quickly became his main lesson and obsession. Razells’ clearest and most fond memories were of him and his uncle sparring on the beach as the early morning sun crested the horizon.

Unfortunately at this point the ever smiling Xidias had little energy left to keep pace with his lively young nephew causing the sparring matches to become shorter and shorter in duration until they ceased altogether. Soon afterward, on a calm summer night Xidias Darkstar escaped his mortal coil while he slept. Within days his children arrived at his home, prepared their father for his final rite and returned him to the earth. Razells’ life became a surreal blur through that trying time leading him to pack his possessions and leave the small cottage on the coast far behind him.

The cart jerked to a halt and Razell heard the panicked neigh of a horse. Men were shouting and weapons were grating free of scabbards all around him. With a sigh the elf hopped down from his seat and drew his sword.

“Time to earn my gold, again.” He muttered darkly to himself.

As he moved around the cart he wondered how many more times he would have to help these inept humans. By the time he met the first goblin bandit he had decided that the price for his services had just gone up.