# Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"



## steeldragons

*Alaria* had arrived in Hawkview shortly past midday. She’d made her way through the city to the guild tower of the *Fellowship of Alkari.* She arranged for lodging and a meeting with the resident administrator, as her master, the wizard *Vertior* had instructed.

_Former_ master, Alaria thought to herself with a smirk.

  Vertior had surprised his pupil with the announcement two days prior. It brought tears of joy to Alaria’s large chestnut eyes and she enveloped the old mage in hugs and profuse thanks. Six long years of study and research in the Academy, four more years of study and practice under Vertior’s tutelage, a lifetime of hopes and dreams and finally, her apprenticeship was to be at an end. She would be able to explore the world of magic of her own volition and the wider realms beyond the secluded Mage-lands. Vertior then tasked her with a final errand on his behalf.

  She was given two scrolls and a palm-sized square of folded parchment sealed with wax. The red sealing wax was pressed with Vertior’s sigil and surrounded with various sigils some of which Alaria knew to be protection magics. The envelope contained some small round hard item, a ring perhaps or a coin. One scroll was for a “Magister Kurklani” at the mage’s guild tower in Hawkview, which she was to deliver upon her arrival. The other scroll and the folded sealed parchment were to be taken to another old friend, someone calling themselves “the Green Witch of Welford.” Welford, Ventior explained, was a small hamlet north of Hawkview “…that produced the most delicious apples.”  

  The following day, Alaria had filled her pack with her spell books and components, assorted vials, charts, other trinkets and tools for magical, alchemical and astrological work, and a single change of clothes. Her father gave her a modest purse of coins and Vertior supplied the eager traveler with a scroll containing additional spells for her to study and practice and a simple wand of smooth white wood banded in copper. Upon command, Vertior instructed, the wand would release powerful bolts of lightning, but “…only in an emergency…” as it could only be used three times before the wand’s magic was expended.

  Alaria said her farewells to family and friends, grabbed her staff, and practically skipped through Ablidon to the docks. She arrived at the ship chartered for her by Vertior nearly an hour earlier than she needed to be. Her mind aflame during her entire trip across the bay recalling what she’d learned of the people and cultures of the realms, the great mages of the realms, heroes of history and of how best to enhance her arts in the realms.

  The tower was easily found and identifiable by the well-known (at least among the people of R’Hath) sigil of the guild inscribed large above the door. A simple cantrip revealed the secret glyph to the young wizardess. 



Shortly after her arrival, she met with *Magister Kurklani*. He was a short bespectacled man in dark robes with a grey whispy beard hanging from his chin reminiscent of a billy goat's. His mantle was emblazoned with the guild sigil and an array of other magic symbols, most of which Alaria could not decipher. He greeted her politely and quietly unfurled and examined Vertior’s letter, adjusting the thin framed glasses perched on his hooked beakish nose. The guild master was an old friend of Vertior and the kindly old wizard assured Alaria he would be helpful in her errand, the final task of her apprenticeship. Alaria shuddered with excitement at the thought.

  Kurlani held the letter up and, with a minor flick, the scroll rolled itself up and disappeared into one of the guild master’s billowing sleeves.

  “Well, it seems that Vertior thinks quite highly of you, Miss Staver. This mission you are on is no small task. Of course, you will have our support in whatever manner I can provide. Specifically, Vertior asks to arrange some protection for your journey as you have not traveled outside the Pricipalities before.” 

  Protection, Alaria thought. What kind of protection could she need to visit some farm north of the city? Alaria managed a polite giggle, “Magister, I thank you and master Vertior for the concern, but I hardly think a fully-trained magess of R’Hath requires ‘protection’ to cover a few miles of farmland.”

  “Yes, well…”, Kurklani adjusted his spectacles, “…out of deference to your mentor and my friend, I will do as he asks. Ehm, ‘few miles’ did you say?” Alaria sees a thought crossed the magister’s mind. “Do you know where Welford is?”

  “Yes.” Alaria chirped, eager as always to have the right answer. “Well, kind of.”  In her haste to complete her task and continue on her unsupervised way, Alaria hadn’t really considered it important. She figured any resident of Hawkview would probably be able to direct her to one of the farming villages north of the city. “Master Ventior said it was north of the city.”

  Alaria didn’t see the amusement when the guild master began to chuckle.

  “Erm, yes.” said Kurklani, “That is correct. But it would seem Ventior has not lost his sense of humor in the years since I last saw him.” He chuckled a bit more before clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses and regaining his composure.


“My dear, Welford is in the Laklands…which _arrre_, in fact, north of Hawkview.” Seeing no recognition from the young magess, the magister continued, “Welford is the furthest village to the north and west of that region, along Lake  Imerlis.” The guild master looked over his glasses as if this were an explanation Alaria should understand.

  Alaria, sensing a problem to her plans of freedom, inquired calmly, “And precisely how far, Magister Kurklani, are the Laklands, Lake Imerlis and Welford from Hawkview?”

  The powerful old mage seemed to whither a bit before the cool glare of the recently released apprentice. Clearing his throat before answering, “Well, the Laklands you can make in about…”




  Elsewhere that same afternoon in Hawkview, along the Street of Streets, a pair of figures hovered in the shadows at the edge of a narrow alley between a tavern and a warehouse. They leaned casually against either side of the alley, shrouded in the late afternoon shadow, watching the bustling passerbys on one of Hawkview’s most traversed thoroughfares.

  The Street of Streets extended the breadth of the city connecting the wealthy district of aristocratic residents to academies, artisans and scholars to the markets and shops of the downtown and continuing on into the “less wealthy” areas of the wharfside. 

  The two figures, one short and stocky and one tall and lean kept their eyes, specifically, on the comings and goings of the large establishment across the cobblestones from their vantage point. The large two story wood and stucco building took up most of the entire block, with a stables and carriage house beside and behind the main building. A large sign shaped like a sword sheathed in a bright red scabbard hung over the main entrance’s thick double doors.

  The Ruby Scabbard was, perhaps, the most popular inn and tavern in the city. Established long ago when the currently lackluster neighborhood was the best in the city, “Ruby’s” was especially popular with the diverse persons within and passing through the city that followed a life of adventure. It was known among the “less honorable” of the populace as a hotbed for information on anyone from the Lord of the City to the fishmonger. Tales and rumors coming from Grinlia to the Island Kingdoms were told and retold before Ruby’s immense fireplace, at its long bar, large tables and within its private alcove booths. The Ruby Scabbard was also known, among adventurers, as the best place in the city to pick up jobs. People from all walks of life at all levels of society used the posting wall in the Ruby Scabbard to attract and hire those with the special skills they required.   

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” inquired the tall lean figure. 

  The shorter scoffed under his breath. “Right, *Jenks*. And if I don’t?” replied the shorter of the two.

  “If you don’t, then…You know. Giles won’t let’cha in.” replied Jenks.

  “Pff. Won’t let me _out_, neither, is more like.” The short shadowed figure drew a dagger from beneath his dark grey cloak. After a casual glance and he slid the blade back into its sheathe on the back of his belt.

  “Look, Stumpy, I like ya. Yer a whiz with the locks n’ things. I’m sure Giles could come up with something else for yer test.” Jenks offered. “This place is impossible. It’s crowded all of the time. Most of that crowd is armed or spell-wielding...or both! Landing in the castle dungeon after the Guard got you would be the_ best_ you could get.” Jenks thinks for a moment. “None of us have ever tried to roll this place. An’ Bobrik’s always been real good by us. I don’t get why Giles would send you here.”  

  “That’s simple, he doesn’t want me in. He’s scared cuz he knows I’m better than him and if I get in, I’d be running the show in no time…and I like you too, Jenks, but call me ‘Stumpy’ again and I’ll feed your jewels to guard’s mastiffs. Gottit?” 

  “Errrr, yeah, I guess that might be.” Jenks concedes rubbing the back of his scrawny neck and looking distractedly at the Ruby Scabbard. He seems not to have heard the threat to his “jewels.” Jenks thought to himself how his comrade was unsuccessful at the last three heists he attempted. “But, still don’t mean you have to do _this_ job. Have Giles get you another one.”

  “I said I’d do this one.” The short figure spat into the alley. “I accepted his challenge. A promise is a promise, Jenks. ‘Honor among thieves’ and all of that. I’m still a dwarf of his word.” The cloaked figured moved out of the alley into the afternoon sun revealing “Stumpy” to be a muscled dwarf in leather armor beneath the dark grey hood and cloak. Judging by the rich brown beard that barely skimmed the top of his chest, one could assume him young by dwarf standards.

  As way of goodbye he called over his shoulder to his fellow rogue, “After tonight, *Duor Darkesmythe* will be the most famous thief in Hawkview n’ Giles will be kissin’ my bearded dwarven arse.” With that, the dwarf started to saunter casually down the Street of Streets, heading to an alehouse closer to the docks that he enjoyed.

  A few people turned their heads at this proclamation with questioning glances but continued about their business. Jenks smacked his forehead and backed deeper into the alley’s shadows before scaling the tavern wall and disappearing across the city rooftops. 




  “TWO WEEKS?!?” Alaria burst. “I’m supposed to deliver this tiny thing to someone two weeks away?” 

    “Could be another week or so before you’d arrive in Welford.” Kurklani calmly finished. Kurklani’s mouth twisted into a crooked smirk reveling in his composure in the face of the young lady’s obvious lack of control. “Ventior always did have an odd fondness of pranks.”

  “Yes, he does.” she said, slightly pained. “Another three to four weeks just to get there?” Alaria turned her head and scowled at the wall.

  “It appears so.” Kurklani calmly replied.

  Not that she had anything against Ventior nor had he ever treated her badly. In fact, she’d been the recipient of more than one of his “jokes” during her years in training.  Here she thought her errand would be finished the following day and then she could wander south to the great city of Andril and explore the wonders of the world contained within. Now it would be nigh on two months before she’d even return to Hawkview.

  For a moment the young woman sat silent before Kurklani looking defeated, crestfallen. The guild master felt a pang of pity. He vaguely recalled the joyous day he concluded his training. It was a grand feeling and it seemed Ventior’s “prank” was to take that feeling away…or at least delay it. It was somewhat cruel, Kurklani thought.


  Alaria’s large lovely eyes slowly rose to meet the magister’s. They were filled with a cool determination. “Where can I find some sellswords?”


----------



## steeldragons

*Introductions*

Alaria Staver marched down the winding cobbled street of the city of Hawkview. She had arrived in port that afternoon from the seven hour journey across the Whitegull Bay from her homeland in the Principalities of R’Hath. She turned down Canal   Street, holding her head high as she obviously was passing from the more respectable neighborhoods. Alaria stared straight ahead, her right hand clenched around her staff shod at one end with iron and the other with silver. A high slit on the right side of her robe revealed enough leg to receive leers from a few men and disapproving glares from a few women. Alaria seemed to notice neither. Yes, it could easily be said that Alaria was an attractive woman.

  She strutted with purpose in thigh-high boots, their short tapered heels clicking on the stones, a high-collared sleeveless robe of violet velvet and long dark brown tresses flowed behind her, enhanced by the occasional breeze coming up from the wharf. Her nose crinkled at the odor of the city. Thankfully the unpleasant smells of urban living were mixing and being replaced with salt and sea wafting up from the docks in the late evening air.  Foul odors or no foul odors, Alaria was on a mission and she would see it fulfilled by day’s end.

  Alaria noticed the evening guardsman lighting the street lanterns with his taper on a long pole. “Can’t even use magic for the simple things... barbaric.” she thought. A flick of her finger and the lamp across the street from the guard flared to a golden glow, its wick set aflame. She did the same to the next two she passed. The confused guard just looked after her and muttered a questioning “uh, thanks” under his breath, though Alaria was already well passed. Less than a day and Alaria already found herself with limited patience for these people of the Freelands.

  She arrived shortly thereafter at the Street of Streets, as the apprentice at the guild tower who’d given her directions said she would, and turned right. She was still over a block from her destination when she noted the red sheathe above the door. The light and noise and scents coming from the building extended a few blocks. A cacophony of voices chatting, singing, music being played unmistakably pegged the place a lively tavern. When the small of roasting meats and baking breads met her nose, Alaria realized she’d barely eaten since arriving on the mainland. Her stomach grumbled a bit. Unperturbed, Alaria strode past the large bouncers at the great oaken doors and into the Ruby Scabbard.    

  Her staff still in hand, Alaria noted the number of armed people in the crowd. Swords, axes, bows in quivers, yes, and staves were the regular adornment with the clientele it seemed. Several wore armor also. Helmets rested on tables. She recognized at least three insignias of various religious orders. She was also stricken with the array of races. It wasn’t that Alaria hadn’t seen elves or halflings or dwarves before. They were a common enough site in a grand trade metropolis like Ablidon. But to have such a mixture under a single roof was something she hadn’t experienced before. She even saw a group of gnomes off in one of the side booths. They seemed to be enjoying a song, weaving shoulder to shoulder so as to spill much from their flagons. Alaria guessed they’d been in that booth for some time. She smiled to herself, finding companions to aid her mission should be easy enough here. But first, thought Alaria, some food.

  After the crowd, the R'Hathi wizardess immediately noticed the inn's namesake. Mounted on the wall above the long bar has a great two-handed sword sheathed within a very large scabbard of crimson velvet entwined with thin straps of black leather. Down length of the scabbard, evenly spaced down the center, were encrusted five fist-sized rubies sparkled and gleamed in the flickering firelight of the inn.

As Alaria made her way to the bar, no small task without being shoved and bumped by elbows and shoulders. Those who noticed her, stared and moved from her path so that she barely had to excuse herself at all. A large burly human in chain armor nearly jumped from his seat at the bar to let her have it. 

  Braddok had noticed the young woman enter, as had several others. She was quite striking with deep large brown eyes and long dark hair in a purple robe that practically shown in the golden glow of the grand fireplace and candles in the cartwheel chandeliers. The staff and pouches hanging from her belt pointed to her being a mage, almost certainly. 

  He had been trying to imbibe less than usual until he could talk to Bobrik about getting his chums some work. He’d been in the city for a week and hadn’t gotten a single lead on any treasure to be had. He was glad he had so he could use his full charm on this lovely newcomer. If he could wrangle a mage into his group, the jobs would be sure to flow in.

  “Here, my lady, sit here.” At his lead, several other patrons near Braddok did the same. 
  “What brings such a vision as yourself to this den of debauchery?”

  Alaria cocked an eyebrow and smirked at this display.

  “Interestingly enough, would you believe I’m looking for you?” she said blankly to the fighter.

  Braddok couldn’t contain a laugh. “Surely, my lady, you tease a poor lonely man.” He reached his arm around the woman’s shoulder to which his hand received a swift tap with her staff. He quickly removed it.

  “Try that again and you’ll find yourself retracting a tentacle instead of an arm.” She said pointedly. 

  Yup, thought Braddok. Definitely a mage.

  She took the seat offer by Braddok, sizing him up in a glance. The chain shirt was under a tabard of pale blue. He had deep blue eyes and close cropped dark brown hair. A longsword hung from his belt and triangular shield with a black swallowtail falcon upon it sat next to his barstool. 

  “I am quite serious…if you can use that thing” she said pointing at his belt.

  Some of the surrounding patrons who were listening in on the exchange burst into uproarious laughter. Braddok went beet red. 

  Alaria rolled her eyes. “Your sword? I mean your sword.” The magess looked desperately to the bartender for his attention. “I have had a very long day. I need too eat something and have a nice glass of elvish wine. While I do that, you can regale me with why I should hire you to escort me to the Laklands.” She looked down the bar impatiently at the admittedly very business lone bartender. “How does anyone get a drink in this place?”

  Braddok could barely contain his amazement. This woman, this very attractive woman, a mage, sitting in front of him offering him a job. “Bobrik!” Braddok shouted down the length of room to the bartender. “Get this lovely lady a goblet of your finest elfvine and a bowl of your signature beef stew.” Upon which he thought a second and leaned into Alaria. “Uh. Do you like beef stew?”

  Alaria contained a chuckle and simply replied, “Yes. Thank you. That’ll do nicely. Sirrrr…?”

  “Braddok, my lady. Braddok Kar Barforth. And it’s not ‘sir.’ I’m not a knight…not yet. But my father was.” Braddok wanted to throw himself into the fireplace. Why had he just told her that? Acting the knight was what all the women swoon for. Stupid! “But I will be. Soon.”

  Bobrik came over with a mug of ale, a bowl of stew and a hunk of dark grained bread. Alaria took a demure spoonful and was pleasantly surprised at the rich flavor. After a sip of her wine she was equally pleased. She slowly felt the unexpected tension of the past few hours and the long day of travel melt away. The air of comradery and casual warmth was something Alaria had not experienced in quite this way at home. She found it...enjoyable.

  “Well, Braddok-Kar-Barforth-not-a-knight-yet. I am Alaria Staver of Ablidon. I am on an errand for my master to the Laklands and I require an escort who knows these lands and can handle their perils.”

  “Braddok and company are at your disposal, Alaria Staver of Ablidon.” The warrior grinned.  

  He let the magess take her meal in relative peace. She took slight breaks to ask a question or two. Specifically, who was “and company”? The two passed some time in conversation, mostly regarding business. When Alaria had finished her meal and was ordering her second glass of the delicious elfvine, Braddok called over one of his fellows.

  Introductions were made to Haelan Spurthistle.

  Haelan was a halfling with bright hazel eyes, straw blond hair neatly trimmed at his shoulder and an enormous smile. He was dressed in a mail shirt covered with pine green tabard emblazoned with a golden pinecone, pale buckskin breeches that came to mid-calf in the hairfooted style and a hemispherical helmet that appeared just a bit too large for his head. A sturdy looking mace hung at his side (nearly the entire length of his legs) with a head that was shaped to appear like a very large pinecone.

  With a broad toothy smile, Haelan took over his introduction, “Haelan Spurthistle at your service, Miss Staver. It’s such a pleasure to meet a real sorceress from the mage-lands. You know, I don’t think I ever have before.” Haelan stopped a moment, tilting his head to think. “Nope. You’re a first.” He said excitedly.

  “Well, uh, thank you, Master Spurthistle.” Alaria attempted to be polite. She took a long draw from her goblet.

  “Brother, actually.” Haelan interjected his smile unwavering. “Brother Spurthistle of the Hilltenders of Faerantha, but you can just call me Haely. All my friends do back home.”

  “I see. Well, _Haelan_, I cannot say I’ve ever met a Hilltender of Faerantha before, myself.” Alaria replied. It was easier to maintain civility in the face of such unerring sweet friendliness with a little more elfvine. She took another sip.

  “So I’m a first for you too!” Haelan exclaimed, beaming. “I can just tell that Faerantha’s blessing in going to be on this partnership. We’re going to become great friends.”

  “Indeed.” grinned Braddok in a lascivious way.

  “Tentacle.” said Alaria simply. Braddok’s leer quickly faded.

  Shortly after, Braddok sent Haelan to retrieve another of Braddok’s company. A few moments later the halfling came bounding down the stairs to the commons. An elf followed behind him moving with fluid grace. He had a tightly toned and lean frame, sharply handsome features and thick grey hair that passed his shoulders and seemed to shimmer in the firelight like liquid silver. As the elf approached, Alaria could see his almond-shaped eyes were a blazing violet, making her robe seem dull in comparison. The elf wore a pair of tight pale grey stockings with a leather jacket of grayish-green trimmed in silver over a black undershirt and the soft brushed buckskin boots of his kind also dyed the grey-green. His grey hair was bound in an intricately carved circlet of silver that also caught the light of the chandeliers and candles and added even more of a sheen to his countenance.

  The elf strode up to the bar, easily weaving his way through the noisy crowd without disturbing a soul.

  “Alaria Staver of Ablidon, this is-“ Braddok began.

  “Erevan Ryvsorai Aiiri of Miralosta.” The elf injected. He bowed slightly to Alaria, took her hand and gently kissed it. Alaria blushed in spite of herself. “Haelan tells me you’re our new friend.” The elf said as he looked deep into the wizardess’ eyes.

  “Easy there, buddy.” Braddok interjected before Alaria could reply. “This is a professional arrangement.” Alaria snapped out of the depths of the elf’s eyes. She shot Barddok a dark look.

  “Of course.” Erevan said, betraying no emotion. Turning to Alaria, he continued, “_Eles ost ni araylla haali a tiirai la horia._” <elvish tanslation: “It is nice to see someone regal and civilized among these people.”>

  Alaria gave the elf a civilized nod and replied with almost perfect accent, _“Eles em ni aya, eres’kai Aiiri ef’hal.”_ < elvish: “It is my pleasure, Elflord of House Hunter.”>

  Erevan smiled a close-lipped smile. “Your Elvish is very good. They teach you well in R’Hath.” 

  Braddok, looking to put an end to the conversation now interrupted Erevan, “Erevan here is our tracker. Very good eyes and very good with his bow. He does a little bit of magic too…” Braddok’s line of thought trailed off. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

  This, of course, set the two on a lengthy discussion of the use and working of magic and spells. Braddok ordered another ale and continued to mentally chastise himself.

  As the crowd thinned, the four new associates claimed one of the round tables near the huge fireplace and continued to get acquainted. Alaria was careful to be vague about her task, only saying that she had an errand for her master in Welford and needed escorts. When pressed by the innocent inquiries of Haelan, Alaria did allow that she had to deliver a package to her mentor’s associate. But that was all.

  Another hour passed. Many of the local patrons had returned to their homes. Many of the Ruby Scabbard’s guests had retreated to their rooms. The commons still held a few die-hard drinkers and a booth and table or two. Finally Erevan, who had been silent through much of the friendly banter, rose from his seat and stretched. “Well, Mistress Staver, I will take my leave of you this night. I trust we are done here and will all see you tomorrow?” The elf again bent a small bow and took Alaria’s hand for a kiss.

  The magess rose from her seat. At this Braddok also stood. “Yes. Erevan is right. It gets late and we will have a long journey tomorrow. I should return to the guild tower for my rest as well. I will see you all mid-morning at the tower of the Alkari Fellowship.”

  “I shall accompany you. You are new to the city and at this time, some streets may not be safe.” Alaria looked at the warrior disapprovingly. “Even for an accomplished wizard, such as yourself.” Braddok deftly finished.

  Alaria consented to Braddok’s escort, saying it would be the final sealing of their arrangement. 

  “I’ll come too.” Piped up Haelan. Braddok turned and gave the Halfling cleric a scowl. Not taking no for an answer, the hairfoot continued, “If you walk her home, then who’s going to walk you back here? Hmm?”

  “Til tomorrow then.”said Erevan. As the elf began to take his leave he stopped as he passed the large double doors. His head tilted ever so slightly and he rushed through the rest of the room and up the stairs. Braddok, Alaria and Haelan did not notice and continued out onto the street.


----------



## steeldragons

*Finally a fight!*

Once outside, the first thing Alaria noted was the bouncers both slumped next to the doorway. She rolled here eyes at the thought of them sleeping on the job. Then she heard the sounds.


  A short distance from the door, a group of five or six dark-clad figures stood just at the edge of the light from a street lamp. They beat, kicked, taunted and berated something in their midst.

  Alaria was appalled. They could overhear some of what was being said. “This is what you get.” “Yeh, he weren’t too happy to hear yer after his place.” “You ain’t never gonna be as good as Giles.” 

  Haelan immediately proclaimed. “Hey, you there! Stop that. What are you doing?”

  The group of dark-clad men, started and turned to face the three. Alaria could now notice a small balled-up figure among them. With the break in the beating, the assaulted figure looked up and Alaria saw what appeared to be a battered bloody bearded face.

  Seeing that it wasn’t actual members of the city guard, one of the group took a step toward them and said, “This is guild business. Not your concern. Keep movin’ if you don’t want some of the same.” For emphasis, the man smacked his club in his gloved hand.

  At this Braddok, who really had an impressively large and well muscled physique, drew his sword. Haelan took a step in front of the wizardess and hefted his mace with the pinecone-shaped business end.

  Alaria, not expecting or _wanting _there to be actual violence gave the one who spoke a dark glare and said, “You have made it our business by conducting it in the middle of the street! Now desist and leave that poor creature alone.”

  More members of the group turned from the beaten dwarf to look at the would-be heroes. The “leader”, a ruffian of the first order named *Goos*, scoffed, “A half-pint, a lady an’ a sword ain’t gonna scare off the Dusk.” A few of the other men chuckled at this. 

  Braddok wasn’t sure what to do but maintained his threatening posture. He _didn’t_ want to start trouble with the Hawkview thieves’ guild. Of course, he was leaving the next day for a while so… "Alaria, I think we should…” Braddok couldn’t finish the thought.

  “Well, this ‘lady’ has a guild of her own and I trust you don’t want to toil with me and mine.” Alaria said with all the bravado she could muster. Then grabbing a handful of fine pink sand from one of the pouches at her waist she threw it in the direction of the group and shouted “_Contro es amberall buul_.” <spell: Sleep>

  Bollux, thought Braddok.

  A wind swept up around the R’Hathi wizardess as she spoke, blowing her hair and rustling her robe. With the end of the exclamation, two of the gang’s number dropped where they stood. They were breathing evenly but unconscious...asleep.

  The others, looked at their comrades in disbelief. The one closest to the leader panicked, “Goos! She’s one o’ them wizards, Goos!”

  Goos, was a fairly intelligent thief and not as easily shaken as his fellows. Goos thought quickly. He, in fact, did _not_ want to start trouble with the mages’ guild. But figured he was in the right, since they started it and were interfering in his guild business. Besides, she might not be a guild wizard at all. He thinks she’s bluffing. “Man up, Sticks. There’s still only three of ‘em.” Goos whistled a loud but short pitch.

  From the alley across from the Ruby Scabbard, two more figures who’d been shrouded in the late night darkness emerged. Braddok turned to face these men and noted from the corner of his eye that another two had emerged at the end of the block and were moving silently up along the edge of the street behind them.

  Goos smiled and shrugged at the trio, “Had yer chance. Get ‘em!”

  Goos and the other three thugs charged the fighter, halfling and magess. The trio formed up in a defensive position. Braddok wasn’t about to let anything happen to his potential meal ticket. 

  Haelan, in front of Alaria, took a nasty clobber to his shoulder and neck, but stayed on his feet. He deflected another blow with his round wooden shield. “See,” he mentioned casually to Alaria, “Braddok was right. Not safe.”

