Friends and Acqaintances

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

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

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 on a quest in search of breakfast. While the prospects looked grim, the pair desired 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 required? 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 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 persisted in lording over the forest like an ill omen. Unable to spend the time to investigate, 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, the companions, minus Ademar, drafted 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 purported 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 their arms 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 came over the camp, heading ever southward, 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 leader's 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 elf reeling back into a tent to the west, oddly the very tent he had fired the supposedly killing arrow from Ademar landed in a heap. Cor’Nal seeing his friend hurt and 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. 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 what 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

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

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 their 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 will 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 force 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 companions 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 to 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?

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

‘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.