  Goos took a swing at the large warrior with his club but Braddok evaded it. The fighter could not evade, however the follow up swing from the other thief with Goos, the one that had been called “Sticks”. His attack caught the warrior on his thigh. Fortunately, the lanky unkempt youth didn’t possess the strength to deal any serious damage, but Braddok knew there’d be a nasty bruise there tomorrow.

  Alaria noticed the two thieves from the alley had blades drawn and were closing to fight alongside Goos. Looking at the two coming up on their rear, one had a club and one a long sword. She steadied her mind, utilizing her training to fight through the haze of the elf wine to recall another spell. She looked back at the door to the inn, surely someone would be noticing the commotion. Why weren’t the bouncers helping? The realization came to the wizardess that they must have been somehow incapacitated by the thieves. But why here?

  Braddok returned Goos’ hard swing with one of his own but the thief easily dodged. He pivoted to face the approaching thieves from the alley. Braddok wondered how he would take on all four.

  At that thought one of the alley thieves stopped dead in his tracks with a lurch and gurgle, an arrow sticking from the center of his chest. He dropped but his partner continued to advance. Braddok and Goos both swung around to see Erevan on the Ruby Scabbard’s roof. The elf gave the fighter a smirk and a wink as he nocked another arrow into his bow and turned to aim at the figures moving up the block. 

  Goos pointed and Sticks took off for the inn’s wall.

  Haelan swung with a righteous might at of his attackers and connected with a knee-shattering crash with his mace. The thief cried out and fell to the ground. “Bad thief! Stay down. Evil doesn’t pay.” Haelan chastised.

  Alaria took a hard swing over Haelan’s head with her iron and silver shod staff and succeeded in land a glancing blow against their second assailant. The rough looking thief in dark grey leathers simply sneered at her.

  Goos drew a nasty looking dagger with a curved blade from the folds of his dark cloak and lunged at Braddok. The big warrior twisted to avoid a blade in the ribs but was caught across the large meaty bicep of his swordarm. The second thief from the alley also lunged with his dagger but was parried by the fighter’s sword.

  The rough looking thief jabbed Alaria in the stomach with the blunt end of his club. The wind was knocked from her body and pain shot up through her body. She staggered back doubling over trying to put distance between her and the rogue.      

  The halfing answered with a swing that would have smashed the man’s face clear off, had he been able to reach it and had he actually landed his hit.

  Alaria, gathering her resources and summoning her power, gulped to refill her lungs with air and forced herself to stand erect despite the pain still rippling through her innards. She held a hand up, palm to the rogue with fingers outstretched, her face like a stormcloud. The palpable tingle began to stir about her as she felt the magic energy rise.

  The thief hesitated then lunged to disrupt her casting but before he could raise his club, Alaria spoke a single syllable that to the thief seemed to boom through his head like an explosion.

“_Yex._” (spell: Daze) 

  A bright white light flared from Alaria’s hand and dissipated almost immediately. The thief called out, reeled and staggered around, hands gripping the sides of his head. Alaria smiled, inwardly satisfied with what she was considering her newfound combat prowess.

    Braddok swung again at Goos, who again evaded the blow. “Damn nimble, orcass.” The fighter thought. He heard a man cry out behind him followed by a cry of pain to his left. A quick glance showed one of the thieves, had an arrow sticking from his leg. But the thief kept his feet and would be upon Alaria in a moment.

  “Alaria, behind you!” was all the fighter could do while parrying another duet of slashing daggers. 

  The wizardess barely had time to whirl around to see one of the “down the block” thieves _was_, actually, right behind her and ready to pummel her with his club when she heard a whizzing sound, very near her ear. As if by magic, the man shuddered and appeared to have a short end of an arrow sticking from his eye socket. Blood spurting from his eye and out of his mouth pelted Alaria’s gown as the man made a small sound, like “urk”, and fell stiffly to the ground dead. 

  Alaria suppressed her nausea at the sight of the blood splattering dead man and whirled back around to see the dwarf limping in their direction. His face was badly bruised, one eye almost swollen shut. A cut on his forehead still bled. He was clutching himself across the ribs with one arm and lowering his other which gripped a spent handheld crossbow.

  Goos took an assessment of his people. Two dead, two wounded, one seemed to be hexed by the witch but looked unharmed otherwise, one unharmed, Sticks presumably dealing with the elf, and himself. Plus the two who were caught in the initial sleep spell who should be waking any minute. Then he saw the blood pooling beneath one of them. The other seemed to be bound in rope and was groggily shaking his head. The dwarf was up and coming at him with a ferocious look on his face. Goos made the call. 

  “That’s enough boys. They want the traitor so bad, they can have him.” He leapt back from Braddok’s final swing. 

  Almost immediately the able-bodied thieves retreated into the nearest shadows they could find and disappeared. The one who had been dazed was just coming too his senses and saw Goos heading up the street. He gave Alaria a snarling scowl and took off after him. Even the one with the broken knee had somehow slinked into the shadows and was gone.

  The dwarf and Goos locked each other in a death-filled glare as the gang leader jogged passed him. From up the block he called back, “We find you in the city tomorrow an’ Giles’ll have you’re meat. Gottit, ‘Stumpy’? You an’ yer friends, better watch yerselves.” An arrow clattered harmlessly against the stone road near him. Goos just smiled then ducked around the corner, into the night.

  Alaria, out of spells, was truthfully thankful for an end to the fight. She followed Haelan who immediately raced for the dwarf. Braddok, sheathed his sword and joined them, looking somewhat the worse for ware. “So, mid-morning tomorrow, then?” he managed to grin.  

  As Haelan led the battered dwarf into the inn they checked the bouncers. They were alive, breathing, seemed ok but unconscious. “Drugged.” says the dwarf. “They’ll be alright inna hour or so. It’s somethin’ the Dusk uses all th’ time.”

  The party members make their guesses how the dwarf would know that.

  Bobrik is not happy to see injured persons coming into his place of business, especially so close to closing time. “What happened?!?” the innkeeper exclaimed.

  While Braddock explains the past few minutes, Haelan makes introductions and asks the dwarf, whose name is Duor, if he would permit the halfling to heal him.

  “Knock yourself out.” says Duor. 

  Haelan calls upon Faerantha’s merciful blessing and with the soothing warm golden light flowing from his hands. After his healing spell is cast a second time, Duor is left with little more than a fat lip and slight bruise near his left eye.

  Alaria tells Duor about their mission and plan to leave the city the following day. In exchange for his very nearly saving her life (or at least her health), she proposes to hire Duor for her escort. She also pays for a room at the inn for the dwarf to stay the night. This sounds ideal to Duor who is obviously touched by the offer. He readily accepts Alaria's proposal.

  Erevan comes down the stairs with the same flowing casual grace which he had the first time Alaria saw him. He found a seat near to where the group had clustered and put his feet up on the closest table. “So, Alaria Staver of Ablidon, how are you finding Hawkview?” 

  Alaria looked at the elf, whose demeanor was more of someone to have just woken from a refreshing nap, in disbelief.

  “I think Haelan’s right. Life with you will be interesting.” The elf stated matter-of-factly.


  Shortly thereafter, the city guard barges in to demand to know about the disturbance that was reported and why there are dead bodies and a bound man out in the street.


Braddok and Alaria recount the events for the sergeant who takes down everything, furrowing his brow at the mention of the Dusk. On Bobrik’s word to their upstanding character, the guards leave the group alone. Problems with the Dusk are usually bad news, the sergeant remarks. They take statements from Duor and everyone involved in the fight, gather up the bodies (to which Erevan directs them to the roof for “one more”) and are on their way. The sergeant arranges for a couple of his men to escort Alaria back to the guild tower.

    She thanks Bobrik for his help and hospitality and takes her leave of the Ruby Scabbard.

“Gods willing,” she says to her newfound company, “we will be leaving Hawkview behind before noon. Good night, gentlefolk.”

  The males all nod a good night. “Sweet dreams!” Haelan adds sincerely with an energetic wave. They don't stay up much passed Alaria's exit.

As Braddok retires, he notices the dwarf staring absently at the bar. He says his good nights, adding a curt "welcome to the company" to Duor and  heads up to his room.


----------



## steeldragons

The following morning, Alaria rose early and set one of the tower’s servants to procuring supplies for five people for a week’s trek. According to Broddick, there would be a fishing village about a week north where he is sure they could resupply.

  The servant looks at Alaria confused. “Mistress, the Magister had me collect travel gear for you for three weeks and two people yesterday.”

  “Did he? Splendid!” says Alaria. “Then just get supplies for three more then. One week each.” She figured the dwarf and the halfling could be counted as one person. She gave the servant boy 10 gold pieces. The boy’s eyes bulged at the sight of so much currency. “Be careful with it and don’t waste it. If you do well, I’ll let you keep some.”

  “Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress. I’ll do just like I did for Magister Kurklani.”

  Alaria washed and readied herself looking forward to putting the ugliness of last night’s altercation behind her. She dressed in her “traveling robe”, which was the same cut and style as her robe from the night before except it was dark golden color of thin woven wool instead of purple velvet. She ran the ivory comb, a parting gift from her mother, through her long dark brown hair. Her ears were adorned with dangling pendant earrings with small spheres of tiger’s eye set in the bottom. She donned her thigh-high boots and pulled up a pair of leather riding gloves that extended to the middle of her upper arm. They were dyed to match her boots. Thoroughly satisfied with her appearance, Alaria was ready to take on the day.

  She was summoned to Magister Kurklani’s office and was shocked to find him in conference with a heavily armored man. He had long blond hair and green eyes. He was broadly muscled, though not as tall as Broddik, hardly taller than herself. The chain mail, shoulder plates and shin guards of his armor were polished to a gleam. The man turned as Alaria entered. His handsome face was clean shaven and blemish free. He did not smile nor frown nor betray an emotion of any kind. She also noted the immaculate crimson tabard lined in gold that flowed almost to his feet. The tabard was belted, the buckle of which also sporting a polished shine, and had the insignia of the Redstar Knights,  a gold triangular shield emblazoned with a nine-pointed red star and flanked by to golden spears pointing upwards.

  “Ah, good. Here you are. Alaria Staver of Ablidon may I present, Goldshield Coerraine of the Redstar Knights, your escort.” Kurklani said.

  Alaria was slightly flabbergasted. “I, uh, thank you, magister. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Goldshield. I, uh, I am honored to have one of Celradorn’s chosen guardians in my entourage.”

  “Entourage?” questioned Kurklani.

  Stricken with the lovliness of his charge, the Redstar Knight ignored the magister. “The pleasure is mine, Mistress Staver. I am honored to serve the Golden Defender and be called to your aid.” He bowed deeply.

  Alaria returned the bow. “Thank you Sir Goldshield. I look forward to getting under way as soon as possible.”

  “I am ready to go now. Your kind magister has seen to our supply needs. We may leave at your command.” The knight cracked a small smile, “And you may call me, Coerraine. Goldshield is my title and rank, you needn’t call me ‘sir’. I am a Redstar Knight of my lord and god, Celradorn, not a knight of any mortal realm.

  “I see. My apologies, I meant no disrespect.”

  “Not at all, Mistress.” said Coerraine.

  “And you may call me, Alaria. I am no man’s ‘mistress’…yet.” Alaria smirked a naughty grin that she was hoping would make the young knight blush. She was not disappointed. 

  “Ehem.” interjected Kurklani. “Perhaps now, Alaria, you would be so kind as to explain this ‘entourage.’”

  Alaria then went in to account the events of the night before. Kurklani was appalled and Coerraine seemed incensed at the idea of someone attacking a fine young lady, not to mention a cleric of the kindly folk of Faerantha. When she was done, Kurklani spoke.

  “I see. Goldshield Coerraine would you be so kind as to excuse us. There are, I believe some fruits in the common area if you would care to wait there.” He said. He removed his spectacles and wiped the lenses with a bright blue silken scarf that had flown out of one of his billowing robe sleeves.

  “Certainly, Magister.” The knight bowed at them both and closed the door behind him.

  Having finished with his lenses, the silk scarf flew back into his sleeve. “Well, Alaria. I admire your determination to accomplish your mission and your initiative. I suspected you would find yourself a swordsman to travel with you, not four adventurers. So, I called in a favor with my friend Highshield Woton at the Temple  of Celradorn and he sent Coerraine. Woton assures me that he is good with his weapons and as devout as any Redstar he’s seen in his thirty years with the temple. I also took the liberty, since you seemed to be in a rush, of acquiring you a horse for yourself, pack mule, tent, food and supplies for a three week journey. Naturally, the guild expects the use of the horse and mule back when you return. The guild is not prepared to shell out equipment for four more people!”

  “It is done, Magister.” Alaria said as innocently as she could. “No cost to the guild at all. It is all taken care of. These men are experienced travelers and adventurers. They know how whata they’re doing.”

  Alaria cringed slightly when she heard Haelan’s voice echoing through the outer hall of the tower. “Alaaariaaaa. We’re heeeere. Alaaaaaariaaaaaa.”

  “Your ‘entourage’?” quipped the magister.

  Alaria could only smile.

  A short time later after the servant boy returned with more gear (and got to keep a whole gold and five silver pieces for his trouble),  many introductions and a brief goodbye and well-wishing, the company was on the move.

  Alaria rode astride the light grey dappled riding horse, ironically named “Lady” with her personal equipment in her saddlebags. This left Broddik, Duor, Halen, Erevan and Coerraine on foot.

  The gear was carried by the men in backpacks or piled onto the poor mule who didn’t have a name. This, Haelan decided, must make the mule very sad. So after some consideration and many vetoes from his companions Haelan dubbed the mule “Lillypants.” When this brought gales of laughter, Haelan insisted. “It’s a good honest daelvar name of a good hardworking daelvar family back home.” Erevan decided, if Haelan named him, then Haelan could lead Lillypants while he went on ahead.

  The group left by the northgate and followed the winding dirt road through the low hills and fields that surrounding Hawkview on three sides. Though not always visible, the occasional breeze smelling of sea air or lone gull reminded the party the ocean was only a hill or two away.

  Conversation was light and included mostly talk of family and where they were from and what those lands were like.

  Haelan, of course was the most forthcoming, being from the Free Hollows, a few days journey west from Hawkview. He’d visited the city several times in his years as an acolyte. But he had arrived in Hawkview only three days prior to Alaria. It was his first time since taking his vows as a fully initiated Hilltender that he had gone in search of adventure. 

  This surprised Alaria. “I presumed you and Braddok were old friends.” 

  “Nah.” Haelan responded between chewing large bites of an apple that he was sharing with Lillypants. “We met the first night I was in town, at the Ruby Scabbard.” Haelan did not notice the look of shock on the R’Hathi mage’s face. 

  “And Erevan?” Alaria asked. 

  “Same.” Haelan replied out of hand. “I introduced them, ya know?” the halfling munched away.

  “No…I didn’t.” answered Alaria as her shock turned to horror as the realization sank in. This ‘company’ of accomplished adventurers whom she had hired to escort her and protect her life was actually all of two days old! Her face darkened and she began thinking of ways to repay  Braddok.

  Coerraine, it turned out, was originally from the southern kingdom of Mostrial. This Haelan found fascinating and bothered the young knight with endless questions based on the myths and rumors he knew of the southern realm. It seemed the aspiring devotee of Celradorn began his training in Talas Isthian, traveled with a retinue of a knight higher up in the Redstar hierarchy through most of the Freelands to Andril. En route they fell prey to a large band of bugbears. In that battle Coerraine earned his place as a true Redknight and upon their arrival to Andril was given his tabard and shield. From there, the new young paladin was sent to report to the temple in Hawkview under Highshield Woton. He’d been stationed there for about three months on the usual rotation for temple guard duty. He was thoroughly pleased to be getting out of the temple and city on a “real” assignment. 

  Braddok’s inquiries to Duor regarding his involvement with the Dusk and what they’d witnessed were met with taciturn responses. When Braddock asked who Giles was he received a bit more explanation.

  “Gile’s is the head for the Dusk for that section of the city. He heard me sayin’ some things about being able to do his job. He took that to mean I wanted it n’ sent his goons after me.” Duor said.

  “So you_ are_ a member of the Dusk?” Braddok said still not sure of the whole thing…or whether he could believe anything coming out of the dwarf’s mouth for that matter.

  “No no! But won’t lie, I would have been. Last night was supposed to be my initiation. But then Giles decided he didn’t want me in, apparently.” Duor seemed lost in thought for a moment. He continued. “Which is fine by me! He can have his orcass stinkin’ city. I’m lucky you all came along. Show’d me the way, so to speak. Coupla world traveler adventure types like us, we’ll find enough treasure to live like kings n’ if I ever go back to Hawkview, I’ll just _buy_ Giles’ gang right out from under him and make him kiss my bearded dwarven arse.” The dwarf nudged Braddok in the ribs.

  Braddok shuddered at that last image. As much as the fighter liked the thought of finding treasure he felt the need to point out that they were currently acting as well-armed couriers.

  “Bah. Details.” grumbled Duor. “Gotta start somewhere, eh?”

  By the time they stopped for the night, the party had cleared the farmlands that comprised Hawkview’s immediate vicinity. It was a warm evening in late summer and the group enjoyed a meal of dried meat, cheese and the hearty dark bread common to the region. After establishing a watch (which did not include Alaria) they hunkered down for the night. All of them except Coerraine were still spent from their late night run in at he Ruby Scabbard.

  The days and nights began to pass by. The dirt road dwindled down to little more than a path through the fields and wilderness. Erevan took various amounts of time each day scouting far enough ahead that he was often lost to the sight of the party. One afternoon, the path rose up a large hill and wound to the edge of a sharp cliff that look out over the Whitegull  Bay. Alaria thought she could make out the shoreline of R’Hath along the other side. She pointed it out to Haelan, who had proven endlessly fascinated with Aralia’s magic-rich homeland. The halfling was disappointed he couldn’t see it. After three days of cleared skies they endured an afternoon and evening of thunderstorm. By the fifth day, the sun was again clear and bright in the late summer sky.

  On the sixth day, the party neared the village Braddok had said they could resupply. But before they reached it, there was a bit of a problem.


----------



## steeldragons

Mid-morning on the group’s sixth day, they found and began to follow a path that obviously received some regular use. Erevan, as usual, had sprinted ahead to scout. The group assumed what had become their standard marching order. Braddok in the lead, followed by Coerraine who kept himself ahead of the mounted Alaria, Haelan leading the mule, Lillypants brought up the rear with Duor generally floating among them. The dwarf sometimes went unnoticed altogether for a time but as soon as someone mentioned his whereabouts, he would pop up from the rear or some nearby brush.

  Braddok surmised the fishing village he had been told about should be reached by midday. Alaria was irritated to hear that the warrior had not actually been to this village before, himself. She needed to stop taking things the charismatic fighter said as fact. Her ire mellowed when he explained it was Bobrik, the innkeeper of the Ruby Scabbard, who had told him about it. At least she believed she could trust _him_, Alaria thought.     

  A sharp warbling whistle sounded through the air and Braddok, at the lead, raised his arm to halt the party. Alaria was snapped from her thoughts at the sound of Erevan’s signal. She found herself with an odd shiver of worry at what might be before them.

  A moment later, Erevan came racing from the path ahead.

  “Goblins.” The elf stated simply in a hushed tone. “Lots of them.”

  “Define ‘lots’, please.” Offered Duor.

  “Seems like a war party. Two score at least. All armed. Some mounted on zarx. Carts of supplies. Banners and shields seem to be flying something that looks like a bloody talon. Probably a tribe called the ‘Red Claw’ or some such.”

  “Bollux.” said Braddok. After a week’s time on the road, the warrior was spoiling for a fight but he had no intention of ending up with his head on a goblin pike. 

  “Look like any treasure?” Duor again inquired. This gleaned him a few disapproving looks, Alaria included. “Whuh? Spoils of war? So we know if they are on their way _to_ a battle and not coming _from _one.” Duor explained.

  This allayed the disapproving looks and Alaria conceded that the question made sense. Erevan confirmed that he could not say for sure but did not believe so. The carts he saw seemed piled up with supplies, not swag.

  “Milady,” injected Coerraine, “is it not our duty to waylay these villains to their undoubtedly sinister purpose?”

  “We should stop them.” chimed in Haelan. For which he received a glare of disapproval from Braddok. “But, my good Goldshield, we are a company of six. A handsome and feisty six, if I do say so. But six, nonetheless. What can we do to a whole army?”

  “Our duty, Master Hairfoot, does not allow for such questions. Our faith and honor will feed our cause and fuel our strength to see justice done for the good of the realms.” The paladin retorted, half responding to Haelan and half arguing his position to Alaria who ultimately had the final call, the Redstar knight realized.

  “Our duty, Goldshield Coerraine, is to see my errand to Welford fulfilled which will be mightily difficult to complete if we are dead.” Alaria said with a chill in her tone. “And your specific duty, at the moment, is to see that I arrive to Welford alive.” Seeing the golden haired paladin’s obvious disappointment, she continued more gently “I agree, Coerraine. Please understand that. I would see this evil stopped, but we have other business to complete. Also, Haelan is correct.” The halfling perked up at this mention. “We are no match for such a large force.”

  “There are…subtle ways, Alaria, to harry a superior force.” Duor offered. The wizardess shot the dwarf a scowl.

  Alaria ignored the dwarf’s suggestion. “Erevan, how far ahead are they? Do you think we can avoid them long enough to make it to our destination? We can alert the authorities and they can, perhaps, handle the vermin. At least they will be on alert should they be a potential target.”

  Erevan nodded. “They are a fair bit ahead of us, but do move more slowly. They seemed to be tracking off to the northwest. If we move a bit east I don’t think we should have any problem.”

  “Very well.” Alaria said flatly. “Erevan and Duor, you may continue to track the goblins another mile or so and then head east and find us at the village. The rest of us will continue there directly.” and shied Lady off the path they’d only followed a short way. “And Duor, _no_ ‘subtle ways.’ I don’t want any attention drawn in our direction.” With that, Alaria began heading northeast. 

  Braddok turned and gave Erevan a shrug as he trudged off after the horse and mule. The elf looked at the dwarf. The dwarf looked at the elf.

  Duor broke the slightly uncomfortable silence. “Well, let’s go to it, point-ear.” He stepped aside and bowed slightly with an exaggerated flourish. “Lead on.”


----------



## steeldragons

*the ambush*

The group had been separated for about a half an hour. Braddok was on point. He led Coerraine, Alaria atop Lady and Haelan leading the over-encumbered pack mule, Lillypants. Erevan and Duor had been sent to reconnoiter the large goblin warband which (thank the gods, thought Alaria) was moving away from their location.

    Alaria breathed in fresh salty sea air that blew her hair, even lifting Lady’s mane slightly. They had found a small tributary heading east that obviously was flowing straight to the ocean. From there, they surmised, it would be a simple thing to follow the coast north to their hoped for destination (a fishing village where they intend to resupply for the remaining journey into the Lakelans.)  The sun was quickly approaching its zenith. She was about to ask Braddok how much further he believed they had to travel when everything turned to a blur.

  Two goblins leapt out from some underbrush shaking spears and hooping and shrieking in their savage tongue. They were behind Braddok and Coerraine, immediately in front of Alaria’s mount. The generally calm mare reared high in shock and surprise, flaring nostrils and flailing hooves. Alaria, equally surprised, was unable to maintain the reigns and tumbled (ass-over-backwards) from the rearing horse hitting the ground hard.

  Coerraine turned at the commotion in time to receive an arrow in his shoulder blade from another assailant. Turning again, he noted an archer atop a hillock a few yards ahead. A second bowman was also reaching for an arrow to reload. Coerraine noticed an arrow embedded in the ground near Braddok.

  “Ambush!” announced Braddok, his blade singing from its sheathe. 

  “Archers there.” shouted Coerraine as he pointed with his spear (and quickly winced at the pain shooting through his shoulder). The spear’s polished steel and crimson eight-pointed star of Celradorn at the base of the blade shown brilliantly in the almost-midday sun.

  Braddok began to move forward. His large muscled legs quickly removed the distance between himself and the bowmen. Before he could reach the hill, however, a large goblin with a chipped hand axe, wooden shield and decidedly nervous look on its face burst from a bush into his path.

  Unable to engage the ranged attackers, not to mention concern for his charge, Coerraine intercepted one of the spear-wielding goblins behind him. “Haelan, get to Alaria!” the young Redstar Knight commanded.

  The other goblin who had spooked Lady deftly avoided the horse’s hooves and circled around to where Alaria lay on the ground. It smacked Lady’s hindquarters with its shoddy wooden plank shield.

  The horse gave another shrieking neigh and took off down the path ahead of the party. A few barking goblin shouts later (sounding distinctly of disapproval) and another unseen assailant broke from the undergrowth to chase the fleeing horse.

  Haelan dropped the mule’s reigns and rushed forward to protect the fallen mage, their fallen employer. As he did so, he narrowly avoided a swing from a wicked looking axe as another goblin burst from the bushes along the stream very near him.

  Not taking a moment to size up his opponent, Haelan continued to where the young wizardess lay on the ground. “Are you hurt?” the halfling said. His voice was full of sincere concern.

  “No, I’m alright. Just shaken.” Alaria responded. Rubbing her head with her hand as she shakily began to stand.

  Haelan turned to stand between Alaria, the goblin with the spear and, now, another with an axe. After a brief glare of fury at the two enemies, he closed his eyes. The anger and scowl melted from his face and a look a complete tranquility caressed the rounded halfling features. Setting the pinecone-shaped head of his mace on the ground, both hands calmly resting upon the butt of the weapon, a quiet prayer began to hum from his lips.

  “_Deisa Faerantha, ep localis sanctum a spiritaii_.” <spell: Sanctuary. Clerical magic in Orea is cast in the language of Old Selurian: “Holy Faerantha, let this place be a sanctuary to your devoted follower.”>  

  At the completion of his entreaty, a momentary circle appeared on the ground surrounding the priest and wizardess in a band of silvery white light. It flared into view and was gone in an instant.

  Taking the advantage to the halfling’s lowered weapon, both goblins rush to the attack only to be halted with a sudden shock of silvery light.

  “Nice spell.” Alaria conceded. The beaming almost ever-present smile of Haelan Spurthistle, Hilltender of Faerantha, returned to the halfling cleric’s face.

  The goblins gave each other a confused look. The one took another swing with his axe, the weapon halted in mid-swing with silvery sparks accompanied by the sound as if scraping across metal. With a shrug, the two moved away to go engage the warrior and paladin.

  Coerraine had easily dispatched the goblin with a spear. He thought he caught a glimpse of silvery light out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the other spear-wielder and another goblin with an axe moving from where the halfling and Rhathi mage stood.

  Braddok traded blows with the large axe-wielding goblin who had blocked his charge to the archers. The grayish-green creature looked much less nervous since getting in a solid strike against the much larger warrior. It ran its tongue across the mouthful of sharply jagged teeth. Braddok, ignoring the pain in his side where the axe had bitten him, swung again at the goblin. The confident creature realized it should have kept up his guard as Braddok’s long sword deftly swung around the wood planks of its shield and sunk deep into its torso. The thick goblin blood, so dark as to appear almost black, poured from the wound and the axe and goblin dropped to the ground.

  Alaria went to move to aid her companions but Haelan stopped her. He explained that his protective field was stationary. If either of them moved beyond it or attacked from within, the divine blessing would cease. 

  “But they’re taking our supplies.” Alaria remarked with despair. She pointed back at the pack mule who was in a tugging match with another goblin who had grabbed its reigns and was trying to drag the reluctant mule back into the underbrush. The now struggling and cursing goblin had gotten her a few steps away from the melee but entering the undergrowth was proving a bit more difficult.

  “Lillypants!” Haelan cried in horror. The halfling hefted his mace with the pinecone-shaped head and dashed towards the mule. A momentary flash of silvery white light caught the attention of the priest and wizardess. Haelan stopped in his tracks, turned sheepishly to Alaria and muttered, “Oops.”

  Alaria simply rolled her eyes and turned back to the fighters. “Help your girlfriend.” She said casually. “I’m going to see about ending this.” Haelan resumed his charge at Lillypants’ attempted kidnapper. 

  Coerraine ran threw the other spearman and caught a solid blow on his shield (also emblazoned with the red eight-pointed star of the god of battle and guardians) from the axe-wielding goblin. Whirling his spear over his head, the young paladin invoked Celradorn to _smite_ this _evil_ foe before him. 



With all of his might, the budding Redstar Knight brought the spear down, shattered the edge of the goblin’s wood shield and effectively skewered the creature where it stood. The weapon entered through its neck and jutted from its lower back with the spear tip dug into the ground behind it. Coerraine jerked the weapon free with a prayer of thanks to his god. 

  Haelan charged the goblin attempting to steal the pack mule with a throaty battlecry. At this, the goblin dropped the reigns and with a sneer drew a serrated short sword. Without a chance to even bring it to bare, the sword fell from the goblin’s dead hand, a pinecone shaped concavity in its skull. He reached for the mule’s reigns and stroked its neck calmly.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that.” the halfling apologized. Lillypants just turned to look at the scene of carnage along the path they had been following and brayed.

  Braddok was mounting the small hill from which the archers had been trying to pelt him with arrows. Whether it was the high bright sun, the substandard quality of goblin bows and arrows or just poor shots, the dark-haired warrior didn’t take a hit.

  Seeing the rest of their companions felled and the angry looking human with a large bloody sword nearing their position, they let fly two last shafts (one each) and turned to flee.

  Some quick healing for Coerraine and Braddok and the group headed off with some haste, hoping to catch up with Alaria’s mount. A short time later, they saw Lady calmly sipping from the stream. The goblin who had chased her was nowhere to be found and the group remained alert but doubted the foolishness of the goblin to try to assault them by itself.

  “Unfortunately,” worried Alaria, “those that escaped will return to their band. We may be facing those overwhelming numbers yet. Not to mention imperiled the village we are heading towards.”

  “I doubt it.” Braddok replied. “That was a foraging party, I bet. Their leader won’t double-back with all of his forces to deal with a small group who obviously routed them badly. The ones that got away will probably be punished for their failure and the war party will continue on their way.”

  Alaria said nothing. She hoped she could trust his assessment.


  An hour or so away, two figures moved north and west through the hills and finally into some thicker woods before slowing to a normal pace. 

  “At least,” one of the goblins said to his fellow, “maybe Karg got the horse for meat.” <translated from goblin> Alas, when the archer next saw Karg, he was empty handed. 

  The Master would not be pleased.


----------



## steeldragons

The group wound their way through dunes, some rising higher than Alaria could see from atop her mount. After their earlier ambush from the goblins, the four travelers were on edge until they broke though the dunes to the wide flat beach and glittering sea before.

  A short distance up the beach from them a long pier struck out into the dazzling aquamarine water. A few small fishing vessels bobbed and swayed with the low calm waves that found their way to the shore. Beyond the pier was a collection of wooden structures of all built upon pilings above the sand and seemingly connected by raised walkways. Near the water’s edge, a collection of children were splashing and playing in the afternoon surf. Once noticing the party, they all stopped and stared for a few moments before heading off at top speed toward the raised village.

  The afternoon sun glinted off the crystalline water as another breeze of salty air washed over the travel and battle weary adventurers. Alaria couldn’t help smiling to herself at the natural beauty of the place. She noted, from her raised vantage point, that a bit out into the ocean, beyond the edge of the pier, a long sandbar seemed to run parallel to the coast quite a ways. She also saw a large rocky outcropping that rose up north of the village. A structure of some kind sat atop the precipice of the outcropping overlooking the water.

  The party continued on past the pier and made their way among the raised wooden buildings and walkways. An older man, mostly bald but still possessing a laurel-wreath of wispy white hairs, came from one of the larger structures and hurried along the walkways to meet them. He was plump and very tan with a scruffy beard of white whiskers cradling his rounded chins. He wore a fine billowy-sleeved shirt of pale blue with clamdigger-style breeches of a natural hue. A large medallion around his neck glinted in the afternoon sun.

  Two other men, one middle-aged and bearded and one younger, both tanned with sun-bleached hair came behind him carrying harpoon-like spears.

  “Hail to you, noble travelers. Well met and welcome to the village of Shoal. I am Elder Bundo.” the plump older man said with a broad bright smile.

  Haelan, smiling just as brightly, decided immediately that he liked this place.

  Braddok stepped forward, “Hail to thee Bundo of Shoal. I am Braddok Kar Barforth. My companions and I are on errand to the hamlet of Welford and seek accommodations and supplies to further our journey.”

  Alaria looked about and noticed glances from behind corners and shaded windows. The people she did see about the walkways and moving between buildings stared at them quite obviously…Alaria also noted that other than the men they spoke with, she saw mostly women and children. Not to mention the entire village simply sat within this dune-surrounded beach. No walls. No obvious defenses. “So much for relying on the local authorities.” She thought to herself.

  Turning toward the ocean she noticed the sandbar, just barely visible beneath the ebbing tide, seemed to run the whole length of the beach from the pier, creating a very calm and brilliantly turquoise-colored lagoon before the whole village. She also caught the end of another pier extending out nearly to the sandbar, partially concealed behind a jetty of rock at the northern edge of the buildings. 

  Bundo was also surveying as Braddok made his introductions. A Redstar of Celradorn, a hairfoot and the lovely lady was obviously someone of importance, her dress and accoutrements were obviously R’Hathi making her almost certainly a mage. They were a strange congregation indeed.

  “Welford? That’s quite a ways distance yet…much further inland.” the Elder gave the armed strangers a sidelong look. 

  “Bobrik of Hawkview told us how to find your fine village and that we might find some solace here.” Braddok offered. 

  “Bobrik, eh?” said Bundo with a twinkle in his eye. “Heh heh. That rascal. I suppose you’ll be wanting to talk to Elder Kama, then?”

  “Um…” began Braddok.

  “Who’s Elder Kama?” Haelan asked with his glowing smiling and boundless innocence.

  “Who’s…? Ah. Well, nevermind that then. You are all welcome to Shoal. As you can see, we are a village of meager means, but what services and supplies we have I am sure we can do business.” Elder Bundo concluded. “You may tie up your animals back there, behind the public lodge.” Bundo pointed to the largest structure among the village buildings, sitting furthest from the waterline. While it too sat on pilings it was only about three feet off the ground with wide steps that led to the sand. “I’m sure Penny can help you out with acquiring other things you might need. He runs the general store n’ tackle shop down by the pier. I’ll send someone to find you when I’ve arranged your lodging.”

  Coerraine, somewhat aggravated by Braddok’s omission, now chimed in, “We also have some harrowing news.”

  Elder Bundo raised a bushy white eyebrow.

  Coerraine continued, “On our way to your village, our scout observed a rather large band of goblins moving to the north and we, ourselves, were set upon and defeated a troupe of their scouts not far from here.”

  “Goblins, eh?” Bundo rubbed his whiskered chin. “Well, we have no worries there.”
  Coerraine looked confused. Alaria, confessed to herself, she was as well.

  “The Shoal Spirit will protect us.” Elder Bundo said matter-of-factly. “Still, I should probably bring it up with the other Elders.” He turned to return to the lodge from which he’d arrived and turned back. “You can tell your tale to Elder Kama for me.” he said half-asking and waved a hand dismissively towards the large rock outcropping and the structure there. “He’ll be at the temple, no doubt.” 

  With that Elder Bundo returned about his afternoon business. 

  The party looked at each other, puzzled. “Shoal Spirit?” Haelan said aloud. “You don’t suppose they have an actual restless spirit of the dead roaming this lovely place, do you?” the stalwart cleric seemed a bit nervous.

  Alaria shrugged, “I suppose we can ask Elder Kama.” Though it was only about a week since leaving R’Hath and, technically, she was still on errand for her former master Alaria did not take kindly to being given what she perceived as orders...especially from strangers.

  They found a group of pens and raised structures serving as stables and barns, as Bundo had said, behind the large public meeting house along the dunes. They found a youth who was, apparently, working there to unload and watch their belongings and give them details directions on how to get to the temple up on the jagged rocks. 

  The boy informed them that if they wanted to find Elder Kama this time of day, they’d be better off just going to “the north beach” (the beach north of the village, beneath the temple). “Elder Kama,” the boy asserted, “always takes his afternoons communing with the sea and the Shoal Spirit.”

  With a few silver pieces for his trouble, the group began the trek to the north beach. Following the raised wooden walkways was easy enough but when they got to the edge of the village, not all of the building were connected and so they had to trek in the sand. Coerraine, especially, in his metal armor and shin guards was particularly warm and uncomfortable with same grinding between his armor and boots and eventually noticing sand_ in_ his boots.

  Haelan, as one might expect, thought it was just wonderful to be trapsing barefooted through the warm white sands. “Isn’t this place great…I mean unless there’s a spirit. Well, unless it’s a good spirit, I suppose. But I’m not sure if that’s ok with Faerantha. Seems to me a restless spirit would need to be put to rest…” this one-sided conversation want on for some time. The rest of the party had come to just let Haelan talk until he was done. It was just easier that way.

  Coming over the raised dunes that gave ay to the rocky jetty, the group looked out over another picturesque stretch of beach. At the northern edge of this beach was the outcropping atop which sat the “temple.” It was more easily seen now and was ornately crafted with carvings around the edge of the roof and pillars and walls painted in blue, green and white. At the based of the outcropping was the beginning of the long pier Alaria had noticed before that stretched out, almost impossibly far into the sea to end in a large open aired pavilion nearly even with the sandbar, though the sandbar ended before the north beach, about even with the jetty. Without the sandbar’s protection, the north beach had tall cresting waves that came to the shore in a crash of churning white foam.

  About halfway to the outcropping stood two figures on the shore, just beyond the reach of the water before it pulled itself back into the churning sea. As they neared, both figures’ heads turned sharply to observe the approaching individuals. They were both shirtless and quite tan with tightly toned bodies. Tangled mops of sun-bleached hair, only barely still blond that hung to their shoulders. Their lower halves were covered in wraps of pale blue-green fabric with white trim and they held some similarly colored cloth bundled in their arms. Without a word, their heads turned back out to look at the waves.


----------



## steeldragons

*Elder Kama*

Braddok, having decided he was the party spokesman, approached the two identically tall youths from behind. “Hello. Can you tell us where we can find Elder Kama?”

  “You are the strangers.” said one of the boys in a tone belaying no surprise.

  “The Tidemaster said you would arrive today.” said the other. His voice was also even, almost hypnotic.

  “The rest are here now, as well.” said the first boy.

  Neither youth turned to face the party as they spoke.

  “Ho there!” came a shout behind Alaria. She and the others turned to see Erevan and Duor making their way down the beach to join them. The elf moving with his usual cat-like grace barely seemed to disturb the sand as he stepped. He raised a hand in “hello” and smiled slightly. The dwarf, on the other hand, seemed to have a bit of difficulty managing the shifting earth beneath his booted feet and stumbled more than once as Alaria watched.

  Haelan waved at their returning companions enthusiastically and then scampered off to the water’s edge. He stood with his feet in the last laps of the crashing waves. The halfling looked out over ocean and smiled to himself enjoying the cool but not cold water playing over his sandy toes.

  “Who is the Tidemaster and how did he know we were coming?” questioned Coerraine. Something about these teens made the Goldshield uncomfortable.

  At this, the boys heads turned just enough to view Coerraine out of the corners of their eyes. “Tidemaster Kama, of course.” said the one who had spoken first before. Their heads turned back to the waves in unison. 

      As a wave swelled Haelan gasped and pointed.  “Look there!” exclaimed Haelan. A figure floated in the ocean and rose up with the wave.



The party watched as the wave rose higher and higher, a crest of white foam forming and balancing precariously at its top. It was as if the man were dead. His eyes were closed. He floated on his back, a mane of long hair seemed to surround his head in a great halo of white and a long beard bobbed and floated in all directions from his chin nearly to his waist. His body, like everyone else they’d seen in Shoal, was a deep golden tan. He was wiry thin with long lanky limbs struck out from beneath the cloud of floating white hair.

  The wave moved closer and closer to the shore, rising higher than any the group had noticed since they arrived. The wave began to crest and the figure of the old man simply floated along the edge, bending with it.

  “He’s gonna get pulverized.” said Duor under his breath. Braddok nodded his agreement.

  The wave crashed down, a torrent of white and green seafoam churning and roiling up to the shore. The water came to an end at the boys’ feet and with the soft fizzing sound of millions of foam bubbles breaking the water slid back into the ocean. There was no sign of the old man. The youths did not so much as flinch.

  “There!” shouted Haelan, pointing again, just as Braddok was thinking about rushing into the sea.

  Out, practically where the wave had begun, floating effortlessly along the top of the water was a small lumpy cloud of white. 

  “Is it..Should we..” Braddok said frantically, looking to his companions. He felt sure they needed to do something but wasn’t sure what.

  Then the old man’s head popped up and looked at the shore. He waved and then rose, in an even smooth movement, to _stand_ on the water! His thin tan form, under long sopping strands of white hair and beard, stood straight as a swell of ocean rose and seemed to carry him towards the shore.

  Even Alaria’s eyebrows rose in surprise. The whole party, including Erevan, watched in awe.

  As he neared the water’s edge, he called out, “Ah, you’re here. Hail and well met! You’re right on time.”

  He strode as easily from the water to the sand and walked up to the two youths, at which they parted. Alaria could see their faces for the first time and realized they were twins, young but handsome, looking to be in their mid-teens. Around their necks, each wore a choker of puka shells with a large round flat gleaming-white shell dangling from it like an amulet. On closer inspection, she noticed the shell was etched with the image of cresting waves, the symbol of the goddess Tyris.

  One boy held out a robe that began in a pale green that darkened in hue as it moved down to a very dark green. At about mid-thigh, the green was broken with arcing white lines in a cresting wave pattern and below that a rich blue.

  The other bore one of the wraps like the ones the youths wore themselves which would be used to cover the Tidemaster’s lower half beneath the robe.

  With a nonchalant motion of his hand and arm, water began to flow off the dripping old man, from his body, his beard, his hair, water trailed off of him and coalesced into a growing sphere hovering above the old man’s open palm. When he was completely dry, the Tidemaster tossed the sphere of water back into the sea.

  “Thank you, Dihm” he said simply, taking the pale green waist wrap and, Alaria thanked the gods, covering his gaunt lower half which had been barely concealed beneath a simple loin-covering. “Will you go inform Dartha we will be having guests for supper.”


The sun-bleached mop of hair nodded slightly and the youth took off effortlessly jogging down the beach to the outcropping and temple.

  Donning his robe and allowing the boy to tie the similarly wave patterned belt-sash, the old man from the sea addressed the party again.


“Again, welcome. I am Kama, Tidemaster of Tyris and one of the Elder’s on the village council. Now tell me, who are you and what brings you to Shoal? You certainly are a diverse group, aren’t you?” he smiled at Haelan who returned it, naturally.

  This led to another round of puzzled looks. Braddok again took the reigns, “Forgive me, um, Tidemaster, but your attendants seemed to indicate that you were expecting us?” 

  Kama chuckled, “Well, yes. You see, the goddess, blessed be Her depths, gifted my meditations with a vision of a group of strangers who would be arriving in Shoal. She did not, however, provide names or specifics. The depths of the currents are often unfathomable.” Kama smiled kindly. 

  “Come, come. We may talk as we walk.” and he began to walk towards the large rock outcropping. The other twin fell in behind him to the right and Braddok strode to his left and began to tell the elder priest everyone’s names. Kama turned to view and nod a bow of greeting to each member as they were introduced.

  Braddok then went on to inform Tidemaster Kama of their conversation with Elder Bundo and their news of the goblin warparty. Kama seemed to scowl at the news but listened to Braddok’s accounting of their battle with the scouting party in which he was the primary hero.

  They climbed the rocky protrusion in the extending evening shadows via a path that, to the outside observer, was concealed behind a “railing” of jagged natural rock. It wound lazily up the rocks until it let out upon the surprisingly flat top.

  Up close, the temple was quite a sight. Carvings of hippocampi and dolphins and merfolk surrounded the swooping blue-and-white-tiled roof. 

  The group moved around a large fountain centered before the temple’s main doors. A quartet of dolphins spurted water into the air from their bottle-nosed mouths that fell into large clam shells being held by mermaids before spilling from these dishes into the circular basin. Various groupings of shells and smooth multi-colored stones sat about the fountain’s edge.

  Beside the main doors were two large statues of dark green stone carved with fierce visages of half-lion half-fish creatures. Beneath one paw of each was a large sphere the size of a man’s head. They shimmered like pearls.


At first, Duor’s eyes nearly flew from his head until he collected himself reasoning that there is absolutely no way they could be real actual pearls. Still, he thought, might want to check with some of the clergy hereabouts to make sure. His eyes lingered but he kept up with the group as they entered the temple. 

  Through the gates, a long rectangular wading pool filled most of the central courtyard. Lily pads and koi fish were visible in the serene glass-like pool. The party saw a couple of acolytes, dressed in the waist wraps and adorned with the shell necklace holy symbols like the twin boys. The women covered their chests in a wrap of similar material, some pale green some pale blue. They gave the group passing glances and continued about their work and meditations.

  Around the walls and pillars were painted frescos of cresting waves about 5 feet off the ground. Below the waves, images of fish and crabs and squid, all manner of sea-creatures adorned the building. Haelan fell behind several times studying the images and made mental notes to ask Elder Kama what some of the creatures were. The rest of the party also marveled at the beauty of the sanctuary to the sea goddess.

  Duor, however, began feeling somewhat sick. The wave motif that surrounded the walls, inside and out, gave the dwarf the illusion of being actually under the water’s surface. He concentrated on the solidness of the blue and white-tiled floor beneath his feet and his stomach seemed to calm.

  “Your temple is quite beautiful, Tidemaster.” Haelan offered. “Very soothing. The power of the Sea Mistress is indeed present with you and your followers.”

  “Thank you, Haelan. It is, isn’t it? Blessed be Her depths.” Kama replied. They were then rejoined by the acolyte, Dihm, who had apparently completed his errand.

  Kama led them into a good sized room which appeared to be his office. Three large windows looked out over the sea and the village. From this vantage, the sandbar was easily visible and the tide had gone out far enough that the very center of it had broken the water’s surface in a jagged thin line along its center.

  Alaria also noted from their elevated view that a few small fields and rice patties stretched behind the dunes in the limited space before the trees of the forest became thick. Given the hour, workers from those fields were returning through the dunes to the village as she watched. But there were not many and Alaria could not tell at her distance whether they were men or not.

  Tidemaster Kama dismissed the twins and sat behind his desk. The party looked at him expectantly. He seemed lost in thought for a moment then addressed the party.

  “Now, this news of a band of goblins is mildly disconcerting. But you say they were moving away from the village?” Kama asked.

  The group looked to Erevan and Duor to confirm. Erevan spoke, “Yes, Tidemaster. When last we saw, they continued to the north and west.” Duor nodded.

  “It is, of course, little matter if they did come here as the grace of Tyris and the Shoal Spirit would protect us.” The cleric stroked his white beard that cascaded like waves themselves nearly to his waist. He gazed out the window to the pinks and oranges of evening filled the sky. Then his eyes went to the sandbar. 

  “Is there really a spirit in the village?” inquired Haelan. The thought of undead in the vicinity thoroughly worried the halfling priest.

  Kama chuckled. “It has been some years, master daelvar, since I have had the pleasure of your people’s company.” Haelan grinned at the Hilltender. “Not a spirit in the village,” he explained, “The spirit of the shoal.” He pointed out to the sandbar. 

  At this point, Alaria’s curiosity was piqued. “You believe there is a spirit connected with the…shoal? Like an elemental of some kind?”

  Kama shook his head. “Not ‘believe’, my dear. Belief is something you need for those things unseen. Several villagers and I, myself, have seen the Shoal Spirit with our own eyes. She usually appears at the greater moon’s fullness. She is lovely to behold and whether elemental or not, her command of the sea is not to be taken lightly. She is most certainly an avatar of the goddess and has been sent to see to the village and temple’s protection. I have even spoken with her in my communions in the sea. She had been here in the distant past and returned to the shoal after my companions and I freed this temple from the evil that had long encased it.”

  Alaria was intrigued that this obviously adept priest confessed to seeing a spirit and trusting in its protection. But it was not her concern. Alaria simply wanted to know why the priest had had a vision of their arrival and hoped they would not be lingering in this village with so much farther still to go before they would reach Welford.  

  This was not the most reassuring news to Haelan, but he breathed easier knowing there was no spirit in the village and that Kama obviously believed it to be friendly. “Is that how you know Bobrik?” Haelan asked, putting two and two together.

  Kama smiled broadly again. “Why yes! He was one of the fellows with whom I traveled in my youth. You know Bobrik?”

  “We do. Great fellow. He’s the one who told us about your village here.” Braddok interjected. Haelan would sit here and make tea time small talk all day, the warrior realized. His patience was wearing thin and he still needed answers. “Now, why exactly did the goddess of the sea and her spirit avatar thing tell you we were coming?” he asked. Thinking quickly, he added, “Blessed be her depths…and all.” 

  Tidemaster Kama’s eyebrows, like two white bushy caterpillars, furrowed. “Well, you see warrior, that is a rather lengthy tale…”

  The door to Kama’s office opened to reveal one of the twins. “Supper is served, Tidemaster.”

  “Excellent.” Kama proclaimed. “Thank you, Suhm.”

  Alaria wondered at the different name. How could the Tidemaster tell the boys apart?  

  “We shall continue this over our meal. Dartha is an excellent cook but woe betide if you let here dishes get cold. Come, come…” and the elder cleric stood and gestured the still confused and somewhat frustrated party to follow the acolyte.


----------



## steeldragons

Tidemaster Kama had not exaggerated in his praise about the temple’s cook, Dartha. While not seasoned quite as spicy as Alaria was used to in R’Hath, the dishes were flavorful. The party dined on shrimp dumplings with a sweet plum sauce, flakey whitefish baked and stuffed with herbs and butter, fresh loaves of golden bread, salty cheeses and succulent fruits.

  Oddly enough, Alaria thought, her favorite part of the meal was the beverage. It was water, but more than water somehow. It was crisp and clear and an enjoyable taste that somehow still was no taste. Alaria felt a tingling of her mind and body with each sip, a clarity and warmth, even though the water itself was ice cold. Even Erevan commented on the wonderful elixir.

  “Ah yes. It is our Pure Water, naturally.” Kama replied after chewing a large mouthful of dumpling. “Drawn from the spring upon which this temple was built.

  “It reinvigorates and refreshes.” he continued before taking a sip from his own cup. “Purified and sanctified by Tyris, herself, blessed be her depths.”

  All of the companions enjoyed the meal thoroughly as they listened to Kama, _finally_, get around to this business involving them.


Some twenty years prior Kama (“…a mere Waverider at the time…”), Bobrik of Hawkview and some other companions, followed legends of treasure and Kama’s goddess-granted visions to this secluded cove and village. The temple had been thoroughly corrupted by mad cultists worshiping a demon-crab being. The village was enslaved and human sacrifices to the cult’s demonic idol were commonplace. The temple housed the cultists and was guarded by horrifying crab-like men with great thick-shelled hides and snapping claws for hands.

  Kama and his group defeated the leader of the cultists and their clawed overseers. What creatures survived their reclaiming of the temple fled into the sea. Unfortunately, in their retreat, the defilers escaped with one of the temple’s sacred relics, a giant black pearl, “…like the ones at the gate, but black. Very rare. Very precious, enchanted and highly sacred to Tyris, blessed be her depths.”

  Duor’s mind started reeling with calculations of the worth of the pearls he saw at the front gates and then...possibilities.

  Kama realized that tending this temple and village was his goddess-given destiny and stayed in Shoal when Bobrik and his other friends left. Kama set to re-consecrating the temple and cleared it of all evil taints. Shortly thereafter, “the avatar of the Tyris, blessed be her depths, that we simply call the Shoal Spirit...” began being seen and making her presence known around the shoal. For nearly two decades, the temple and waters around the village of Shoal have been a pristine reflection of the glory of the goddess of water and the seas and bountiful fishing lanes which the villagers (mostly fishermen) use for their own benefit and take to trade in Hawkview.

  About a week ago, during one of his usual communions with the sea, the Shoal Spirit informed Kama that an evil presence was making its way into the currents. Casting divinations, including some conversations with the sea life, Kama was told that the clawed crab-creatures had been observed in the waters to the north, around an island not far from shore. Further spells confirmed his suspicion that the island to the north was none other than Dragonbone Isle, only about a half day’s sail from Shoal with a favorable wind. 

  In his swimming communion three days ago, he meditated on what he considered an obvious threat to his people and his goddess. The vision granted to him showed a group of strangers, "heroes", who would arrive to aid his cause and “return the sacred vessel, long denied us.” 

  “And, indeed, here you are.” Kama concluded.

  All eyes of the party turned to Alaria. The young wizardess calmly sipped on her Pure Water. This wasn’t what she needed, Alaria thought to herself, another distraction from her goal of delivering her message. Her gaze fell on Braddok who looked at her with a pleading question in his deep blue eyes. Coerraine’s eyes had the same look. Haelan’s eyes were questioning but completely unbiased, his grin exuding innocence. He looks like a simpleton, sometimes, Alaria thought. Duor seemed preoccupied with thoughts of his own and Erevan sipped his cup.

  Alaria put down her cup, dabbed her lips with the cloth napkin lovingly embroidered with waves and fish around the trim and replied, “If you’ll allow, Tidemaster Kama, we have been on the road for a long time and have a long way yet to travel to reach our intended destination in Welford. Might we have the night to discuss this matter of obvious pressing importance?”

  “Of course, my dear. I understand it is quite a lot to ask, especially of those not devoted to the goddess. The danger is quite real. But Tyris saw fit to see your band here and I have no doubt Tyris will provide and protect you in her cause.” Kama answered. He thought for a moment. “As to the ‘provide’ part, if it is Welford you seek, travel by boat would greatly shorten your journey.”

  "Really?" This interested Alaria very much.

  “Right up the coast, beyond Dragonbone Isle, to the mouth of the river D’Evand. You’d have to row your way upriver, at least as far ats the falls. But, I'd say, you should still easily cut a week off your trip."


"Really?" Alaria responded again, barely able to contain her excitment.


"In exchange for investigating the island and dealing with any threat of the claw-men and, if possible, returning our sacred relic to us, I would be more than happy to provide you with a boat. You would, of course, be welcome to keep any other valuables you find along the way…so long as they are not Tyrisian artifacts.”

  “We’ll do it.” Alaria said without another thought.

  Shortly thereafter, an undercleric came to inform the party that one of the villagers had arrived to escort them back to their accommodations in the village. They were led to a medium-sized hut that, while certainly not luxurious, had plenty of room to house the men. Alaria was led to a separate, smaller hut. Whether it was the full stomachs or a property of the Pure Water, the whole party slept soundly that night. Some dreamt of treasures, some of adventure, Alaria dreamt of completing her errand for Vertior and beginning her life in earnest.


----------



## steeldragons

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

  In appreciation of the holiday, we’re taking a slight diversion from the storyline for a little seasonal tale of Halloweeny goodness with Alaria, Braddok and the gang in…

  Orean Tales: On Darkveil Night.

  The company made their way with some haste along the road through the wooded hills in the eastern Freelands. Most of the leaves of the trees had changed to their autumnal hues, vibrant reds and yellows. The leaves of the silverleaf trees had given up their soft sage green for the deep violet that signaled the onset of the season. A crisp breeze blew through the hills, rustling the brittle fallen leaves on the forest path and those which still clung to their limbs. 

  The sun was dipping quickly in the west and the gray-violet of twilight sky was quickly giving way to the blue-black of night. Arinane, the greater moon, was beginning to rise, her silver light replacing the golden orange glow of the setting sun. They were only a hill or two away from the small town of Dalenrock and none of the company wished to be far from a fire on this night.

  For you see, it was Darkveil Night. The night of the Orean year when the Veil between the worlds was at it’s thinnest. Tales of the spirits of the deceased, malicious fairy folk and dark magic were all said to abound on the night of Darkveil. It was a holiday of the goddess Desri, goddess of judgement and death, and her daughter Wyslia, goddess of winter and strife. The holiday involved, among other traditions, a feast of the harvest bounty offered to the goddesses and the souls of the departed in hopes of appeasing them for favors and an easy winter to come.

  Haelan was eager to arrive in the town for a warming meal, fire and the security of being within the town’s stockade secured, so he convinced himself, from the wandering spirits and evils of the wild woods on this sinister night. The halfling shivered, his eyes darting to the sides of the path at every rustle and creak.

  Alaria smirked to herself watching the hairfooted priest. The wizardess considered most of the stories of Darkveil to be amusing. In R’Hath the holiday is much celebrated with sweet treats for children and grand masquerade parties for the adults. Still, with her knowledge of the arcane and the kinds of evils she’d encountered in her recent travels, Alaria’s mind wandered. She pulled her cloak tighter about her as a chilly gust rushed through the wood. She shook the accompanying shiver of being watched from her mind.

  Erevan and Duor were having a debate, as usual. The dwarf scoffed at the foolishness of the human holiday and the very idea of “the Veil.” Erevan admitted that though he couldn’t speak to the nature of the goddesses of Men, the tales of the Veil, the land of Faerie and spirits of the dead were quite real.

  Braddok listened to the debate with amusement while he too kept a wary eye in the surrounding woods. There was no doubt in the seasoned warrior’s mind that Darkveil Night was no time to be out on the road. He relaxed to see the soft glow of the fires of Dalenrock coming from beyond the next hill. One of the Darkveil traditions involved the lighting of bonfires to scare the spirits and faeries away from the all night feasting.

  Coerraine simply kept to himself, bringing up the rear in his usual stoic attentiveness. The young paladin’s spear was the first weapon to be leveled when a peasant came crashing through the woods onto the path not far ahead of the group. The man’s shirt was ripped and his face had a large bruise and a small trail of dried blood ran down the side of his face from a wound in his hairline.

  He rushed up to Braddok, panting and frantic, “Please! You must help me! We’ve been attacked! Please help me! I can’t get the children. Hurry, that way!”

  Braddok tried to calm the man, “What about the children? What attacked you?” 

  “They came out of nowhere.” The man, obviously not hearing the swordsman. “Hurry! Straight over the hill. That way! It’s the Tillman farm. The children hid, the way they were taught. But I couldn’t get to them. Hurry! I’ll go to town and get the constable!” without waiting for an argument, the man took off down the road toward the orange glow of the town and passed out of view.

  Coerraine, not needing to hear anything other than “Help me!” and “children”, was already dashing straight into the woods in the direction the man indicated, Erevan and Alaria on his heels.

  Haelan hesitated for a moment, looked longingly at the light from the town, and darted into the dark undergrowth. The halfling heard Braddok and the dwarf rushing noisily after him while the clanking of Coerraine’s armor was an easy beacon to follow in the deepening dark of the fading twilight. 

  Whatever it was they were going to face, Haelan thought, they sure as heck were going to hear them coming. 

  Haelan stopped short, coming to the clearing, where Coerraine, Erevan and Alaria stood. Braddok and Duor came up behind him and the six looked out over a small farmstead.

  To the right a field of corn, dried and browned stalks stood in mini-pyramids, a scarecrow sat atop a tall stake, its yellow broad-brimmed hat sitting upon a straw-stuffed body. The cottage of a farm house beckoned behind the fence…a leafless tree sat in the front yard, behind the gate. Nothing looked amiss with the house, a soft yellow glow came from behind the shudders of the first floor and the front door. A small porch was at the top of three steps that led to the door.

  The company made their way through the gate and wandered up to the porch, weapons and spells ready, eyes shifting in every direction…nothing looked amiss from what they could tell in the silver light of the greater moon.

  As Coerraine stepped on the front step, Haelan saw a raven or maybe a rook landed on a branch of the leafless tree. 

  Then Braddok, in the rear, noticed a slab of wood hanging from one of the more sturdy limbs by two ropes. As he watched, the swing began to creak back and forth…a trick of the wind, no doubt.

  Haelan looked at it too. He shivered inwardly. Then his eyes went to the five rooks that perched within the tree. No, thought the halfling, six. No, seven.


As Coerraine neared the front door, Erevan noticed the number of ravens in the leafless tree now counted in the…well, he couldn’t count them. Every limb was full of the beady-eyed black birds.

  Coerraine, not noticing the birds, kicked in the front door, his spear and shield at the ready. At that moment, the rooks in the tree took to the air in a cacophony of caws and flapping wings.

  Haelan jumped and turned. The mass of black birds flew like a black cloud into the sky. They stretched and congealed, as one. Flying away from the house and then dipping and soaring above the harvested corn field. The mass turned and started coming towards the cottage.

  “GET INSIDE!” shouted Braddok.

  The band ran up the steps and into the cottage. Braddok slammed the front door. Turning at the last moment to view out a window, Duor saw the black mass of feathers swoop towards the porch and then streak skyward up over the small farmhouse. The flapping and cawing trailed off into the distance.

  The group stood motionless…silent…waiting for any sound. All they heard was a momentary flapping and cawing before there was no sound at all.

  The party looked about a small room. A fire burned in the hearth. A small pot hung above the fire, bubbling.

  In the room was a table set for a meal with simple crockery, two benches along either side, a chair at the table’s head. A step-ladder led into the eaves and another door went, obviously, out the back of the building.

  A brief search found the secret door before the hearth. As Erevan opened the trapdoor, two figures leapt up at him. They were small and dressed in simple off-white sleeping gowns. One latched onto his neck and the other onto his leg. Both bit ferociously. 

  The elf cried out in pain.

  The Redstar knight, believing these the children they sought grabbed one with long blond hair and pulled it off of the bleeding elf. 

  “It’s ok! We’re here to help!” Coerraine shouted as he wrenched the child from Erevan’s neck. Only when the small figure turned towards him did he notice the child’s eyes were fully black and its mouth seemed a maw of pointed teeth. It lunched at the young paladin.

  “Manat’s star!” exclaimed Alaria raising her staff to block the lunge of the boy child who’d released Erevan’s thigh to fly toward the young wizardess.

  A short crossbow bolt soon stuck from the child’s shoulder as Duor tumbled through the room making his way to the back door.

  Braddok bashed the youth, who looked to be all of 11 years old, with his shield throwing him back into the fire. In a flash of flames and embers, he disappeared.


  Haelan, holding his pinecone-headed mace up in front of his wooden shield prayed feverishly to Faerantha to deliver him from this nightmare. The words came to his mouth, unbidden,


“_Deisa Faerantha, deferitas a spiritaia y diabollo_.” <cleric spell: Protection from Evil: “Holy Faerantha, defend your devoted followers from this evil.”>

  Suddenly, the room went dark. The commotion of battle ceased. Then the silver moonlight of Arinane filtered in through the dusty windows and all was quiet. 

  The party stood, battle ready, in the stillness. The children were gone. In the hearth, a pile of ash and long blackened logs sat cold and unused. Erevan, Braddok and Alaria turned to look at Haelan. The halfling shrugged. 

  The voice of the dwarf broke the unnatural stillness.

  “Ummmm. I think you lot want to see this.” said Duor staring out the wide open back door.  

  The companions came the back door and looked over the dwarf. Leading down from the stairs of the house a field stretched out under the silver moonlight for a hundred feet in every direction. The field was full of twisting vines of large leaves and pumpkins.

  Haelan, reeling from the oddity of the house looked out the front window. He saw the leafless tree with the simple swing wavering in some unfelt breeze, the neatly piled corn stalks…and …and a large stake sitting in the midst of the cornfield. He didn’t remember that.

  “Help! Help us!” came the cry of children’s voices that caught all of the company’s attention. It sounded like it was far off. Those looking out the back of the house noticed two silhouettes in the midst of the pumpkin patch, outlined in the moonlight. They were gesturing wildly.

  Braddok turned to Alaria and said, “What’s going on here? Can you detect anything?”

  Alaria looked at the warrior with concentrated understanding. The R’Hathi wizardess uttered a simple verse, shrieked, clasped a hand over her eyes and fell backwards. Erevan caught her limp body. 

  Moments later, the young magess explained through haggard breath that the entirety of the pumpkin patch was magical. She had never seen such a blatant overpowering aura.

  Again, the cries of the children came wafting over the vine laden field.

  Sharing a determined look, Coaerraine and Braddok began to move down the steps into the field of pumpkins.

  Duor took a position near the back door, Erevan on the other side of the door, his longbow nocked and ready. Alaria, recovered, stood next to the elf as the halfling priest moved to stand on the back steps, ahead of the dwarf, elf, and magess, with an eye on the two fighters.

  Coerraine and Braddok had not moved more than thirty feet from the cottage when both were assaulted by vines in the pumpkin patch. The men swung weapons in hopes of releasing themselves but both found themselves prone, their legs and arms and torsos being wrapped with thick green vines.

  Duor and Erevan both let off their bolts. The arrows sank into the foliage that was quickly mummifying their friends. Yellow ichor dripped from the puncture wounds.

  Braddok hacked with his sword and regained his footing. He quickly began to hack madly at the vines entrapping Coerraine.


  Then the sound came again…the fluttering of dozens…no hundreds…of wings and a concert of caws that made Erevan and Haelan clutch their ears.

  The black-feathered cloud descended over them and spread out over the pumpkin field…dissipating as the company watched only to reintegrate into a cloud of black high in the moonlit sky.

  Another few swings from Braddok and the young Redstar Knight was freed. 



The silhouettes of the children still cried out from the center of the field. Braddok looked back at the farm house which he’d taken not ten steps from. It seemed as far away as the shadowed children. This was most assuredly witchery of the Darkveil Night, Braddok thought to himself.

  Alaria, having come to the same assumption, closed her eyes and concentrated.

  Erevan and Duor continued to fire missiles into the green tendrils now rising and lashing for the fighters.

  “Help us! It’s got us!” came the childish voices across the living pumpkin patch.

  Coerraine slipped his Redstar spear into its holder on his back and drew his longsword. With a nod to Braddok, the two warriors began slashing their way through the disagreeable pumpkin patch. Green vines and yellow ichor flew in all directions as the two muscled warriors, one taller, dark and trim and one shorter, blond and wide, hacked their way toward the pleading children.

  Three globes of shimmering white light appeared around Alaria’s head. <spell: Dancing Lights> With a thought, she sent the globes shooting out over the pumpkin patch. The orbs streaked past Braddok and Coerraine to where the children’s shadows stood and circled them.

  When they arrived at the children’s position and lit up the area, the shapes and cries of the children faded…from ear and from view. Braddok turned to look to Coerraine, panic plain on his face. The paladin didn’t even notice, still staring in disbelief at the three globes of light where the children had been, he was sure, moments ago.

  A wind blew across the wide field, rustling up dead leaves and vines and the stench of decay. Haelan shivered, despite himself. 

  Coerraine woke from his musing to see a form rising from the vines and pumpkins before them. It had long thin limbs and seemed to be dressed in the tattered trappings of a farmer. Upon the impossibly thin shoulders sat a large round, brilliantly orange pumpkin with triangular holes where eyes and a nose should be and a jagged, uneven smile stretching across the entire front of its face. The holes glowed with a sickly green and unnatural light. Upon the top of the pumpkin-head sat a yellow floppy brimmed hat.

  Braddok felt a wave of fear overtake him and turn swiftly back toward the house, slashing at the vines that rose and whipped at him.

  Coerraine, convinced this was the evil that was holding the children, charged the eight foot tall abomination. The cries of Haelan from the back steps echoed unintelligibly in his mind.

  As the paladin neared the pumpkin-headed creature, a long bark-laden “arm” reached up from the patch with three long clawed finger-branches and swatted the Redstar Knight, ripping through his armor and tossing him aside like a ragdoll. The mouth on the creature, which heretofore had not moved from its toothy grin opened wide and roared a horrid noise of ferocity and malice, green-yellow flames spewing forth from the orifice.

  “_Everx zaar_” Erevan cried. <spell: Magic Missile>

  Violet and blue shards of energy struck the creature soundly in the gourd of its head. Alaria turned, shocked, to see the elf with his hand, fingers outstretched.

  “You have a dozen more of those?” Duor questioned, also looking surprised.

  A branch-arm stretched toward the back porch of the farmhouse and a dozen vines rose towards the party. They snapped forward like cobras. Haelan, Alaria and Duor avoided the bulk of them, but Erevan was knocked to the floor, blood streaking from slashing wounds in his face and side. Another vine wrapped around his leg and jerked the elf up and out over the pumpkin field.

  In his frenzy to return to the perceived security of the porch, Braddok _did_ notice Erevan being pulled into the air. A quick hack with his longsword dropped the elf to the ground. He gathered up his friend and the two headed, with all haste back to the house.

  Coaerraine, Goldshield of the Redstar Knights and Guardian of the temple of Celradorn the Golden Defender, blocked a raking slash of barked claws with his shield and called upon his deity to_ smite _the _evil _that he faced. His spear pierced the scraggly straw-stuffed body and a golden light seemed to shine from his weapon.

  The creature shrieked again, this time in pain as much as malice, green-yellow flames bursting from its wound.

  Coerraine turned, his face burned from the cold of the unnatural fire.

  “Coerraine!” shouted Alaria, “Get back here!”

  The paladin turned briefly to see the rest of the party back at the small back porch of the cottage. He turned once more to see the pumpkin-headed abomination before him which seemed twice as tall at before. He went to run and felt his legs jerked by thick vines. Suddenly, his head was full of the sound of ravens’ caws. 

  “_Yaix ar Yomarus, benfica Faerantha urmu_” <cleric spell: Light, “Light in darkness, by your blessing, Faerantha.”

  A brilliant white light flared above the retreating paladin. There was a momentary rise in the ravens’ noise, a shrieking roar of defiance rose from the pumpkin-headed creature and then nothing. Coerraine slashed at the vines around his legs and without looking back, made his way back to the rest of his party. 

  Another roar brought Coerraine’s attention back to the scarecrow-creature in the pumpkin field. He turned, shield raised, spear at the ready. An arrow flew past his ear to sink into the creature’s stuffed torso. Behind him, he heard Alaria’s voice rising in confidence and power.

  “_Everx imberil rex!_” <mage spell: Burning Hands>

  Waves of red and blue flames shot over Coerraine’s head and arced down into the pumpkin patch at the creature’s feet.

  Flames flared up and spread through the vines and dried leaves like…well, like wild fire and the creature was soon engulfed, shrieking, in flame. The fire spread with a seemingly unnatural speed and soon the entire field of pumpkins was roasting.

  The party moved back through the cottage and out into the front yard as the house caught fire. A single raven perched in the leafless tree with the swing.

  “What about the children?” shouted Coerraine in protest as the group moved swiftly out the front gate.

  “There were no children.” Braddok said plainly.

  Any further explanation was interrupted by a final shriek of agony from the creature, far behind in the inferno.

  Hours later, when the party entered Dalenrock, they found the constable and relayed their unwanted adventure. They believed the threat had been neutralized but were pained to tell they knew not what had happened to the Tillman children.

  The constable stared at them a moment. The color seemed to drain from his face. He stumbled and sputtered in his response.

  “You…You don’t unnerstand. Th…there ain’t no…no T…T…Tillman children. Ain’t…ain’t no Tillman farm. Burned to the ground, it did…round ten years ago…foul things they was inta. Unspeakable things. The townsfolk wouldn’t help ‘em if they wers the last family in the Freelands.”

  The members of the party looked at each other in disbelief.

  “Y..Yer in time for the f…feastin’ tho.” continued the constable. He smiled a toothy smile. As the party looked on, those teeth became sharp and jagged. The canines extended. The man’s hands seemed to snap and stretch, a darkness spreading across his skin and thick black claws extending from his fingers.

  Haelan jumped as a howl sounded some distance away. Then several others, much louder, much closer. Turning, he saw the extending snouts and dark gray fur sprouting from all of the town’s festival-goers around the nearest bonfire.

  “Aw .” said the halfling.


----------



## steeldragons

Tomorrow, back to our regularly scheduled program.


----------



## steeldragons

The group assembled at the temple the following morning. Kama, with the twins flanking behind him in their usual positions, led them down a long stair carved in the rock face on the side not facing the village. This led to a dock that gave way to the pier that extended out to the pavilion. Roped at the dock was a sailboat. It was long and broad like the villagers’ fishing boats, but larger than normal with a single mast in its center and a simple rudder.

  Standing before the tiller at the slightly raised rear of the boat was a woman who appeared about Alaria’s age, perhaps a few years older. A few wisps of the Shoal villager’s sun-bleached blond hair trailed off from beneath her dark blue hooded cloak in the morning breezes. She wore a blue robe that faded from very pale at the shoulder to very deep blue at the hem.

  Kama introduced the woman as Waverider Trihna, his second-in-command. She had been a child when Kama and his fellows rescued the village and pledged herself to the service of the temple and the goddess of the sea shortly thereafter. She would, Kama assured, be most helpful in finding the sacred pearl, as well as being familiar with any other items they might find that could be holy to Tyris.

  She would also be able to pilot their ship herself, a skill none of Alaria’s crew possessed.

  The boat was loaded with their gear and supplies for three days, slightly more than half a day’s sale to reach the isle, slightly less to return, leaving two solid days for exploration. Among the supplies, Kama supplied each of the party members with a skin full of Pure Water and a small vial with a cloudy greenish liquid.

  “These potions,” Kama explained, “will allow you to breathe normally underwater for up to one hour. Use them wisely in the service of the goddess, blessed be her depths.” With a final blessing for swift and safe travels from Tidemaster Kama, they set sail for the Dragonbone Isle. 

  The journey began pleasant enough. The weather was bright and warm despite the steady breeze that bore the boat northward at a good speed.

  Trihna guided the ship with obvious skill, taking in and letting out lines to the mast, controlling the sail and adjusting the till as necessary. She matter-of-factly showed and explained her movements to Braddok and Erevan, both of whom thought it wise to learn how to steer the ship, should anything “unexpected” occur.

  Alaria half-listened to the priestess’ instruction, being more concerned with the utterly green dwarf next to her. It was obvious to Alaria that the old adage she'd heard about dwarves and water held true...something about "...a sinking stone"? She couldn't quite remember.


Duor had made no objections to their new mode of transportation, but occasionally moaned and kept himself leaning towards the boat’s edge, staring vaguely at the boards of the hull. 


  The outcropping and temple had drifted beyond the horizon behind them, but Trihna kept the shoreline well in sight on their left. A couple of hours after their departure, Alaria decided it was time to make plans.

  “So, what can you tell us about Dragonbone Isle, Trihna?” Alaria asked. “I must confess, I have not heard tales of it in my homeland.”

  The sea priestess adjusted one of the ropes at her side, leaning casually over the tiller, and her face looked serious. “Well, I have been here only once before, with Tidemaster Kama. We were giving chase to the same relic we seek for today. However, with only the two of us, we could not cover much ground and the perils of the island are formidable.”

  “Are there actual dragons there?” asked Haelan with his genuine naivte?

  Trihna smiled, “Not that I saw. Thank Tyris, blessed be her depths. But there are a number of dragon bones that rise up from the ground, especially along the southern causeway.”

  “What kind of terrain are we facing, good priestess?” Coerraine injected. The young paladin of Celradorn was pleased to be on a quest with a holy cause and had made inner vows, determined to see their task achieved.

  “It varies, my good Goldshield.” Trihna smirked in reply. Her attempted jest was lost on the focused Redstar knight. “There are multiple coves and small beaches around the island's perimeter. A high rocky cliff face juts out from the bulk of the island facing the mainland. Most of the main island seems to be shrouded in forest with a sloping, high-walled valley in the center. There are also two smaller islands adjacent to the main.”

  “Alaria,” Haelan piped in, “if we find any dragon bones can we keep them? They’d make quite the stir back home.”

  The R’Hathi wizardess, about to laugh away the halfling’s request, thought to herself a moment of the number of spells and items authentic dragon bone could be used for…not to mention the price they might fetch from the Fellowship of Alkari, or even more back in Ablidon.

  Trihna laughed at the priest of Faerantha’s question. “Master Halfling, there is not a boat in Shoal that would float with the smallest of these bones.”

  Haelan’s eyes widened with even more than their usual wonder, if possible. “Really?”

  The priestess of Tyris nodded. “The ones I saw with the Tidemaster were huge. Taller than this mast.”

  Alaria noted that Erevan’s face and mood had darkened since the conversation about the island had begun. “Erevan? Do you know anything about this place?”

  The elf’s vibrant violet eyes turned to meet Alaria’s gaze. “It is called, by my people, Eres’tum Biirtalii. ‘The Dragon’s Tomb.’ It is a place of great pride and sorrow among the Miralostae.

  “According to our history, in the dawning days of our nation, my people moved up these very waters seeking a new realm to call our homeland. As we found the river we named D'Evand the Miralostae were set upon from the mountains at the edge of the Whitegull Bay.


"The creature was an agent of the Scourge, a dragon from the ancient times when the world was still young. It had spawned countless broods of dragonkind. Watched the rise and facilitated the fall of many tribes of elves and men over the ages. It called itself Sharzaak.


"Our leader and queen was a formidable sorceress. She defended her people with all of the mystic power she could command with her magic orb. But, in the end, her people safely away, she fell before the foul wyrm's evil.


This island is where the Sons of Nirastrelyn avenged their mother and defeated the dread wyrm, Sharzaak. In our songs, the beaches are strewn with its bones, the sea around it darkened by its blood and the island, itself, coated in the festering timeless evil of the creature’s immortal heart.”

  Haelan blinked at Erevan and turned in hopeful disbelief to Trihna. The sea priestess merely looked to the sail.

  “I don’t suppose the creature’s hoard was left there by these sons of Niras-ellen, by any chance?” Duor said.

  Most of the company laughed at the dwarf’s first words since their departure.

  Erevan frowned. “Nirastrelyn.” the elf corrected indignantly. “And I couldn’t say. I’ve only heard the songs and read the histories. It was before I was born.”

  “We shall see soon enough, Master Dwarf.” said Trihna pointing ahead and to the right of them.

  The group turned to view where Trihna indicated. Greenish humps rose from the water off their starboard (right) side. Above and beyond the island, stretching across most of the western skyline a mass of dark grey clouds formed a definitive line in the sky. As they looked, a flash of lightning bolted from the clouds to the water, far out to sea.

  Trihna turned the ship to a more direct approach to the island. Her gaze studying the sky. “We should make it there before the storm hits. But it might be close.”

  As they neared the island, the early afternoon sun was blocked by the grey skies. The water, which had been vibrant shades of aquamarine under the sunny blue sky turned to a murky grey-green.

  The ship continued to near the island and the helpful breeze was shifting even as it increased, making Trihna’s job more difficult. But, the experienced priestess kept the boat on course and moving at a good speed.  
    With the increasing wind of the encroaching storm, the waves followed suit and soon the fishing craft was being battered by whitecaps.

  This was really all Duor was able to take and the dwarf threw his head and shoulders over the side of the boat and lost his breakfast, getting a face full of sea spray in the process.

  As the dwarf gasped for air and wished himself dead, staring into the choppy water, he saw what seemed to be a shadow beneath them. He blinked and cleared the seafoam from his bushy eyebrows. Yes. Yes, definitely. There was something beneath them…and they weren’t passing over it, it was moving with them and getting….larger?

  “Head’s up! Something’s…” was all the dwarf had time to yell, as he threw himself_ away_ from the side of the boat. The rest of his warning was lost in the splintering shatter of part of the boat’s hull, near Haelan, as a massive blue claw, long as Duor was tall, reached over and through the side of the boat.


----------



## steeldragons

The whole company lurched with the bulk of the boat to one side. Then bodies and arms scrambled every which way, reaching for weapons and shields, attempting to rise and move to engage the mostly unseen enemy beneath the waves. 

  It wasn’t unseen for long as a second claw and two more appendages reached over the side of the boat and hoisted its self partly out of the choppy waves. The party stood in shock, for a moment, staring at the beady black eyes atop short stalks and flat bluish green shell rimmed in spines which has nearly three-quarters as wide as the boat was long.

  Braddok was the first to action, swung ineffectually at the massive first claw, which was now obviously larger than the second. The swordsman’s blade skidded harmlessly along the rock-like carapace.

  Coerraine let out a holy roar and jabbed at it with his spear as he attempted too make his way between it and Alaria. The Redstar Knight’s attack also met with failure.

  Haelan, broken from his awe by Coerraine’s battle-cry took a swing with his pinecone-headed mace. The halfling connected with the second smaller claw maintaining a hold on the side of the boat. The mace broke threw the creature’s shell with a solid _crack_. The claw released the wooden planks and jerked back away. “HA!” exclaimed the halfling priest. “I’m going to need some butter over here.”

  Erevan had moved near the tiller and was attempting to find a clear shot at the creature’s maw or underbelly, keeping himself between the crab and Trihna.

  “That’s enough!” Trihna called. She moved back to cling to the left side of the boat. “Alaria, Duor, get to port! Balance the boat before we capsize!”

  Alaria rose from her place and steadied herself with the mast, keeping it between her and the giant crab attempting to board their modest vessel. She moved unsteadily as the sailor-priestess instructed.

  Duor moved as Trihna indicated and loaded a bolt into his hand crossbow, more than happy to be out of reach (at least for the moment) of the massive pincers.

  The cracked smaller claw darted forth and snagged Haelan. “Ah! Get it off! Get it off!” the Hilltender of Faerantha cried out in pain and surprise as it squeezed tightly around his midsection.

  The large first claw, much thicker and deeper blue in color than the one which held Haelan, lunged forward and snapped loudly inches from Braddok’s neck.

  Braddok swung overhead and nearly took off half of his face when the sword’s edge rebounded, from the unharmed spiny shell of the large blue claw.

  Coerraine stabbed again, this time placing his speartip firmly in the crab’s white underbelly which proved to be significantly less hard than the top shell. 

  Erevan saw an opening in the fleshy joint of the claw that held Haelan and let loose his arrow. A sudden jerking of the boat shifted his aim just enough to cause the shaft to shatter against the claw’s solid armor. He recovered quickly, due to his elven reflexes, drew and nocked a second arrow in a seamless motion and let loose again.

  The second arrow pierced the joint and the claw, now wounded a second time, and the crab released Haelan.

  The halfling took this opportunity to land a third blow against it which took the claw clear off at its “elbow” where Erevan’s shaft still stuck.  

  With this, the crab fell back into the water, nearly sending Trihna, Alaria and Duor flying overboard in the opposite direction.

  Trihna quickly got the boat moving again and the waves increased in size as the sky continued to darken. A roll of thunder passed in the distance. All of the part stayed standing and alert, weapons ready.

  This was the first opportunity the companions had to notice the long narrow stretch of land before them that snaked up to the bulk of the island. From along the edge of either side of this “causeway”, for lack of a better term, huge white arcs of sun-bleached bone curved some thirty or forty feet into the air. 

  “Wheeeew.” whistled Duor. “Yeah, we’re not takin’ those home, hairfoot.”

  The sea priestess brought the boat into a small cove, where the boned causeway met the main island. The waves and wind were still rising and a drizzling rain had begun to fall. Thankfully, the cove was somewhat protected and Trihna was able to guide the shallow boat fairly close into shore. Braddok, Coerraine and Erevan helped drag the ship up onto the beach and further secured it with rope to a tree at the beach’s edge.

  Everyone disembarked and began to unload. Erevan found what seemed like a good place to camp up a small embankment within the woods where they would have some protection from the elements and could still keep an eye on the boat.

  As the elf made his way back to the where the others were gathering up their supplies, he saw the large round shadow beneath the waves and the first set of black beady eyes break the water’s surface. Then another. Then another. A rumble of thunder sounded just overhead.

  “CRABS!” Erevan shouted to his companions as he bolted for the boat, drawing an arrow as he ran.

  The others gathered up their packs and looked alarmedly toward the water’s edge. One. Then two. Then four of the giant blue-clawed creatures came scuttling from the ocean heading straight for the boat.


----------



## steeldragons

An arrow and then two bounced off of blue-green shells, one splintering in the process.

  “Move!” commanded Braddok. Alaria did not take exception and began running, as best she could on loose sand, towards the embankment.

  She passed Erevan as he nocked another arrow and moved up the sloping ground to the tree’s edge.

  Alaria turned to see Trihna moving next to her. “Can’t you do something? These are ocean dwellers, aren’t they?” The priestess nodded. She stopped running and turned to face the oncoming crustaceans.

  The blue-robed priestess of the sea goddess raised her arms and chanted in the ancient Selurian tongue of divine magics. <_casts: Animal Friendship, allowed for priests of Tyris on sea creatures only_> A calm wave of bluish energy rose and ebbed from her hands. “Back to the sea with you, soldiers of Tyris. The Lady awaits you in her depths.”


  The crab nearing her and Erevan paused for a second then continued to trudge towards them, its serrated pincers clanked menacingly.

  Trihna stood agape for a moment and turned to Erevan. The elf looked at her in surprise. “It didn’t work? Something is not right.” said the priestess, fear evident in her voice. 

  “Get back.” Erevan commanded as he fired an arrow at the advancing crab and swiftly drew his elegant long sword. Trihna and the elf made for the embankment.

  Duor and Haelan were moving with much difficulty through the sand quickly caking in the increasing drizzle. They were being overtaken by one of the crabs moving sideways on their flank. Haelan stopped and turned to face the creature while the dwarf continued to make for the hoped-for protection of the trees.

  Braddok and Coerraine, covering everyone’s retreat, backed away slowly as two of the creatures were practically upon them.

  Coerraine readied his weapon and focused his mind to look at these creatures of nature with his god-gifted vision.

  Braddok was surprised to see a faint golden glow shine from the young Goldshield’s eyes. 

  “There’s a dark presence surrounding these beasts. Like a yoke of evil upon them.” said the paladin. 

  “Great.” retorted Braddok, “Now I can feel morally justified while I kick this thing’s shell.” Braddok took a swing at the nearest crab. His swing was more intended to keep the giant clawed monster at bay than any hopes of actual damage. It did little to deter the crab.

  The beast’s larger claw struck forward, snapping inches from Braddok. The fighter deflected the smaller claw with his blade. The clang of the blow rang across the beach.

  Coerraine caught the second crab’s giant claw on his shield and the smaller claw gripped the Redstar Knight’s spear like a vice. Coerraine pulled with all of his might but was unable to dislodge his weapon. He released the spear and backed away, unsheathing his sword.

  Haelan took a deep gouge from the sharp small claw. Moving through the pain, he managed to dodge as the large armored claw slammed into the wet sand with crushing force. 

  Duor climbed the embankment at the edge of the trees and turned to stand next to Alaria who was viewing the battleground with furrowed brow. 



A rumble of thunder sounded through the heavens.


“Higher ground at least.” said the dwarf hoping to lighten the situation. “Any ideas, boss-lady?”


  “Just one.” said the young wizardess. She yelled across the beach. “Braddok. Coerraine. Fall back! I need you here!”

  Her “order” was muffled by the rising wind, the crashing surf and rain pattering into the sand. But Braddok heard part of it and turned to see Alaria and Duor waving them back to the treeline. Trihna was almost there. Erevan had diverted his retreat to grab Haelan. 

  The elf was able to move with his usual fleet-footedness across the packed sand, able to stay well ahead of the crab pursuing him. For his selfless action, Erevan received a stabbing jab from the crab attacking the halfling. Haelan was clocked with the back side of the large claw and sent flailing but Erevan half-helped half-pulled him up and the two, bleeding, shot towards the trees.  

  “We need to fall back.” Braddok called over the rain and wind to Coerraine.

  The paladin seemed not to hear him. In fact, he seemed not to be fighting either. The Redstar Knight’s sword was being clasped in his hands, point down. His eyes closed as water streaked down his serene face, his golden locks matted and dripping.

  What was he doing?! thought Braddok. The warrior turned in panic to see both of the giant crabs preparing to attack. “Come on!” shouted the warrior. 

  A golden glow surrounded the holy warrior and then Braddok noticed he too was briefly surrounded by a slim aura of yellow light. <_cast: Protection from Evil 10’ radius, a special ability of the Redstar Knights_>

  Braddok tackled the paladin, knocking them both back several feet as the crab’s claws snapped and crashed into the sand where the paladin and swordsman had stood moments before. Coerraine, eyes now open, gave Braddok and thankful smile and the two scrambled to make their way to the embankment.

  “Oh, bollux.” muttered Braddok when he noticed the other two crabs scuttled between them and the treeline. Thankfully their attention was on the company members by the trees.

  Alaria stood at the forefront of the embankment, watching Coerraine and Braddok, the two crabs behind them, the two before her moving closer and closer to the embankment. She needed to make sure the fighters were within range of her spell.


One of the crabs reached up the embankment, its pincer snapping very near her leg.

  Too close, she thought. It had to be good enough.

  She centered her mind and felt the power rising around her. Even in the wind and rain, Alaria noted the distinct tingle of arcane energy charging the air as the archaic words of power escaped her lips. She raised her arm, fingers outstretched, towards the dark-haired warrior.

  Braddok halted abruptly in his tracks. He looked down at himself as he felt himself tingle all over as if every hair on his body were sticking straight out and then…pulling? He felt as if he were taking an extended morning stretch, but all over…his legs, his shoulders, his back. He saw the ground moving…away from him? Coerraine also had stopped running and was looking…up at the swordsman. The giant crabs now appeared half their size.

  As the tingling subsided, Braddok was staring dumbstruck at Alaria directly across the beach up on the embankment, eye-to-eye. The R’Hathi wizardess smirked at him as he realized she had turned him into a giant! 

  Her smirk disappeared into an annoyed scowl looking at the crab reaching for her as she backed away from the embankment’s edge. “Well?! Get rid of them. Hurry, the spell won’t last long.” Alaria called.

  Braddok smirked back and reached for the crab nearest the mage. It was weighty but not heavy. With a great heave he chucked the spiny-shell creature back into the sea. It landed in a loud smacking splash. The other crab, which had had its back to the warrior, received a quick stab with a giant blade skewering it with a loud crack followed by an inhuman squeal, audible above the increasing storm. A simple flip of his sword flung the mortally wounded creature even further than he’d thrown the first one.

  Braddok laughed loudly and his voice boomed through the pelting rain. He took a step towards the two crabs that had been behind them. The giant creatures still snapped and pinched but were backing toward the water’s edge, away from the now very large man with a wicked smile on his face.

  Braddok kicked one of the them which flipped like a tossed coin back into the cove waters as the last of the creatures scuttled itself back into the waves and disappeared not a moment before Braddok returned to his normal size.

  Coerraine and Braddok joined their fellows. Haelan was agog as Trihna tended to his wound. “That was AMAZING, Braddok! You were all 'WING' n' 'JAB' and they were just 'SPLOOSH' n' "SPLAT'!" he made grandiose exploding and crunching noises and motions with his arms as the sea priestess attempted to still the halfling while her spell of healing took effect. "Alaria, can you make me big too?!”

  Braddok smiled broadly and said to the wizardess, “That was pretty fun. Nice trick. Little warning next time though.” 

  Alaria crossed her arms with a ‘humph’. “You’re welcome.” she said with mock disapproval. 

  Braddok, still smiling, “You’re right. Thank you.” He said with a wink. Then he moved into the trees a bit with the rest of them, seeking someplace to drip dry out of the assaulting rain.

  Alaria felt the heat of a blush rise in her cheeks. Must be catching a cold from this dismal weather, she thought to herself.


----------



## steeldragons

The party huddled on a mostly dry patch a short way into the trees from the beach. They could easily keep a watch on the boat. Through the stormy evening and into the night they kept a cautious watch, but the crabs did not return. Shortly passed midnight, the storm had ceased and the sky was alight with the stars of the late summer.

  Morning came without incident and the group ate a quick breakfast of eggs (hastily retrieved from the supplies still on the ship) and some salt bacon Haelan had picked up in Shoal. Alaria studied her spellbook apart from the others, not listening or interested in their casual conversation. She sipped the spiced R’Hathi blended tea from a simple wooden cup Haelan had brought her. The sounds of sea birds echoed clear through the brightening morning air.

  Alaria finished her morning’s study, she closed the book with a thud. “Ok, let’s get going.” She turned to Trihna, “Where do we begin, Trihna? Tidemaster Kama said you could find the pearl.”

  The Tyrisian cleric stood silently and from one of the pouches on her belt drew a small orb of glass or crystal. “When we are closer, I have a spell that shall direct us, but for now, this should do.” Trihna held the orb aloft, and pointed it at their boat.

  Alaria and Haelan moved closer to get a better look at the obviously magical item. The orb seemed about half filled with a clear liquid. Water, Alaria supposed. Then slowly, Waverider Trihna turned clockwise. As she moved toward the north, the orb began to emit a soft blue light. The light grew stronger as she faced directly north and then quickly began to fade as she continued to turn toward the east. When she moved it back toward the north, the intensity of the light returned.

  She put the orb back in its pouch. “That way.” Trihna pointed north.

  The group gathered up their supplies, enough for the day and began marching north. The woods were vibrant and green. Sounds of animals and birds squaked or scurried through the underbrush from time to time. They kept the beach on their left as much as they could, but the land soon began to rise and take view of the Whitegull  Bay and the mainland beyond became less frequent between the thick foliage.

  By midday, the group was very tired from the late summer heat and humidity. Alaria, in particular, was extremely uncomfortable. Braddok and Haelan were both drenched by sweat in their chainmail shirts, but Coerraine also bore partial plating on his armor. The young knight, though in obvious discomfort, did not murmur a word of complaint.  

  “If I may.” offered Trihna. After a short prayer to the sea goddess, Trihna rested her hand on each armored party member. Her touch was like a breeze from the sea, itself. Immediately, Haelan, Braddok and Coerraine felt much cooler and refreshed.

  Alaria took a draught of her waterskin with the Pure Water given to them by Tidemaster Kama. This took the edge off the heat for her. Duor, Erevan, then everyone else did the same.

  Shortly after, they came to an open glade where they decided to break for lunch. They kept to what little relief the shade at the edge of the clearing could provide. From the break in the trees, the group could see two high steep mountains each curved inward towards the other. They were lush and green on their outer sides. The inner parts were more sparcely vegetated. Not so tall as to rise above a treeline, they were mountains nonetheless. Duor commented on the curious formations, “Dragon bones, giant crabs and curvy mountains. This place just gets weirder.” The dwarf paused. “Let’s just find this pearl and get outta here.”  

  After some fruit, cheese, the golden bread made by Dartha, and much more Pure Water, the party felt rejuvenated. Trihna took out her orb again and found they still needed to head north almost directly towards the space between the two mountains.

   The party had continued on about an hour when Haelan noticed several large birds winding lazily through the afternoon sky high above and before them. He pointed them out to the others.

  “Erevan, can your elvish eyes make out what kinds of birds those are?” the halfling priest asked.

  Coerraine and Alaria shielded their eyes from the sun to try to identify the birds, but they were just silhouettes to the humans’ eyes. Erevan glanced up.

  “What do you see, point-ear?” Duor asked tentatively.

  “They appear to be akin to the great tumicyr _<elvish: carrion birds, literally “birds of death”>_ of the mountains. Like your…’buz-sards’, you call them?” Then Erevan’s head tilted ever so slightly. His right eyebrow rose.

  Duor had spent enough time with the elf to realize that the “eyebrow-thing” was not a good sign.

  “We should find cover.” Erevan said plainly.

  Then there was the screech. Everyone covered their ears against the horrid shriek, but the sound bombarded the mind through gauntlet and glove. It wasn’t until too late they realized it had come from behind them.

  Braddok, Trihna and Erevan dropped to their knees from the pain of the sonic attack. Duor reeled to see the creature diving at them. The dwarf rogue half-fell half-dove into some bushes.

  Alaria turned to see the talons tear into Haelan’s mailed shoulders. The halfling screamed in pain. The almost human-sized bird was no bird at all, but had the upper body of a beautiful woman with golden hair, dirty gold and brown feathered wings tipped in black and huge black curved talons like an eagle’s. She glared at Alaria with a taunting smile before opening her mouth wide to let cry another of her shrieking calls. This one was different than the first.

  Haelan, stunned by the initial attack, put up no resistance as the harpy flapped her massive wings and with very little effort, lifted the halfling from the ground and headed west.


----------



## steeldragons

“Erevan!” shouted Alaria, “It has Haelan!” her hand tentatively went to the scroll case which held along with her scrolls, the wand given her by her mentor, the wizard Ventior.

  Before she could draw it, the wizardess noted the dark shapes of the two large carrion birds were getting larger, heading straight for their position. “Manat’s star!” Alaria thought. The birds were huge and getting larger. They appeared as huge vultures with collars of frilled white feathers and horned crests. Great condors, Alaria realized. She’d seen one at the Menagerie in Ablidon in childhood. “Take cover! The birds are coming for us.” Alaria warned.

  Erevan, ears still rang from the harpy’s initial attack but let fly two bolts from his bow at the retreating creature carrying off the halfling. One struck, winging it. The abductor faltered but didn’t fall from the sky, simply flying lower and soon out of Erevan’s range.

  Alaria and Trihna helped Braddok and Coerraine to their feet and the party hurried beneath the thick cover of the surrounding woods as the condor’s shrieks pierced the afternoon.

  “Hurry. Before we lose her.” Erevan commanded and took off in the direction he’d last seen the harpy.

  Alaria attempted to follow but the elf was much swifter in the thick underbrush. Her eyes shifting skyward every so often to see if the great winged birds of prey were upon them. In the occasional breaks in the treetops, she didn’t notice them.

  Braddok and Coerraine, now aware that their hair-footed companion had been taken from them, gave chase after the elf. Trihna, Alaria and Duor kept up as best they could.

  A short distance later, the group reassembled at the edge of the wood. The forest ended abruptly at the edge of the great rock promontory they’d seen from their approach in the boat. Before them was a wide, long, and slightly inclined expanse of solid stone. No trees or vegetation beyond a few clumps of intrepid weeds. No cover to speak of. No harpy or condors in sight.

  Then, Erevan heard the flapping of wings and saw the edge of the harpy momentarily off the side of the cliff. Then it disappeared. After several moments he heard and saw no more.

  “There!” pointed Erevan. “There must be a ledge or cave in the cliff where the creature lairs.”  

  “We can’t go out there.” Said Trihna, still winded from their chase. “Those vultures will tear us apart. Did you see the size of them?”

  “I’m with…the Wavemaster.” Panted Duor, bent over.

  “Waverider.” Said Trihna. Duor waved a hand in a mock flourish, still gasping for air.

  “We don’t seem to have much choice.” said Coerraine. “Our brother-in-arms needs us.” He looked to Alaria. The young Redstar Knight was ever aware of the chain of command. As far as he was concerned, Alaria was still his superior. 

  “Any tricks up those sleeves, boss lady?” Duor input.

  As Alaria struggled to formulate a plan, the leaves in the branches above them roared as a shadow passed quickly over them and then the huge shape of one of the great condors soared out over the long promontory. Its shriek pierced the sky as it circled low for a moment and then lazily floated high out over the sea before circling back.



  Haelan struggled to stay conscious through the pain of the talons tearing into his shoulder. The haze of green passed in a blur beneath him. His slightly oversized helmet had been lost in his abduction and the wind torn through his hair. He looked up once and quickly looked away when he saw the harpy’s voluptuous breasts just above him. He blushed despite himself. 

  “This would be an exhilarating experience,” the halfling priest supposed, “if I weren’t about to die.” 

  Haelan gave a moment’s thought to using the pinecone-headed mace that still hung on his belt. He thought better of it considering the drop.

  The blur of green became a blur of grey and then the blue green of the sea. Haelan’s stomach nearly leapt into his throat as his winged abductor dropped what must have been tens of feet in midair. He flinched at the renewed pain of the jolt as the harpy came to an abrupt halt and lifted slightly as she turned to face a great cliff face.

  At first, Haelan surmised he was to be tossed upon the rocks, like he'd seen seabirds do with crabs or clams. Then, he noticed the opening in the great natural wall of rock. He saw two others as they approached.

  Haelan was still several feet from the cliff when he was hurled by his captor straight at one of the openings. He landed within the cave with a clanking thud and tumbled uncontrollably down a passage coming to rest in a large open chamber.


Battered, bruised and bleeding from the rents in his shoulders, the halfling was just able to right himself as the harpy swooped in effortlessly in the passage he’d just rolled through. A hurried attempt to stand led to a dizzied collapse to his hands and knees but the cleric still managed to get a grip on his mace.

  Before he could say anything, the harpy let out two sharp notes and heard a series of similar short shrieks from elsewhere. It was then he noticed the two other passages leading off into darkness to either side of the one his abductor now blocked.

  The harpy merely held her ground and smirked. 

  Haelan knew he had limited time. He was in no condition to take on this creature and might well expire before he had the chance. His mind raced with options. Surely his companions would be coming for him…he just needed some time.

  “Stay back!” Haelan pronounced, wearily holding his mace out towards the harpy.

  The bird-woman let out a sharp cackle which was soon joined by cooing giggles around him. To Haelan’s horror, from the other two passages, two other harpy’s hopped into view.

  “Here now, Grizzelda. What have you brought us?” said the one to the left. She looked similar to the harpy who had brought him here but was slightly smaller with darker hair and plumage. Same color as Alaria’s hair, Haelan thought, in spite of himself.

  “She’s brought a Hilltender of Faerantha, evil one. The Harvest Mother will not stand for this affront.” Haelan said with all of the bravado he could muster, which he realized was not much. 

  Another round of cackling giggles filled the chamber.

  “Oooo. A feisty one. I do like them feisty.” The voice came from his right where the third harpy leaned forward with a bright expectant smile. This one’s plumage and hair had a rusty red tint to it. “But really, Grizzelda.” the red-headed harpy backed abruptly. A look of disappointment crossed her lovely face. “It’ll hardly make a bite for each of us. And I am so tired of goblin.”

  “Goblin?!” Haelan spat with surprise and indignation.

  “Oh, this is no goblin, Shireen.” Said Grizzelda. Her gaze did not waver from her prey. “This, dear sisters, is vaaria. A might more hairy than goblin, but sooo juicy and sweet.”

  “Vaaria!” announced the dark-haired harpy with glee. “I haven’t had vaaria in ages!” She clapped her clawed hands together in a manner of a child at Yuletide. “Can I have a leg, Grizzelda? Can I, pleeeease?” the dark-haired harpy asked pleadingly.

  “You’ll have none!” Haelan said in determined horror. He slammed his mace into the cavern floor and shouted a prayer to Faerantha. A ring of silver light burst into sight around the halfling priest and he nearly collapsed from the effort.

  “AAGH!” shrieked Shireen. “What’s it doing?!”

  Grizzelda lunged forward, arms outstretched only to be stopped by the invisible barrier in a shower of silver sparks. 

  The dark-haired harpy shrieked in dismay. “It knows magic, Grizzelda?! You brought a mage into our lair!”

  Grizzelda stood very near the barrier’s edge. She cautiously extended a long-taloned finger. A small white light sparked at its touch. “Pah!” spat the senior harpy. “It is no mage. A priest of their ‘nature mother…’” She gave Haelan a sidelong glance and spat with all intended insult “A weak one at that.” 

  Haelan glowered back at the harpy.

  “It is a small spell.” She raked the barrier with her whole hand. Silver sparks zapped again at the touch. “It doesn’t even hurt.” Grizzelda held out her hand for the others to view. Then she leaned her face as close as she dared and smiled a mouth full of horrid pointed teeth. “And…it will wear off soon enough.”

  Haelan centered himself and prayed for healing. He knew Grizzelda was right and he was in little shape to take on one of these creatures, let alone three. Just need a little more time for his companions to arrive. With a warm golden glow and the scent of honey filling his nose, Haelan felt the reinvigorating power of his goddess staunch his bleeding and mend his torn muscles.

  “ACK! He’s doing it again!” shrieked Shireen. At this point she fluttered and hopped back to the mouth of the passage from which she’d emerged, obviously disquieted.

  “Be still!” chirped Grizzelda. “It is nothing. He’ll be ours soon enough. The fear and desperation shall only make him all the sweeter.” With that, the elder harpy hopped back to the passage through which Haelan had been thrown. 

  “Come, sisters. The vaaria had friends. There was an elf and huuuuman mennnn.” Haelan shuddered to see Grizzelda lick her lips in apparent ecstasy at the very thought of his companions.

  “Men?!” Shireen perked, hopping forward again.

  “HUMAN men?” the dark-haired harpy was clapping again and hopping in place. This harpy also ruffled her feathers in excitement. “Why didn’t you say that sooner? What are we wasting time on this tidbit for?”

  “Calm yourself, Estraytha.” Grizzelda ordered. “We must be cautious. These men are armed and obvious warriors. I saw them land on the southern beach in the storm last night. They fought off the giant crabs. And one of their companions is a _real_ wizard. Their capture shall require some…thought.”

  “Oh Grizzelda. You are too cautious. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a human man to play with?” Estraytha mumbled in obvious disappointment.

  “No matter!” shrieked Grizzelda, obviously at the end of her patience. She perked as the sound of a great bird’s call echoed down into the lair.

  Haelan assumed it must have come from one of the giant birds they’d seen before the harpy’s attack.

  “Ah. They’ve arrived.” Grizzelda turned to the out-of-reach halfling. “That was sooner than I expected.” Turning back to the entry passage the senior harpy barked her orders. “Come, Shireen. Estraytha, stay here and guard him.”

  “Stay here?!? But Grizzel…” Estraytha protested.

  “Guard him!” commanded the senior harpy. The feathers on her neck and wings bristled and if Haelan had not feared the sinister thing before, he certainly did now. “And there’d better be at least a leg left for me when we return with the others. Come, Shireen.” With that Grizzelda hopped up the passage and took flight. The red-headed Shireen hopped after her and shot her sister an apologetic shrug before taking wing.

  Estraytha folded her arms in a huff and scowled at the daelvar priest. Haelan offered another sympathetic shrug and bright smile.

  “Humph.” Muttered Estraytha and turned to scowl at the passageway.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


----------



## Tamlyn

SteelDragons, not sure where this SH went, but I've been enjoying it and am looking forward to more.


----------



## steeldragons

Thanks very much Tamlyn. 

I was beginning to wonder if anyone actually ever read it. 

Not to worry, Alaria, Braddok, Haelan and the gang are all still troppin' along...I just have to catch up.

As for the lack of updates, I'm afraid that is entirely my dropped ball. Just the holidays and "life stuff" distracting me. Very sorry about that.

I will definitely be getting back to it. Sooner now that I know someone wants to read it. haha. Possibly later today, actually...I might have some time. 

Thanks for the encouragement.

--Steel Dragons


----------



## steeldragons

Apologies to all for the lag time. I will endeavor to be more regular in my postings from here on out. For those unfamiliar, a brief synopsis:

*The Party:*
*Alaria Staver* is a wizardess from “the Mage Lands” of R’Hath. She has just recently come to the Orea mainland on a final errand for her mentor before being freed from her apprenticeship to him. Alaria is the de facto leader of the party as the rest of the group is employed as her escort to aid in completing her quest. She is intelligent and exacting if sometimes impatient and might appear at times a bit shallow. As most R’Hathi, Alaria views the use of magic (and those who use it) to be highly superior to those who do/can not. Alaria is also a woman of obvious beauty.

*Braddok Eth Barforth *is a swordsman from the far western realm of Denil. He sees himself as the party leader, considering most of the group to be “his band” who has been hired by Alara. A capable warrior with formal training and experience, Braddok still likes to use his head before his sword. He also has something of crush on Alaria. 

*Haelan Spurthistle* is a “Hilltender” (cleric) of the halfling primary goddess, Faerantha. He is kind, courteous, a bit too innocent and almost always in a chipper good mood. Despite the danger, he is thoroughly enjoying his first venture into the wilds beyond his homeland and views the other party members as true friends (despite the fact they’ve known each other for little more than a week).

*Erevan*is an elf of the Miralosta nation who came to the primarily human Freelands seeking adventure. He has his people’s uncanny skill with sword and bow as well as schooled in the practice of magic. He’s been putting his elvin stealth and woodcraft talents to use as the party scout during their travels. Erevan met Braddok and Haelan shortly after his arrival in the city of Hawkview, where the group met and was hired by Alaria. 

*Duor Darkesmythe* is a dwarf and thief whose place in the party came as something of a accident. A failed attempt to enter Hawkview’s thieves’ guild, the Dusk, led to a confrontation wherein the party came to Duor’s rescue (Duor also saved Alaria’s life during that same combat). An offer from Alaria to accompany them out of the city (not to mention promise of payment) was eagerly accepted.

*“Goldshield” Coerraine* is a paladin belonging to the order of the Redstar Knights, a branch of the temple of Celradorn god of battle and guardianship. The handsome young blond hails from the southern kingdom of Mostrial but was stationed by his order to Celradorn’s temple in Hawkview. Coerraine was then assigned by the high priest (as a favor to the mage guild’s magister) to accompany and, as his rank of “Goldshield” demands, guard and protect Alaria on her mission. He is every bit the honorable and dutiful paladin and devout to the tenets of courage and justice of his order.

  Also with the party is *Waverider Trihna* (NPC). She is a priestess of the sea goddess, Tyris, from the temple in the seaside village  of Shoal. Tirhna was sent with the party by her superior, Tidemaster Kama, to guide and aid them in the retrieval of a sacred Tyrisian artifact from Dragonbone Isle.  

*The Story thus far:* Alaria traveled to the mainland port city of Hawkview upon her “release” from her tutelage/apprenticeship in the arts of magic. Delivering her message to the guild magister, Kurklani, she then found out that her package was to be delivered to an associate in the hamlet of Welford, a solid two weeks north of the city. Crestfallen that her life of freedom was further away than she’d thought, Alaria hired Braddok, Haelan and Erevan to accompany her on her mission. The four encountered (and rescued) the dwarf Duor. With the addition of the Redstar Knight, Coerraine, the band of six began their journey.

  After a week of travel in the wild (including avoiding a rather large warband of goblins) they came to the seaside village of Shoal to rest and resupply. There they met Tidemaster Kama, who oddly enough was expecting them and beseeched the party to aid the temple in the retrieve of a lost artifact and investigate/defend the village from alleged evil forces “returning” to the surrounding seas. 

  Sailing with the Waverider, Trihna, to Dragonbone Isle, the party battled with giant crabs before camping down in the midst of a late summer storm. The following day, beginning their exploration of the island in earnest, the party was ambushed by a powerful harpy who abducted the halfling priest, Haelan. They gave chase and tracked the foul fowl foe to a large broad cliff-sided promontory where the harpy (and unbeknownst to the party, her two sisters) laired.

  Now, they must rescue their stalwart hair-footed companion.

  Let’s see how this goes...
  --Steel Dragons
  ----------------------------------------------------------

  The party watched as the great condor let out a piercing cry as it circled back over the promontory. 

  “We need a distraction.”, said Braddok. “We can’t take those giant birds and the harpy and there’s no way we’re getting down the side of that cliff with them circling overhead.” 

  Alaria furrowed her delicate brow at the obvious statement and found herself moreso annoyed at her inability to come up with one.

  Duor, to everyone’s surprise, suggested he climb out across the side of the cliff face from their current position. All bravery and appreciation aside, Alaria thought the idea much too risky.

  As they debated their options more, shrieking cackles filled the air as not just the large harpy with black-tipped pinions they had followed flew up over the edge of the cliff, but a second harpy, this one with rusty reddish plumage and hair, appeared as well.

  They flapped vigorously holding position in midair as the larger of the two pointed to their position. The red-head smiled broadly and clapped her talonned hands as she alit on the broad rocky expanse before them.

  “That’s that then.”, said Braddok and charged out of the woods edge with a throaty battlecry. He heard Coerraine’s clanking charge close behind him.

  An arrow, then two whizzed past him as Braddok ran. The harpy shrieked in surprise as one grazed her milky smooth arm to leave a bright crimson streak.

  “That wasn’t nice!” cooed the harpy Shireen. Her lovely face seemed to twist into a visage of ugly anger. She drew in a deep breadth.

  Alaria and Duor braced for one of the creature’s sonic screeches they had encountered not long before.

  What came out of the harpy’s mouth, however, was no screech at all but a voice of pure gold. Lilting notes rose and fell and soared in a melodic beauty.

  Braddok and Coerraine both slowed their charge and eventually came to a halt just before the creature.

  The larger harpy, still in flight cackled in a gleeful victory.

  It was then Alaria recalled from her studies that harpy’s had a unique ability to charm men and delighted in doing so…invariably to the men’s doom. “Duor, quickly, you must stop her singing!” the magess ordered to the dwarf beside her.

  Duor made no move nor under-his-breath remark. He just stood there, statuesque, staring at the singing harpy. “Orcass.” muttered Alaria. “Erevan?” she turned to the elf who was in the process of firing off another round of his well-placed bolts at the other harpy. “At least I have one protector left,” she thought. 

  “Ooooo! Grizelda, you didn’t say they were so hannndsome. I can’t even choose which one is more delicious.” The red-headed harpy chirped.

  “Later for that, you featherbrain! The others! Send them to destroy the others!” Grizelda commanded. “AAHHK!” Another of Erevan’s arrows caught Grizelda in her shoulder and the large harpy was forced to land. “Flay the elf!” she shouted to her sister.

  “Oh! Right. Sorry Grizelda.” Shireen apologized. “Boys. Those nasty people in the trees are going to hurt me. You don’t want them to hurt me do you?” She brushed up against Braddok and gently rubbed a taloned hand over Corraine’s broad chest. “Would you be a couple of dears and go slay them for me?”

  Braddok and Coerraine, without a word, turned and began to march back toward their companions in the treeline. Determination showed clearly on their faces.

  “Oh and bring me the elf’s ears for a nibble, would you darlings?” called Shireen as an afterthought and then burst in a cackling chirping laugh.

  Grizelda turned her head to the sky and let out another shriek. It was obvious the giant condor was under the harpy’s control and turned immediately at her call to dive towards the treeline. 

  “Trihna, take cover! We must save the men!” shouted Alaria and grabbed Duor by the hood of his cloak and pulled him back with her behind one of the trees. She glanced over to where the sea priestess stood. Trihna’s eyes stared at the approaching warriors, her lips repeated a chant that Alaria could not quite hear.

  Suddenly, a hot pain tore through Alaria’s right arm. Duor had drawn his dagger and slashed her. The magess cried out and backed away from the ensorcelled rogue. She turned to see she was being herded out of the treeline and closer to the warriors. Before her, Duor pressed forward, dagger in hand dripping with the fresh blood of the R’Hathi wizardess. In the back of her mind, she imaged any second she would feel talons fall on her from above. “Forgive me, Duor, but you are not yourself…_YEX!_” 

  The magic flowed freely from Alaria’s outstretched arm and a momentary flash of light dazzled the dwarf. Alaria took the moment to hurry over to Trihna’s side and caught the end of whatever the priestess had been chanting. It was definitely something in the Selurian tongue of priestly magics and with the final syllable, Trihna brought her fist down into her other open palm in a forceful motion.

  With that Coerraine stopped in his tracks, and blinked a few times. Braddok continued towards the women, raising his sword. Still confused, but going on instinct, the Goldshield quickly positioned himself between Braddok and the women in time to catch Braddok’s sword on his shield. 

  A scream from above drew Alaria’s attention where she was shocked to see the condor’s dive disrupted by another of its kind. With the arrival of the harpies, Alaria had forgotten there were originally two of the giant birds of prey.

  The new arrival let out its own shrieks and buffeted the other bird with is massive wings. Alaria could hardly believe her eyes when she noticed the second bird had…a rider? A figure in a green colored cloak clung to the birds back. He or she stood out against the great bird’s dark feathers. 

  The harpy, Grizelda, let out more of the screeching commands to the condor she had been controlling. Shireen, no longer laughing since her hold over the paladin had been broken, was shouting commands to Braddok. 

  Erevan saw his moment and let another barrage of arrows fly at the larger of the bird-women. Both bolts struck, with one piercing the creature’s throat.

  Grizelda looked to the elf with utter shock and utter hate. She opened her sharp-toothed mouth what looked impossibly wide. No sound came forth but a whistling wheeze. So, with a wheeze and a thud on the rocky promontory, the eldest harpy sister met her end. 

  Seeing Grizelda fall, Shireen let out a scream of absolute grief. The piercing tone filled the air and again everyone in the group, included the enchanted Braddok, was forced to cover their ears.

  “You killed my sister!” the red-headed harpy screeched at Erevan and made a lunge in the elf’s direction.

  In a blur, Duor stood before Erevan, his hand crossbow trained on the attacking creature. “Ah ah ah there, red.”, the dwarf said. “You’ve seen what these arrows can do. Wouldn’t want to end up like your friend, there.”

  Shireen halted her attack. Her lips curled into a sneer at the dwarf’s threat. Her tear filled eyes darted to where the rest of the group stood watching her. In the sky, the battling condors had fled when she had keened. Her wail had broken her control over Braddok and the whole party, unscathed, faced her.

  “I’d listen to him.”, came a voice from behind the harpy.

  Shireen whirled around (as did the party) to see a red-haired youth in brown leathers and a greenish cloak leveling a spear at the creature.


----------



## steeldragons

A dark-haired and feathered, equally beautiful, harpy soared up over the cliffside, drawn forth by her sister’s shrieking wail of sorrow. At first a look of shocked horror was evident on her face. Then she took in the party surrounding Shireen. The harpy, Estraytha, smiled in spite of herself. She hovered, fluttering in place above Grizzelda’s body for a moment.

  “Oh bollux. Another one?!” said Duor.

  Alaria seconded the dwarf’s unorthodox swear.

  Erevan was equally disheartened though he would never use such a vile dwarven and human oath. He stepped forward beside Alaria, training an arrow on the latest arrival.

  “Wait. What? What’s going on here?” mumbled the befuddled Braddok, still recently shaken from his ensnaring of Shireen’s magical charms.

  Trihna moved gently to stand before the warrior to stand at the side of Coerraine.

  “Estraytha, they killed Grizzelda!” called Shireen, sorrow evident in her voice. Then she looked to the green-cloaked newcomer with sheer malice. The red-headed harpy’s words dripped with malevolence, “Release me, fire-head, or my sister will rend your pretty little body from limb to limb.”

  “I see, sister. Be still.” Said Estraytha. “Release her!” said the harpy nonchalantly as she alit beside her fallen sibling. “We will not fight you.”

  “Estraytha!” shrieked Shireen.

  “Be STILL!” commanded Estraytha, sounding very much as the recently deceased elder harpy. Shireen flinched and went silent.

  Alaria stepped forward, gathering the courage from where, she knew not. She leveled her staff towards the newest harpy and announced with all of the confidence she could muster, “Stand down, harpy. Return our companion to us or feel our wrath. Your sister was unfortunate to deny our request and you see how that turned out.”

  Estraytha gathered this was the wizard Grizzelda had mentioned earlier. She sized up the group…Eight strong and, while most were men, the two women and the elf had obviously been more than a match for her powerful elder and younger sisters…a magess and priestess no less…and who knew what the elf could do?

  “For three centuries we have been under my sister’s talon. The last of which, chained to this pathetic no account island. Feeding on crabs and fish," she spat"...and recently the occasional goblin. I am SICK of this place and would take wing to a more…enjoyable roost. 

  “We want no further quarrel with you. Your vaari is alive and, as yet, unharmed. Let him stay that way. Let us pass from here and you may collect him at your leisure. Engage us at your, and _his_, peril.”

  At this, Shireen was thoroughly confused. “But…but Estaytha…” she half chirped.

  Alaria was painfully evident that all eyes were on her. She paused to think…for a moment…

  “Milady, we cannot possibly allow…” Coerraine softly offered from behind her.

  “We seem to have little choice, Goldshield…for Haelan. He’d do no less for any of us.” Alaria replied. Raising her voice, again attempting to be confident and commanding though her insides quivered like so much Yuletime jelly, “We accept your truce. Duor, release the rust-feathered one.”

  Duor, in some surprise, but equally thankful, lowered his hand crossbow. The newcomer also lifted his spear.

  Shireen immediately lifted with a seemingly effortless wing and landed beside her remaining sibling.

  “Hahaaaa! FOOLS! Now we take them, right sister?” Malice dripped from her lovely lips.

  “No.” said the harpy Estraytha simply. “Now, we go.” And she took wing. 



Shireen followed, looking confused.


As they flew off towards the mainland in deepening evening sun, Estraytha seemed to explain to her bereft younger sister, “Let Tresahd and his claw-hands have his stupid little island. We are off for a real life…and real meat.” As they flew off, Estraytha turned and winked at Braddok. The warrior’s stomach turned.

  “Wait!” called Alaria, “Where is Haelan? Who is Tresahd? What do you know of the crabmen?”

  Estraytha paused a moment. She turned in mid-air and chirped a giggle. “You kill my sister and expect answers as well?” She let out a full bellied cackle. “You have iron tail feathers, magess. I’ll give you that! Your vaari is in our lair. Go claim him. As for the rest…the happenings of this island are,_ finally_, no longer of any concern to me.”

  With that, the two harpies lifted high out of range of any weapon or spell and soared off into the west.

  “Well,” offered Duor as the group watched them go, “That coulda gone worse.”

  As the dwarf casually watched the harpies continue out of view, the rest of the group turned to the green-cloaked stranger.

  There was a slight point to his ears and elegant slant to his deep brown eyes obviously betrayed some elvin blood. His firey red hair was cut short with a few strands falling casually just to his eyes. A similar strip of red scruffy whiskers ran from his bottom lip to engulf his strong chin. Brown leathers and green cloak that enwrapt a lithe toned frame.


It could now be seen that his cloak was clasped with the crescent moon set in a half-sun medallion of the Ancient Order. His spear, similarly, ended in the leaf-shaped blade that marked him, most definitely, as a druid of the Ancient Order of Mistwood.

  “Our thanks, master druid, for your much needed assistance.” Said Alaria.

  The red-haired half-elf made a deep bow to the magess, a charming smile on his face and twinkle in his eyes.

  “Tell us your name that we might properly thank you.” Offered Braddok, still unsure how this druid came to be among them.

  “My name, noble warrior, is Faeryl. But you may call me by my order’s given name, 'Fen.'”

  “Our thanks, Fen. Without your aid…” Alaria began.

  “No thanks are necessary. I saw your comrade taken by Grizzelda and followed to aid. Their evil, as you heard, has long afflicted this place, apparently. Longer than I knew. I hope their leaving will begin to return the isle to the balance I’ve been sent to reinstate.”

  Before more questions could be offered, the druid wandered over to the cliff’s edge and looked down to where the entrances to the harpies’ lair sat in the vertical stone, almost imperceptible from his vantage point. “Shall we retrieve your friend?”


----------



## thejc

Woot Woot keep bringing the SH goodness!


----------



## steeldragons

haha. Thanks for the XP and encouragement, thejc.

Hope you're enjoying it.

You keep up "the darkness within" too! I know how tough it is to be regular with the updates...obviously. 

"I must spread some experience around before..." 

(If you'll forgive borrowing the vague musical reference) Here's to the Story Hours who lunch! WOOT WOOT! lol.

--SD


----------



## steeldragons

“Haelan!” the voice of Alaria echoed down through rocky passage.

  The halfling priest had been scrambling through the harpy lair searching for an exit. He had breathed a prayer of thanks to Faerantha when his captor watcher had swiftly left him, not a moment before his protective spell flared and faded from existence, its magic spent. He only found one other chamber than the one he’d been held in. It contained a disheveled “nest” of feathers and scraps and bones he had not examined closely in his haste to locate an escape route. The other passage that the harpy, Estraytha, had entered through ended abruptly with an opening in the ceiling he couldn't possibly reach. He saw light filtering in from what must be one of the other cliff side openings he’d noticed at his arrival. But he couldn’t hope to climb up to it. Hearing his name, the Hilltender trotted back out to the opening he’d been tossed through by the wicked elder harpy, Grizzelda.

  As he cautiously neared the opening a rope dropped into his view.

  He poked his head out the opening and looked up with his typical broad smile. No less than twenty feet above he saw the faces of Braddok and Erevan…and someone else he didn’t recognize.

  “Bless the Hill Mother, I knew you’d come.” Haelan called up to his comrades. “Where…Where are the harpies? Is everyone ok?” he asked nervously.

  “They’ve left. You’re safe.” answered Braddok. “But hurry. Climb up.”

  Haelan turned to look down the cliff face to the swirling sea crashing on jagged rocks, easily sixty feet below. Feeling himself momentarily reel with vertigo, he backed a few steps from the opening. Placing his hand against the side of the passage to steady himself. Haelan let out a shakey breath. 

  “I think it better you come down here.” called out the halfling nervously.

  “Come down? Why? Is there treasure!?” came Duor’s voice in enthusiastic response.

  Haelan gulped and cautiously made his way to the opening, careful not to look down. “Um, well I don’t know as yet. But we should check, shouldn’t we?” Haelan half-smiled up at his rescuers. If nothing else, he hoped he could count on the dwarf’s apparent greed to get the company to come down.

  Erevan cocked his head and looked at Braddok with his typical confused elf look. Braddok didn’t notice. “Is there another way out of there?” the warrior called.

  “Well…” Haelan thought, “I don’t really know. There’s a passage I can’t get to. It _might_ lead out.” The priest mentally berated himself for his cowardice, but took confidence that he was telling the truth. He really_ didn’t_ know. “Might be treasure in there too. But I can’t get to it myself. I’d need wings…” at that moment it occurred to Haelan why there would be a passage in this lair that went straight up.

  Braddok let out an exasperated breath. “Come now, Haelan. We haven’t all day for this.”

  Duor, now partially visible beside the dark haired swordsman interjected, “But if there’s treasure, Braddok. We should check it out. I mean, really shouldn’t we? Maybe the pearl’s down‘ere.”

  Alaria, thought about this for a moment as she extended her arm, newly healed by Trihna. “The harpy did make it sound like they were bound here to watch something for this Tresahd.” Alaria weighed the option a moment longer. “Faeryl, er ‘Fen’, do you know anything about a Tresahd from your time here?” Alaria then realized she had no idea how long that had been. 

  The red-headed druid turned to the magess, “I’m sorry, lady. I have not. I have noted some suspicious comings and goings…specifically of goblins…Pirates by the looks of them.  No telling their names from my…observations. I was careful not to be seen.”

  “Goblin pirates?” questioned Coerraine. Erevan also looked at the druid with a questioning brow. Duor's mind did back flips at the thought. Where there's pirates, there's treasure!


  “Goblins?” called up Haelan. “The harpy’s mentioned something about goblins as they bickered before you arrived.”  

  “Alright.” said Alaria, “Braddok, do you think you can get down there?”

  “Be no trouble a’tall, boss lady.” perked up Duor. Whatever issues the dwarf had with sea travel, heights gave the rogue no pause. “Hold it tight, Braddok. I’ll go down.”

  “Erevan, do you think you can safely go as well?” Alaria asked. She was not about to dare such a death-defying climb.

  The elf shrugged and looked over the edge. His grace and balance unwavering. “Should be easy enough.” he replied.

  “Fine. Duor and Erevan go down and aid Haelan. Be quick. We cannot be sure the harpies, or their condor pets won’t return.” Alaria said.

  “Oh, they weren’t their pets. They were merely subject to the creature’s enchantment, like your warriors.” Fen offered. 

  Braddok shot the half-elf a disapproving look. Coerraine also frowned a bit at the newcomer.

  Noticing his apparent unintended insult, Fen quickly added, “I’ll be happy to make the climb also. I’ve never seen a harpy lair before.” he smiled.

  “The pearl is not there.” said Trihna make-of-factly. The priestess again held the directional orb in her hand. It very clearly glowed back to the north between the islands curved mountains.

  Braddok looked to Alaria. He wasn’t sure where this druid had come from or why he was there with them, but he knew he wasn’t going to trust any heathen stranger who apparently knew a bit about this vile island.

  “Very well. Your aid is, again, most welcome.” the magess conceded. “Make a quick search of the lair. Gather anything of value you can carry and help Haelan back up. We are running out of daylight and I’d like to get back on our appointed trail.”

  With Coerraine and Braddok securing the rope’s end the elf, half-elf and dwarf descended swiftly and joined Haelan in the harpy lair. Fen boosted Haelan up into the shaft while Duor easily found handholds and clambered up the stone walls on his own. Erevan went to explore the other chamber, trusting his companions to be able to take care of themselves with the mysterious newcomer.

  The nest of Shireen revealed no treasure or secrets. Some bones, a chipped rusty knife and scraps of substandard armor and filthy cloth, all obviously goblin in origin. As he returned to the passage with the shaft he noticed a momentary flicker of cool air to his left. Closer examination of the main chamber’s wall revealed a hidden door. A quick examination of the wall found the section of stone that turned to cause a section of the wall to slide to the side. The opening looked into another passage that descended further into the darkness of the promontory. Cool and damp but somewhat stale air wafted up from the opening. He could discern no sounds or motion coming up from the darkness, though the passage most definitely led down.

  “Not a bad haul, I suppose. Better’n none, eh?” Duor said offhandedly as he examined the jewel encrusted necklace he’d found in Estraytha’s chamber. The dwarf halfling and half-elf came wandering back out to the main chamber. “Few silvers too. Not so much to split, but I’ll just hold onto ‘em an’…Here now. What’s this?” the dwarf  stuck his head into the opening before the silent elf.

  “This is something we will not be entering without the others.” Erevan said plainly. 

  “Hmph.” The dwarf grumbled under his beard. Who put the point-ear in charge? Duor thought.

  “That must be the other lair.” said Fen.

  The other three turned to look at the half-elf with untrusting eyes.

  “There were three harpies. Were there not? We’ve found _two_ nests.” The druid pointed out innocently.

  “True. But the air does not carry the stench of these chambers.” Erevan observed.

  “How goes it?” Braddok’s voice sounded.

  Haelan trotted back to the opening and stopped a few steps back from the edge. “You all probably should come down here. We’ve found….something.” called the halfling cleric.

  Bollux, thought Braddok. We’re never going to get to finding this pearl.

  Alaria, too, seemed annoyed. But, she was left little choice but to trust her companions.

  With some difficulty and great care, the whole party eventually stood cramped in the none-too-large central chamber of the harpies’ lair. 

  A whispered syllable caused the end of Alaria’s staff to emit a soft golden light. Haelan, also, made a simple prayer and the pinecone-shaped head of his mace was surrounded in a honey-colored glow. Braddok and Coerraine readied their weapons. Erevan nocked an arrow and Duor reluctantly taking the lead, the party filed into and began to descend the narrow passage.  



--------------------------------

Next up, "Descent to the Depths of...something."


----------



## Murasame

*New Fav*

BUMP

Good Stuff!  Keep 'em coming!  ;3


----------



## steeldragons

The party descended into the darkness of the passageway leading into the heart of the rocky promontory. 

  Duor was especially careful as he led the rest of the companions down. His dwarven stone sense seemed to be telling him the passage was naturally made and sloped slightly and then more steeply into the dark rock. The air was cool and damp. It was a welcome change from the late summer heat they’d endured above ground. Duor was thoroughly more comfortable, though still alert, meandering through the stone.

  The whole party noted with a slight breeze of cool air the salty smell of the sea coming up the passage. Not long into their descent, the passageway bent and then a faint light could be seen at the end of the tunnel not far ahead. It was apparent the passage opened up about forty feet ahead and while still obviously dark, was receiving natural looking light from somewhere. The smell of the sea became accompanied by the occasional soft lapping of water.

  Before reaching the opening Duor halted the group. He gestured Haelan closer for more light and noted a tripwire across the passage’s floor.

  “Yep. We gotta trap ‘ere.” the dwarf announced quietly. “Good sign”, mused Duor, “Folks don’t use traps unless there’s somethin’ to protect.”

  With Haelan providing the light and Braddok leaning over the two smaller humanoids to watch, (the rest of the group backed up the passage to where it had bent) Duor ably severed the wire. For a second, then two, no one in the party moved a breath. After the fifth second, Duor declared the trap disarmed but still advised people step cautiously over where it had been.

  The passage came out onto a somewhat roomy ledge high up in a huge cavern within the island’s stone outcropping. They could see reasonably well by the rays of the quickly setting sun that illuminated a cave opening high on the wall on the other side of the broad open space. There was also light leaking in far below them to illuminate the “floor” of the cavern, which was almost entirely submerged. Waves could be heard crashing outside and rolled calmly into the cavern.

  There was no telling from their position and available light how deep the water was. To their right a narrow ledge continued to wind down the cavern wall to a small landing at the water’s edge. The sea occasionally splashed up onto that landing.

  “Looks like the whole cliff is hollow.” proclaimed Haelan.

  The ceiling of the cavern was shrouded in shadows from the party’s light sources and the eerie orange light of the late day sun streaming through the natural openings.

  To their left on the landing was another mound of feathers, bones and cloth like they’d found in the harpies’ lair above. This one contained a few actual pillows, though they too were filthy.

  Duor quickly bounded over to the nest and began a thorough search of any hidden contents. As he got close, the salty sea smell was overtaken by a rancid odor. It didn’t take long for the dwarf to notice a half-eaten goblin corpse stashed on the nest’s far side.


Duor held his breadth, crinkled his nose in disgust and continued his search. Haelan, nearby, continued to light the dwarf’s efforts. The halfling raised his free hand to his nose and exhaled in disgust.

  “That landing will be beneath water within the hour.” Trihna surmised by her well-trained knowledge of the local tides. 

  Alaria took in the whole scene. “There’s no way out for us there. How long until low tide?” the magess questioned the water priestess.

  “At it’s lowest? Shortly before dawn.”

  Coerraine and Erevan began to edge their way down towards the landing to get a better idea of the water’s depth and how far that landing might extend when less water filled the cavern. Trihna also accompanied the elf and knight.

  Braddok surveyed their surroundings. Once Duor confirmed there was nothing of worth on the goblin carcass, the fighter kicked the corpse off the ledge. It splooshed loudly, echoing throughout the cavern. Alaria gave the warrior a thoroughly annoyed look. “We might wish to rest here, Alaria. It has been a rather long day.”, Braddok offered.

  Alaria raised her staff up high to get as good a look at the cavern ceiling as she could. It appeared natural enough, full of deep crevasses and crags, stalactites of all sizes (some quite large) spotted the ceiling, but she could not fully see into the deeper recesses.

  “Huh. Look there.” muttered Fen offhandedly.

  Alaria went to stand near the druid and noticed what looked like the bottom of another outcropping from the cavern wall. It was about twenty feet off the side of their ledge and a good twenty or so feet up. 

  “Bollux.” grumbled Duor. “Don’t tell me there’s_ another _harpy.” 

  “One way to find out, master treasure hunter.” Braddok prodded.

  The dwarf mumbled something under his beard the warrior could not make out.

  The warrior securely tied their rope to the dwarf and Duor began his second cliff face climb of the afternoon, muttering dwarven oaths most of the way.

  Erevan, Coerraine and Trihna returned to the ledge. “It appears the ledge runs around the periphery of the cavern. When the waters recede a bit, we should be able to walk around the edge and out that cave opening on the other side. Trihna believes by morning the path will be clear.” Erevan reported.

  The young paladin came forward, “I have checked the cavern as far as the Golden Defender will allow. I sense no evil here, milady. I think Braddok’s suggestion is a good one. This may be as good a place as we can hope to find for a camp.”

  Alaria nodded her consent and dropped her pack against the cavern wall. “Haelan, gather me some of the nest materials for a fire….Besides, perhaps burning some of it will remove the creature’s stench.”

  The halfling priest cheerfully did as instructed, holding his breadth as he carried an armful of bundled twigs, dried grasses and leaves, cloth, and one of the more stained and unsalvagable of the pillows to near the center of the ledge.


"Shame" said the priest as he plopped it all down. His gaze downcast at the smudged and torn turquoise satin pillow ringed in bright green fringe, "Looks like that must have been quite nice in its time."


  Coerraine had set to removing the flint and steel from his tinderbox in his organized pack.

  Alaria swept a length of her dark brown hair from her face. With an exaggerated exhale and flick of a finger, a small tongue of flame shot into the mound which, despite the dampness of the air in the cavern, caught alight without a problem.

  “Feorn’s beard!” The cry from Duor echoed throughout the cavern. The exclamation shocked most of the party and several of them grabbed and readied weapons. Haelan and Alaria hurried to edge of the ledge to supply as much light as possible.

  The dwarf came into view at the edge of the ledge above the party. He wore a huge toothy smile parting his thick dark moustache and bearded jaw. Upon his head chains and bands of gold and silver shown in the mystical illumination. His hands glistened with coins and jewels dropping through his stumpy gloved fingers. “I LOVE this island!” 

  Braddok and Haelan also smiled broadly. Many of the party, save Trihna and Erevan expressed their pleasure at what appeared to be a large cache of treasure.

  “How’re we going to get it back over here?” the warrior wondered.

  Alaria thought for a moment. “How much is there? I could possibly bring some of it back with a spell…” but the magess was not sure how long that would take with the small handfuls of her simple _mage hand_ cantrip. “Also, remember, we need to be on the move tomorrow for Tidemaster Kama's  pearl. We can only afford to take on so much.”

  “No worries, boss lady. I’ll just camp up here tonight and keep it company.” The dwarf offered.

  “That will not be necessary, master dwarf.” Erevan offered with a subtly suspicious tone.

  Dang point-ear always out to ruin an honest dwarf’s fun, thought Duor.

  “If I may, Alaria?” the elegant elf in his deep violet overshirt neared the ledge’s edge. The intricate silver circlet he wore sparkled with the golden light of Alaria’s staff and the growing fire. He spread his arms before him and incanted, “_Seriz verik og theran._”<mage spell:_ Floating Disc_>

  Before the elf’s arms glimmered a disc of amber light the size of a small dinner plate. As the elf completed the simple spell, the disc spread and grew like an expanding puddle until it hovered before the elf’s outstretched arms, about five feet across. With a simple motion of his arms, the disc hovered smoothly up and over to the ledge where the dwarf stood looking decidedly unappreciative.

  “Excellent, Erevan. Well done!” applauded Haelan.

  “Indeed.” Agreed Alaria. “Duor, place as much as you can onto the disc. But stop when Erevan tells you!”

  “And be quick about it, if you please.” added Erevan. “I cannot maintain the conjuration for long.” 

  At the idea of not getting as much of the treasure as possible, Duor hopped to it. He used a well crafted small shield to shovel the loose coins and gems onto the disc. Thankfully, the harpy seemed to be somewhat organized and he had only to lug a small coffer and two medium sized sacks filled with loot.

  A particularly fine dagger with a emerald and gold threaded scabbard found its way into the folds of his cloak as did a small bag of gems. “No sense weighing the elf down more than necessary, afterall”, Duor thought to himself.

  Tossing the shield on top of the sacks. The dwarf nearly pounced off the ledge onto the mound of treasure before Erevan’s surprisingly worried voice called out.


“Duor NO! It is nearly too heavy for me. You cannot get on it also. I’ll send it back for you.” Seeing the apparent strain on the elf’s face, Duor elected not to utter the biting remark that leapt to his tongue.


"By all means, save the treasure!", Duor replied. "I can climb if I hafta."


  Erevan guided the disc back to the main ledge where the company quickly removed all of the contents and began a survey of the booty.


The elf, true to his word, guided the disc back to Duor and allowed the dwarf to ride it back. Erevan managed to force the disc of amber light to the end of the main ledge before it began to crack and splinter. Duor leapt to the security of stone beneath his feet just as the elf’s spell dispersed in a shattering flicker.

  Duor made his way, with eyes all agleam, to the pile of treasure. He plopped down, set the small coffer in his lap and set to examining the lock. 

  Alaria and Trihna took and interest in looking at the few non-monetary items and checked them for enchantment. Braddok was happily counting coins with the aid of Haelan. Coerraine, happy at the find but still mindful of his duties, kept a stoic watch over the water below them as the last light the day filtered out of the cavern and the band was left to their counting in the falling night.

  “Nicely done, master dwarf.” said the druid, Fen.

  “And you, master druid.” returned Duor, happily. “If you hadn’t noticed the ledge all of this bounty may have gone mournfully undiscovered.” The dwarf fiddled at the coffer’s lock with some small implements that had appeared from somewhere on his person.

  The druid bowed and smiled. “It is, truly, a regal haul. Let us hope this belonged to the harpies and not the pirates I’ve seen.” 

      Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at the half-elf as he turned and wandered down the narrow path where he crouched down and seemed to examine the water.

  Duor leaned over to Braddok and muttered under his beard, “Ya know…I’m really starting to dislike that guy.”


----------



## wolff96

I haven't caught up to current, but I'm really enjoying this story hour.  I like the writing style and the characters are fun.  

Just wanted to chime in with encouragement, since I'd like to see this story hour continue!


----------



## steeldragons

*Of Crabs & Fen*

The group was startled one more time in the fading light of the day as a large swarm of bats drops out of the ceiling. There was nothing particularly special about them, just normal sized regular bats. Their roost was high out in the middle of the cavern so they weren’t near nor disturbed the party and made next to no sound.

The cloud of creatures streamed out of the opening high in the opposite wall and dispersed into the coming night. Fen watched with interest while the rest of the companions simply kept a wary eye on them until it was obvious they were gone. With that, the day concluded and the cavern went almost entirely black save the party’s small campfire.

  Over their meal they divided up as much of the loot as possible, so as not to slow anyone down too much.

  All told, the take from the discovered treasure trove included:
  250 gold, 500 silver, and almost 700 copper coins. Most were the common minted Freelands’ currency but some Grinlian and R’Hathi coins were mixed in.

  There were also several pieces of jewelry in various metals and semi-precious stones totaling 1,500 gold pieces in value. Alaria took a particularly fine silver necklace set with five amethysts and a pair of matching earrings. Trihna politely declined any of the jewelry but said she’d be happy to receive some as a donation to the temple upon their return to Shoal.

  A variety of gems, mostly sapphires and emeralds, none more than 50 or 60 gold in value but totaling 2,000 gold in value, some cut some raw. A palm-sized diamond that Duor supposed to be around 500 gold by itself was almost overlooked.

Haelan made sure to retrieve it from the dwarf when he seemed to be stashing it on his person…”For safe keeping!” the dwarf defended but still returned the gem to the pot. 

  Other items included a gold plated chalice set with jet and amber, some silver flatware and 3 goblets intricately inlaid with bands of copper, silver and brass. While not worth more than about 5 silver a piece, the goblets were particularly well-crafted, delicate and beautiful to behold. Erevan confirmed for all that they were obviously of elvin make. “So maybe we’ll get 10 silver for them then.” added Duor with a smile.

  Duor managed, rather easily, to unlock the small brass-banded coffer to find the box lined and padded in vibrant blue velvet. Set within the lush material were three vials: one cut crystal or glass, one a silvery metal (yet not silver) embossed with ivy vines, and the third appeared to be a rose quartz vial with a shining silver stopper shaped like a teardrop. Duor identified the vine flask as "electrum."

  Alaria and Trihna had been scanning the mound for magical auras immediately noticed the mystic glow emanating from the chest.

  “Potions.” said Alaria, Haelan and Braddok in unison. “These will require closer examination.” Alaria added. 

  Otherwise, Alaria’s magical detection noted that the small shield was mildly enchanted. It was little more than a buckler, really. “Well made. Must be dwarvish work.” remarked Duor. Since it was much too small to be useful to Braddok or Coerraine, the group was happy to let Haelan have it to replace his somewhat beat up wooden shield.  

  Also, in the cache of jewelry, there was a ring of steel set with a triangular piece of hematite. Alaria grabbed it out of Duor’s hand as he intended to put it on.

  “Fastest way to see what it can do.” Duor defended himself. His attempt to mimic some of Haelan’s natural innocence failed miserably.

  “Fastest way to be ensnared in an irreversible curse,” Alaria countered. “Until I’ve had time to properly assess its sorcery, the ring…and potions…are off limits.” 

  Duor exhaled, disappointed.

  When everyone had taken what part of their share they could easily carry, it was decided that Erevan would use his magic disc the following morning to return the rest to the ledge to be retrieved in the future. The coffer of potions was added to Coerraine’s pack for safe keeping until Alaria would have time to properly identify them. 

  A watch was established and the group settled into their evening. Over their meal, Fen was the topic of conversation. Braddok in particular was eager to hear this half-elf’s story.

  “Tell us, ‘Fen’, how you came to Dragonbone Isle. You said you were sent?” Braddok began.

  “Yeh, you obviously weren’t born here,” added Duor. “How long have you been here?”

  “Indeed,” chimed in the normally quiet Redstar Knight. “What of these goblin pirates you claim to have witnessed? What were their numbers? Are they currently on the island?” Coerraine did not like the coincidence of hearing about a force of goblins popping up twice in three days.  

  Haelan, thrilled at the prospect of learning about the newcomer, piped up. “Oh yes, Fen. Tell us about the druids. Mother Sarran knew a druid back home. He would come by every so often and visit. They said he could command the weather and speak to the animals. I know some of the elder Hilltenders could do that too. But you do not worship Faerantha, do you Fen? Mother Sarran said the druids were ‘the Ancient Order’ but still friends to the Hill Mother and the daelvar. Is that how you could talk to the giant birds? Could you teach me that? I’m sure you must have some wonderful stories. Have you ever talked to a mule before? We have…”  

  “Haelan.” Alaria interjected, “Let the man speak,” the R’Hathi wizard was also curious about the druidic tradition and knew a little of their mystic secretive order. But more importantly, she believed he had information about the island that could help them. Alaria did not share some of her companions’ apparent mistrust.

  Fen chuckled at the halfling priest’s barrage and ran a hand through his fine orange-red hair.  He cleared his throat and began his tale.

  “To answer your question, master dwarf, no. I was not born here. Though not so far away, which was part of why I was assigned to come here.

  “I hail from the Laklans where I had a pleasant enough childhood. My mother was of your people, _kiili _<elvin: a common elf term of familiarity; roughly “cousin”>” Fen gave a nod to Erevan. The elf nodded a polite acknowledgment. Fen continued.

  “My father was a woodsman in the forests near Lake Entent from the village  of Claringdown.

  “I left my parents and the Laklans in my seventeenth summer, when ‘the Calling’ came upon me and made the journey across the bay to the druidhold of Moonglade in your lands, my lady.” Fen smiled at Alaria who was avidly paying attention, “There, after much training, I was eventually initiated in the ways of the Holy Order of Mistwood.

  “As my first official task upon receiving my cloak and spear, the Lord of Ash bade me here.”

  Braddok interjected, “That is all well and good. But how long have you been here? What was it you were sent here to do?” Braddok wanted to get to the meat of the matter. He wanted to determine just how much friend (or foe) this half-elf, who literally dropped out of the sky, would be to them. 

  “I returned to the elf depot up the river D’Evand, purchased a simple rowing boat and arrived here…” Fen stopped for a moment, wanting to be sure he was being accurate, “just over two weeks passed. This is my fifteenth night on the island.”

  “And your purpose?” Coerraine reminded. The normally well-mannered and easy going young paladin was particularly curt with the nature-priest. Though those in his lands held the Druids of Mistwood in high -if somewhat cautious- regard, he had never encountered one himself. And, thought Coerraine, they were a long way from Mostrial or Mistwood. The Redstar Knight held the opinion of druids (from stories he’d heard in his homeland and travels) as potentially wise men, the magical equivalent to a “hedge wizard” perhaps. But they did not venerate the gods of the “civilized” realms and so were still godless and thus “heathens” to his eyes.

  Fen gave Coerraine a charming grin, looking at the blond paladin as one might look upon an ignorant child. “The purposes of the Grove are their own, sir knight, and not for the ears of Men. Suffice it to say, we seek to maintain and support the balance of all Orea.”

  “It does not ‘suffice’ at all.” began Coerraine.

  “Coerraine!” Alaria exclaimed. She shot the Redstar Knight a disapproving look. “Fen aided us against the harpies and helped retrieve our friend. What more proof of his intentions do you need?”

  “Apologies, milady. But if the heathen is to keep his secrets then we should not trust him.” Coerraine stated bluntly.

  “I’m with Goldilocks.” said Duor plainly.

  “Perhaps,” interrupted Haelan, “if you share with us a bit more of your two weeks here my friends would be a bit more at ease.” He liked Fen just fine and was somewhat saddened by his companions obvious impoliteness.

  “It is fine, friend daelvar.” Fen said with a calm smile at Haelan. “The ways of Mistwood are not for the followers of the gods of Men.”

  “So you do worship Faerantha, then?” Haelan asked with his signature innocence.

  Fen smiled at the halfling priest again. “Alas. No, Hilltender. I should have said ‘the uninitiated’, daelvar included. Though, as your wise Mother Superior pointed out, we are…’friends’ of your people and ways and those of the human’s goddess, Sylari…and the elf god Syar and many others.”

  Fen looked to Coerraine. The paladin’s face had not softened. Fen continued.

  “Though we do not worship your Red Star, paladin, nor,” he turned to Alaria, “the Blue Star of your Manat, my lady, nor indeed the Sea Mistress” with a nod to Trihna, “we do recognize the power and influence of their being. The Holy Order or, as you call it, the ‘Ancient’ Order of Mistwood venerates the power and balance of Orea itself. The gods of those outside the Holy Order are of no concern nor consternation to us.”

  Receiving no rebuttal or rebuke for this statement, the red-headed druid continued. “This island has a power and a balance that must be maintained for the power and balance of the rest of the realms. That balance, as I stated previously, has been disturbed …corrupted, in fact. There is an evil festering within the bowels of this place. That, sir knight, is why I am here. To determine the nature of this disturbance and, if possible, end it.”

  “There Coerraine.” Alaria stated plainly. “We are of a common purpose. Does that but your spirit at ease?” 

  The Redstar Knight made no response.

  “Well, I feel better about it.” perked up Duor. “Any help we can get to finding this pearl will be welcome in my book…er um…and he can carry some more of the loot too.”

  Fen chuckled. “I am happy to help in your cause, if you are happy to help with mine.” Fen offered. “And though I have little concern or need for riches, I am happy to share the burden.”

  “Ya see there,” Duor nudged Braddok in the ribs. “I knew this guy was carved from good stone. Ya had nothing t’worry about.” The dwarf turned to Fen and smiled broadly.

  Braddok gave Duor an annoyed glance and rubbed his bruising side.

  “My thanks for the lesson in religion, Fen. But now, what can you tell us from your time here? What have you found and what of the goblins you mentioned?” Braddok offered politely enough.

  “Well, I had noted the presence of the harpies. Though they, in and of themselves, were obviously not the cause of the disruption.” Fen began. “Still, their removal from the island will certainly be a help to the balance.

  “There is an unnatural taint surrounding the waters here.” Fen turned again to Trihna, “Surely you have noticed it?” he asked. 

  The Waverider nodded her agreement. “Indeed we were set upon by some giant crabs at our arrival. My sway over creatures of the sea had no effect on them.”

  “I too,” Coerraine interjected unexpectantly, “noted the taint of evil upon them.” The Redstar knight conceded. If this heathen was to be joining their cause, Coerraine thought, then the least he could do was verify the half-elf’s observations. Seemed the druid was not, in this instance, attempting any deception.

  Fen grinned and nodded an acknowledgement to Coerraine’s input before continuing. “I spent my first week here searching the length and breadth of the island. The creatures of the air and land were somewhat helpful. They warned me of the harpies and so I was able to steer clear of their hunts. The sea-birds also mentioned crab-creatures they said had returned of late and had been sighted in the shallows of shores.”

  “Oh! We’re after the crab men! Tidemaster Kama sent us here to destroy them. He said they’re terrible evil creatures who worship a demon!” Haelan cheerfully interrupted. Then in his ‘barely taking a breath” way added, “Have you seen any?” and more concerned, “There isn’t an actual demon here is there?”

  “Haelan…” Alaria was becoming exasperated with all of the interruptions, particularly from the halfling. The night was deepening and she needed to get her rest to revitalize her mind for working the arcane energies she required for spellcasting. As a second thought, Alaria realized Trihna and Haelan need to also, for that matter.

  “It is quite alright, mages.” Fen smiled. “I have not, my good priest seen any of these ‘crab men’ nor, thank the oak, any demons. But if what you were told is correct, then that could easily be the source of this island’s trouble.”

  The discussion went on for a bit longer into the night. Alaria and Braddok relayed the party’s original mission to Welford, their arrival in Shoal and their presence on the island. Haelan helped, of course, piping in multiple times to add colorful commentary. 

  Braddok asked again about the goblins. Fen could only say they had arrived by ship a few days prior. A band of goblins and a few bugbears rowed a longboat from the ship to the island and trekked with some chests and other bundles into a cave in the northern portion of the slopes of the western mountain. He had followed them as best he could but did not dare to venture after them, opting instead of sit in wait at the cave mouth. Before the sun set the following day, they immerged, though in fewer numbers than they’d entered and returned to their ship and sailed off to the north. He again, stated, that he had not heard any of their grumbling conversations nor had he heard of anyone, in his time on the island, named Tresahd.

  All questions asked and answered, the group set up the guard rotation (excluding Alaria and Trihna) and went to sleep. It was some time into the night that Haelan was roused from his slumber by sounds of splashing and motion in the water below. He looked around cautiously and tapped Erevan’s ankle.

  The elf, already awake, turned to the halfling and put a slender finger to his lips. Erevan then, nearly silent and moving very slowly, grabbed his bow and drew an arrow from the quiver that lay beside him. Haelan slowly and as quietly as possible adjusted his position, still laying, to be able to glance over the ledge’s edge.

  Haelan’s night vision was not nearly as good as Erevan’s. But in what little moonlight filtered in through the natural openings across the cavern, the halfling could make out what appeared to be a humanoid, rising out of the water to stand on the, now submerged a few feet, ledge below their camp. The figure seemed to be carrying some large and round shaped things in either hand, but Haelan couldn’t be sure what they were.

  Then he heard a soft…what was that sound? Clacking?


----------



## steeldragons

Hello all.

Just wanted to update you on an update.

Finishing things up stateside this coming week and bogged down in other "work stuff" this weekend. But, am hoping to find some time in the coming week and barring that, heading back to Andorra by week's end...so if nothing else, I'll have some (much needed) writing time on the plane. 

So, look for an update some time next weekend and thank you all, again, for your interest and reading about my lil' group here.

While I'm here, I'm always happy to get some feedback.

Who's your favorite character in the group? Favorite scene thus far? Something you want to know more about? Questions, comments, problems or issues? Anything at all, really.

Thanks also for your patience, it's been a particularly trying month (with my dad dying and all) but I do promise to get back into Orea very shortly. I miss it there! hahaha. 

Hope everyone has a nice weekend.
--Steel Dragons


----------



## steeldragons

Erevan nocked his bow and took aim on the large clicking clacking creature on the landing below their camp. The ledge that led down to it seemed too narrow for the nearly eight foot creature to climb up to them. Its clicking noises got louder, obviously it was attempting to get a response from up on the ledge.

  At this point, things leapt into a blur. Coerraine rose, spear and shield in hand. The Redstar Knight’s eyes glowed with the divine power of his god and shouted a battle cry to Celerion to, “Protect your virtuous servants from the evil in their midst!”

  A circle of golden light surrounded the landing and Haelan was amazed to see himself and all of their companions momentarily surrounded by a soft golden light. Then the paladin charged, as quickly as he could, down the ledge to meet the interloper.

  The charging paladin’s cry rose the few party members who had not been awakened by the creatures noises.

  Haelan decided the chamber required more illumination and murmured the simple prayer to his goddess, “_Yaix ar Yomarus, benfica Faerantha urmu_”. Above the landing, a shimmer of silver twinkling lights appeared. It didn’t bathe the whole chamber, but did illuminate their adversary and the landing, ledge, and surrounding waters with more than enough light for his human companions.

  A moment after his invocation, Haelan wished he had not done so as what the party saw was a massive abomination of a creature. It stood as tall as an ogre with a dark greenish-blue carapace covering its humanoid body. The creature’s arms ended in large bulbous claws. Its face was a snouted maw of rows of pointed teeth like that of a shark. Its eyes were glossy black that protruded from its shelled skull, more to the sides of the head than the front. This was undoubtedly, one of the “crab-demon-men” they had been warned of by Tidemaster Kama.

  After scowling at the paladin’s decided lack of stealth, Erevan loosed his arrow quickly. He was similarly caught off guard by Haelan’s light spell and with his eyes shifting to the sudden change in illumination, the bolt splashed harmlessly into the water swirling about the creature’s knees.

  The crab-man opened its maw wide to bare all of its horrifying teeth. What looked like it should have been a fierce roar merely projected a hissing sound, while its claws vigorously snapped with loud “clacks.”

  “Alaria, it’s one of the demon-men!” Haelan offered to the wizardess who had risen, staff in hand. The halfling Hilltender trotted over to the mage’s position and raised his shield in a defensive manner.

  “Thank you Haelan. I can see that.” Alaria responded with sleepy annoyance.

  “What should we do?” the halfing priest questioned as Erevan let fly a second arrow which bounced harmlessly off of its heavily plated shoulder.

  Braddok had grabbed for the short bow he carried and took a shot at the large creature. With Coerraine on the ledge, there was no way for him to engage it directly. His arrow flew far over the crab-man’s head and cracked against the stone wall far off in the shadows created by the shimmering silver lights. “Bollux.” The fighter muttered.

  The crab-man shot out with its claws attempting to take off the blond paladin’s head. Coerraine dodged one and caught the other upon his shield. The force of the blow nearly caused Coerraine to slip on the wet stone of the ledge, but he would not be deterred.

  A sharp jab with his spear met the crabman’s shelled chest, the impact again faltering Coerraine’s balance on the precarious ledge. The crabman seemed to have no such problem maintaining his footing.

  “We have to stop it. If it escapes we’ll have whatever horrors exist on this island swarming against us.” Alaria reasoned, more to herself than anyone listening. “I have not rested enough to work any serious magics. Trihna, can you do anything?”

  The crabman and paladin exchanged blows again, neither landed anything solid. Then the creature stepped back and turned. It was going to flee.

  “_Deisa Tyris, mahm oseana, estraina y diabollo._” <cleric spell: Hold Person, “Holy Tyris, Ocean Mother, restrain this evil.”>  as the invocation sounded from the water priestess, a palpable presence rose about her. The fading light to dark blue of her robes seemed to swirl and churn for a moment like shifting waves. Braddok noticed the effect and blinked to make sure he was not going crazy. The priestess’ robes appeared still as they always were. Too little sleep, Braddok thought to himself.

  At the conclusion of Trihna’s spell, a swell of water rose from the chamber to surround  the crabman’s knees and promptly solidified, encasing the creature from the thighs down in a block of ice.

    Obviously caught off guard by the spell, the crabman was completely stunned when Coerraine’s next jab slid his spear head under the creature’s natural armor at the waist. It ignored the pain and pounded its claws into the ice block surrounding it to free itself. 

  Knowing it was now or never,  Coerraine raised the spear above his head and shouted his righteous plea to Celradorn to _smite_ the_ evil _before him. The spear, then, did pierce the creature’s broad shelled back and Coerraine was able to tear a bit of the shell away from body. Dark gelatinous fluid seeped from the open wound and the creature again hissed loudly. 

  The exposed body seemed a bullseye for Erevan who quickly sank two well placed arrows into it. The creature expired and slumped over, still standing for a moment in its magical ice binding before the spell’s power expired and the block of ice returned to normal sea water.


At Braddok’s instruction, Coerraine quickly grabbed the large creature to keep it from floating or sinking away in the shifting tides. Some handy rope work later by Duor had the crabman’s body securely fastened to a jagged outcropping of rock against the ledge.

  The party cautiously settled back into their camp, keeping two members awake, other than the spellcasters for the remainder of the night. 

  When the light of day began filling the sky and filtered into the chamber through the natural opening, the companions rose. Erevan used his limited magic’s to again conjure his disc to float the bulk of the treasure back to the safe secluded outcropping. The tide had receded, as Trihna had surmised and the ledge and landing were slick, but clear of water. Another narrow ledge continued around the perimeter of the chamber and out the side of the water-level cave.


The party exited into the fresh morning light and early morning sounds of the rousing sea-birds.


"Alright, let's find this pearl." a determined Alaria said.


*Next up: Meeting the Mahhvelousss Misshtahhh Meesssh*


----------



## wolff96

Yeah, update!

And to answer your question, Alaria is my favorite character - love how she was introduced to the storyline - although Trihna is rapidly gaining favor.  

Also, just have to comment that I love how you describe spells in this SH.


----------



## steeldragons

*The Marvelous Mister Meeessh.*

Meeessh tromped through the rocky passage and out into the open bright morning. The diminutive grayish misty creature stood no taller than three feet.  His tapered toes at the end of large feet paced through the rocky dirt leaving wet steaming footprints in his wake that half seeped into, half evaporated from the dry ground leaving no trace of his passing. Two bat-like wings, appearing too small to lift the creature’s body, protruded from his back.  From the edges of these wings, as from the wispy looking brow that shielded large grey eyes, wisps of mist or steam trailed away off of the small being.

  Meeessh grumbled to himself as he turned down the dirt path along the base of the mountain ridge. He headed towards the hot springs just slightly lower on the slope for some much needed rest and relaxation from his current plight.

“Cohhhlect the gahb-gahblesss, Meeessh.  Bring me’sss sssstafffff, Meeessh. Nohhh taunt wahhhtersss, Meeessh.’ Pah!” spat the creature.

The creature arrived at the bubbling and steaming pools of the hot springs and stopped a moment to watch a plume of white steam hiss forth from a crevice if the ground. Meeessh smiled a twisted smirk on his broad thin line of a mouth.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Meeessh stepped into one of the boiling steaming pools and sat on its edge.

“Ahhhhhhsssss.” The sigh escaped his throat as from a boiling pot. Meeessh reclined with his arms behind his point-eared head. The master’s whims could wait a moment.

“Eh hem. Excuse me.” Came a voice behind Meeessh.

The creature’s eyes popped open but he did not budge from his position. 

The steaming brow furrowed a moment as he looked upside down at a small being in a green tunic with blond bushes of hair on his feet.

“Wuht you wahhhntsssss?” questioned Meeessh with a scowl.

“Erm. Well, yes.  Forgive the interruption, um, Mister…?” said the small hairy thing.

“Meeessh nohhht getting gahb-gahbblesss now. You waitssssss.” Meeessh shut his eyes again.

“’Gahb-…’ oh. No no. You see, ehm, Mister-er Meesh, I’m not a goblin.” Said the being.

“Meeessshh.” corrected the steaming creature in annoyance, emphasizing the extended sounds of his name. “Meeessh, on buhhh-reak. Geht yousssss later.”

“Well again,” continued the hairfooted intruder, “You see, Mister Meeeesssh, my friends and I are looking for a way into the mountain and we were wondering if you’d be so kind…”

Meeessh jumped up with a flutter of his wispy wings. He turned to face the intruder and burst out in irritation. “Meeessh nohhht care! Meeesh on buhhh-…” 

Meeesh’s rant was broken to see the green garbed hairy footed being was now flanked by two human females in robes, each with a staff. “More mages!?” thought Meeessh. To his left a large armored warrior with drawn sword and an elf with a bow, lowered but nocked.  His eyes darted to his right and there stood another armored man with a spear. He took two swift steps back toward the path he’d come down to see a leaf-shaped spear tip and wielder seemingly appear out of nowhere from the path-side brush and trees. “…on buhhreak ?”

The steaming creature’s shoulders slumped and he looked at the ground and let out another sigh, this one gurgling and hissing like a tea kettle. He shook his head from side to side. “Hhhhsssss. Noh noh nehhhver rehhhhst fohh Meeessh." 


  Haelan attempted to lift Meeessh’s spirits with a bright smile. “Mister Meeessh. Might I present my companions. We are on a mission of great importance and could surely use your help to find the item we seek.”

Meeessh raised a steamy eyebrow. “Meeessh hasss no itemssss. Noh hehhhlp foh youssss.”

“Would you be able to direct us into the mountain, you see we seek a black pearl to…” Haelan attempted to continue.

At the mention of the pearl, Meeessh’s thin mouth curled in disgust. The creature hissed loudly in a sound that could only be taken as disdain. “Noh hehhhlp wisss buhhh-lack bahl. Meessh neeeedsss noh moh mahsssssterssss. Hsssss.”

“Where is the black pearl, imp!” shouted Coerraine.

“Meeessh noh ihhhmp!” spat Meeessh. He jumped into the air. His steamy wings fluttered furiously for a moment before the he returned to the ground as all of the company’s weapons swiftly moved to the ready.

“Meeessh noh ihmp.” He said again softly and looked at the ground again.

“What is it then?” Haelan half whispered to Alaria.

“It appears to be a mephit.” Answered the magess. “A quasi-elemental creature, as I recall…Steam, in this case, would be my guess.”

“Yehsss. Yehs. Magusssss knowssss Meeessh.” Confirmed the mephit. “Meeessh hisss fihhhh-rend foh magusss. Noh hurtssss. Meeessh his fihrend. Hssss.” He cast a sidelong look at the young paladin and rung his steaming fingertips. 

Seeing the opportunity to solidify a possible ally, Alaria stepped forward. “We have no desire to harm you, Meesh...nor to be your masters. We only need some information and direction. How came you to this island?”

Meeessh cast the R’Hathi wizardess a questioning glance. “Meeessh hisss rehhhhssssting plasssse. Meeessh hiss cohhme heeeeeresssss ahnd noh leeeeavesss now. The mahssster noh lehtssss.”

“Oh that’s so sad.” Said Haelan in all sincere empathy.

“yehsss.” Answered the mephit quietly.

“Who is your master?” Alaria asked, already suspecting the answer.

Meeessh looked to his left and right again. “Nohhh hurtssss, Meeessh.”

Alaria nodded and the majority of the band lowered their weapons. 

Coerraine scowled in obvious disagreement, but the paladin had to admit to himself that the strange creature was not, in fact, “evil” according to his gifted sight.

The mephit leaned in a bit closer to Haelan and Alaria and answered in a hissing whisper, “Mahhsssster Trehhhsssssahhhhd. Noh lehts Meessh goh hohmesssss.” His eyes darted nervously about the area as if he were worried that he might have been heard.

  “Why can’t you go home?” offered a sympathetic halfing cleric.

“Hsssss. Mahsssterssss buhhh-lack bahhhl. Hssss.” Meeessh’s mouth again twisted into a sneer of disdain.

“Meesh…” began Alaria.

“Meeeeessssshhhhh.” Corrected the mephit. The wisps of steam coming from the mephit's body seemed to increase when it got annoyed.

“Apologies. Meeessh. Can you take us to the black ball? We will take it from this place. You will be free.” Alaria said pointedly.

  A steamy brow rose, seemingly nearly floating off of the mephit’s face. “Ihf Meeessh shhhhohhhsss magusss sssssehts freee?” 

“Absolutely!” chimed in an indignant Haelan. “No creature should be held against their will.” The cleric thought a moment and then continued, “Well, except demons. Demons kind of have to be, don’t they? You’re not a demon are you Mister Meeessh? Because if you are, YEOW!”

“Yes! Yes, we will set you free if you show us take us to the black ball.” Alaria quickly interjected as the butt of her staff came down swiftly on Haelan’s foot.

The mephit gave the group another long slow look before resting his eyes on the wizardess.  After what seemed a very long pause, the mephit answered.

“Yehhhsssss. Yehs. Thihhhhsssss way.”  Meeessh pointed back up path he’d come down and began to move, being sure to stick close to Alaria. As they passed the spear-wielding Redstar Knight, he shot Coerraine a defiant scowl.

The companions fell into line behind Haelan, Alaria and the mephit and began their trek up the slope to a small cave opening in the mountainside. 

_*Next up: Into the bowels of Dragonbone*_


----------



## steeldragons

Led by the steam mephit, Meeessh, our intrepid band clinmbed the short distance up the mountain slope to a small natural passage. Alaria looked to the sky and was pleased with their progress, noting the sun not yet at its zenith in the late summer sky.

  The band took a cautious order as they entered the mountainside. Haelan, his pinecone-shaped mace head alight with a soft glow traveled beside their mephit guide. Erevan followed singly until the the passage widened a bit and then was joined by Coerraine, the paladin insisting he be near their “captive” and in front of his charge, Alaria. Duor progressed on the elf’s heels carefully examining the natural rock walls as they passed and keeping a wary eye to the front should their new guide decide to lead them into a trap. Alaria and Waverider Trihna followed. The wizardess had likewise enchanted the tip of her staff to shed a soft illumination. Braddok and the druid, Fen, brought up the rear.

Meeessh was not a particularly speedy lead, but Haelan was pleased to have someone more his stature with the group. They moved as silently as their armor would allow deeper into the mountain.

After a short while, the passage narrowed again and the group was forced into a single file to slip through a natural crack in the mountain’s interior. 

The new passage they entered was again wide and the group continued to follow Meeessh to the right and a winding passage that slopped ever deeper into the mountain.  The air became more and more heated and thick as they descended.

As the group neared another junction of tunnels, the mephit stopped and raised a steaming arm as he seemed to float up against the tunnel’s wall. The rest of the group did likewise. The heat coming from the opening before them was noticeable and a orange glow seemed to pulse from the left of the opening.  

“What is it Meeessh?” questioned Haelan in a hushed whisper.

“Hisss buhhhrning buhhhlacksss.” The mephit responded in his hissing way.

Haelan turned to look at Coerraine and Erevan. The paladin shrugged. Erevan’s right eyebrow rose slightly on his perfect forehead. The elf tilted his head ever so slightly.

“Oh gods.” Mumbled Duor under his beard to no one in particular. “The point-ear’s eyebrow is doing that thing, again, isn’t it?”

“How do we…” began Haelan.

“Meeessh do.” Said the mephit and walked towards the opening. After a momentary pause at the doorway, the small steam creature affected a casual swagger and entered the chamber.

“He means to betray us.” Whispered Coerraine in all seriousness.

“Wait.” Said Alaria as a menacing growl rose and echoed into the passage.

Out of view, the mephit’s voice rose louder than it needed to be, obviously so the party could hear. “Pah! Ssssstupid buhrning buhhhlack! Noh growl ahhht Meeessh!” 

At this ferocious barks thundered the passage.

Duor and Erevan closed to the opening and carefully peered around the edge.  The mephit stood just out of reach of two preternaturally large hounds of pure black. Flames licked from the beasts’ ears, paws and nostrils as they strained against large black iron chains.

“Bahhhd buhrning buhlacks!” Meessh shouted and threw a ball of steaming water that appeared to separate from his own hand. The ball struck the firy hound and hissed loudly as it evaporated in an instant. It seemed not to deter the beast in the slightest. The stub at the end of the mephit’s arm quickly seemed to flow and reform into a hand.”Bahd!”

Duor ducked back into the hallway. “Feorn’s beard. The steamy bugger is taunting hellhounds!” the dwarf rogue informed his companions. "We're doomed."

  “Noh bahhhrk aht Meeessh!” shouted the mephit and threw his arms up in a forceful motion. Steam and mist immediately hissed up around the mephit and obscured any view of the hellhounds or him. The beasts bellowed loudly.

Just as Duor was ready to tell Coerraine he was right about the betrayal, Meeessh came jogging out of the steam cloud and motioned and hissed frantically to the elf and dwarf, pointing to the passage across the chamber.

With all speed, the party made their way across the small chamber. As the rest of the party hurried with Meeessh down the passage, Fen drew himself up against the wall of the opening at the edge of the chamber. His druid’s cloak quickly shrouding him and altering its color to match the rockface. 

Braddok turned for a moment to see the druid fade from sight, appearing just another crag against the wall.

At the steam quickly cleared, the half-elf got to see the massive hounds who sniffed the air and peered around in confusion.

“Wow.” Muttered the druid. Then swiftly moved to follow the party. 

Braddok, who had stopped in disbelief and was returning to the half-elf’s position jolted when Fen appeared to emerge from the rock wall beside him.

A surprised and annoyed look from the swordsman was returned with an innocent questioning look from the druid.

“What?” said Fen. “I’ve never seen a hellhound before.”

“Come on”, replied Braddok with a disapproving scowl. He grabbed the druid’s arm and shoved him ahead. “Don’t do that again.”    

“You need to appreciate the wonders of this world of ours, my good warrior.”, answered Fen.

“You’ll be appreciating the tip of my blade if you bring us trouble, my good druid.” Said Braddok. There was no hint of humor in his tone.

A short distance from the hellhounds’ chamber, Meeessh halted the party again. This time he fluttered his small wings as he leapt about 20 feet ahead of them. “Carefffful heeeeeressss.” Said the mephit and pointed to the floor.

Haelan had stopped as instructed but saw nothing amiss with the floor. Duor carefully moved forward.

The dwarf’s underground senses were put to the test as he examined very carefully the floor in front of Haelan. “Douse yer blasted light, hairfoot.” Duor mumbled.

Haelan obliged but saw no reason for the dwarf to be so gruff about it. He tucked his mace into the folds of his cloak. After  a moment, Duor’s eyes had adjusted enough to notice where the walls of the passage met the floor seemed…different…somehow. 

Erevan crept up beside Duor and lent his own special eyes to the search. 

Duor pointed out where he thought something amiss.

“Hhhhhurriessss.” Hissed the impatient mephit. “Guardsssss cahhhmessss ssssoonssss.”

Erevan tentatively poked at the floor near the wall with the tip of his bow. 

At its touch, a ten foot stretch of floor before them from wall to wall disappeared momentarily, revealing a deep pit. When he withdrew his bow, the floor reappeared.

“An illusion.” Said Erevan.

“Well yeh might have said so, imp!” Duor chastised.

“Meeessh sssehhhd beeee careful. Meeessh naht do ev’reeeethingsssss.” Responded the mephit. The steam wisping off of the elemental creature seemed to hiss an increase. “’nd Meeessh nohhh eemp, nassssty beeeeardfasssse!”

Duor crossed, carefully clinging to the real rock of the walls. Erevan leapt across. Then Coerraine. Using a rope secured by the fighters at each end, the rest of the party carefully moved across the pit.

A few more twists and turns into the mountain and the mephit brought the party to a large oblong chamber, obviously carved from the mountain. 

Three passages, including the one they had entered through led from the place. At the end of the chamber, away from the passages, was a half-circled cistern, about twenty feet across, filled with water that glimmered with an unnatural light.  Torches, lit with green flames lined the chamber.

Across the water was a simple ledge that appeared to be of natural rock. Upon the ledge rested a large black orb. The pearl pulsated within with a sickly light swirling in putrid violet and green hues.

Trihna stepped forward and withdrew her location orb. The small water-filled globe shown brightly, offsetting some of the disturbing illumination in the chamber. She quickly returned the item to the folds of her robe. 

“That’s it.” The water priestess said simply.

“Finally.” Said Braddok.

  Alaria surveyed the chamber briefly before focusing on the pooled water. She outstretched her hand and spoke the simple incantation. A sphere around her hand flicked with a violet light. To Alaria’s eyes, the torches were surrounded by a similar violet glow.

“No kidding.” thought the wizardess. The pearl was surrounded by a similar but much more intense corona, as was the whole of the cistern and the water within.

  “Be alert,” said Alaria. “The water is magical.”

  “What’s the plan, boss lady?” asked Duor.

“Get the pearl and get out of here,” was the wizardess’ simple response.


----------



## Tamlyn

Two updates in two hours. Nice!


----------



## steeldragons

Tamlyn said:


> Two updates in two hours. Nice!




LOL. Thanks Tamlyn. I was actually being rushed out of the cafe at the end of the second poist...so you'll forgive me if I re-write the tail end of the last post.


----------



## steeldragons

I'f you'll forgive he slight rewrite, I'll reset the scene a bit better (in my humble opinion).

Now, onto what horrors await our intrepid company in the bowels of Dragonbomne Isle.
--------------------------------------------

A few more twists and turns into the mountain, the companions passed a tunnel that forked off to their right. A similar orange glow and blasts of heat came up from the tunnel. The mephit, Meeessh, took the left fork without a word. 

  Finally,  the party  was brought to a large oblong chamber wider at one end than the other.  Three passages, including the one they had entered through led from the place at the wider end.  Lit torches lined the cavern. 

The walls were arched, forming what appeared to be a natural dome. The walls themselves, however, seemed unnaturally smooth. Duor whistled his amazement at the "construction" which he asserted was not "dwarven make."

At the narrower end of the chamber, away from the passages, was a half-circled cistern, about twenty feet across.  The basin was filled with water that glimmered with an unnatural light. Set within and above the water, was a natural looking ledge that jutted from the wall. Upon the ledge sat a black orb that pulsed with eerie sickly greenish light. 

  Along the left and right walls similar hemispherical “altars” were set, but held no water.  Upon the ledge to the right was another blackened orb glimmering with the slightest white light. 

Trihna stepped forward and withdrew her location orb. The small water-filled globe shown brightly, offsetting some of the disturbing illumination in the chamber. It was evident the orb above the pool of water was the pearl they sought. She quickly returned the item to the folds of her robe. 

“That’s it.” The water priestess aid simply and gestured to the orb above the filled cistern.

“Finally.” Said Braddok.

Coerraine and Haelan each seemed dazed for a moment. “I need not my lord and god’s special sight to know this place is an affront to all things good.” 

He placed a gloved hand to his temple and attempted to shake off the oppresive weight of evil on his soul.

“I feel it too.” Confirmed Haelan. “As though an evil force is pressing upon me. I can only sense the graces of the Hill Mother like a whisper here. Trihna, do you sense it?” He also rubbed a hand across his brow and looked to Alaira with pleading eyes. “Let’s not overstay our welcome here.”

Alaria surveyed the chamber briefly before focusing on the pooled water. She outstretched her hand and spoke the simple incantation_, “Arcanivis”_ <mage spell: Detect Magic>

A sphere of violet light flickered into existence around her outstretched hand. To Alaria’s eyes, the torches were surrounded by a similar violet glow. “No kidding.” thought the wizardess. Both orbs were surrounded by a similar, though significantly larger and brighter, corona as was the whole of the cistern.

“Be alert,” said Alaria. “Don’t touch the water. It is magical also…and that orb as well. ”

“What’s the plan, boss lady?” asked Duor.

“Get the pearl and get out of here,” was the wizardess’ simple response.

Erevan and Braddok quickly went to check the other passages. The one had a palpable heat coming from it. Erevan supposed it led around to the passage they had passed a way back. Fen was quick to point out that given the obvious volcanic activity it could be a different chamber all together.

The other passage they had not entered had a musty damp earthy smell, according to Erevan. Braddok simply noted it had no heat wafting from it.

Duor edged his way toward the cistern. Fen went with the dwarf, being sure to let the attentive rogue survey their steps. The evil that Coerraine and Haelan had felt was now being noticed by others in the group. It was a confining feeling, like the very air pressed against them from all sides.

“Meeessh brihng heeeere. Now Meeessh beeee freeee.” The mephit said with a somewhat demanding tone.

“Yes, Meeessh,” replied Alaria, “ very soon. These things must be handled with care.”

Duor hesitated a moment and moved cautiously around the room’s perimeter to the edge of the short stone wall that contained the flickering pool.

The instant Duor laid a hand upon the wall’s edge (intending to climb up and over the water to obtain the head-sized pearl) the light in the pool flashed and swirled into a putrid green that cloaked the room in its sickly hue.

“Orcass!” shouted Duor as he swiftly backed away from the wall.

All of the company’s weapons came to the ready as a serpentine form rose from the water. In a moment, the form of a great snake-like head formed at the end of the ribbon of flailing water. Two glowing green “eyes” flared into existence and the “water snake” surveyed the room before letting forth a booming “roar” like the crashing of a waterfall.

  Fen, closest to the creature, swiped his leaf-bladed spear through the whole of the creature’s “neck”. Other than splashing some water out onto the floor, it seemed to not effect the creature at all. The druid looked horrified at the results of his ineffectual attack. 

“Ohhhh bollux.” Muttered the half-elf.

Immediately therafter, a shaft from Erevan’s bow streaked across the room to pass harmlessly through the same watery stream and shatter harmlessly against the chamber’s back wall.

“What is it!?” cried Haelan. 

“What’s it look like yeh yellow-bellied hairfoot?” shouted Duor. “It’s a magic fraggin’ water snake…thing.”

Alaria focused her mind with trained ease. It was indeed, as the dwarf had said, a creature of magic. Elemental in nature, she presumed, and thus not of their immediate world. “Only magic will harm it. Fen, Duor, get back!” the wizardess commanded. She dropped her staff and outstretched both arms forcefully, fingers spread toward the creature.

“I have not come so far to be foiled by this wyrd,” said Trihna and charged forward. An invocation to her goddess forming on her lips as she neared the creature.

“Celradorn, protect your valiant servants!” Coerraine asserted as he, too, charged the creature. As has happened the previous night, a golden aura momentarily appeared surrounding the Redstar Knight, Trihna and Alaria, the others being too far from the paladin to be effected by his protective power.

With the snapping speed of a cobra, the water creature’s head flashed forward and sharp teeth slashed through the half-elf druid, tearing leathers and flesh.

“AAAAAGHH!” cried Fen as he dropped to the floor.  Blood mixed with water splattered across the floor.

“Imberil everx REX!” shouted Alaria. The air swirled about her as it often did with the working of her magics, rustling the magess’ robes and dark brown tresses. Her hands flared with blue flames for a moment before the fans of fire launched forcfully forward and streaked across half of the cavern.

The magical fire encountered the water creature of produced a violent hiss of steam and a cry from the toothy fluid maw. For a moment, the creature’s formation seemed to falter and streams of water dropped back into the cistern. The head disappeared and, a moment later was reforming as the a second “neck” seemed to reform from the where Alaria’s spell had struck the creature.

  “Duor get the pearl!” shouted Alaria.

The dwarven rogue ran as fast as his short legs could carry him but was halted mid stride as a second serpentine head came into form and let forth its pounding roar in the dwarf’s face. Only the dwarf’s lightning reflexes and a quick vaulting tumble to the side saved Duor from a watery decapitation.

“Feorn’s beard! Get it yerself!” called the dwarf. The companions looked on in horror as the swirling water formed two “necks” and snake-like heads rising from a common base.

“Now there’s TWO of ‘em! Great plan, boss-lady.” Duor retorted. He withdrew from beneath his leather vest, the dagger he had pilfered from the harpy’s treasure. 

To Duor’s surprise, as much as his companions, the blade immediately flared with a soft green light. “Well I’ll be dipped in dragonsteel…” mumbled Duor to himself.

“We’ve got company,” called Braddok as he and Erevan rushed forward to Alaria’s position.

Half of the companions, including a horrified halfing cleric, turned to see two of the massive crab-men entering from the passage where the heat had been eminating. Their bulbous claws clacked and snapped. Their demonic faces showed no surprise as they took in the multitude of intruders. With a slight pause at the passage way, both monsters rushed for the party.

  “Hill Mother,” began Haelan, “we’re going to die here.”

“Perhaps, Haelan,” a thoroughly annoyed Alaria answered, “your next prayer might be a bit more effective.” The magess from R’Hath gave up her own short prayer to the goddess of magic, Manat, that the halfling be incorrect.


----------



## steeldragons

*Pearl Jam*

_“Deisa Faerantha, dicteus beneficia spiritos y tiem paras_.”<cleric spell: Bless_, “Holy Faerantha, bless your loyal followers in this time of need.”_> Haelan called out, his arms outstretched over his helmed head.

He felt the difficulty of connecting to his goddess’ graces through the blanket of darkness that oppressed the ether of the chamber. Still, the halfling priest received a glimmer of hope as he perceived, in his spirit, a sensation like a cooling summer breeze blowing over a grassy knoll. At the completion of his appeal, Haelan’s mace as well as the weapons of all of his fellows became surrounded by a golden honey colored light.

  Braddok barely had time to notice the enchantment of his blade as he dodged one massive claw and strained to stay on his feet as the second bashed into his shield. Braddok returned the assault with a decisive strike of his own. The magicked blade was able to crack the demonic crab-man’s hard-shelled shoulder. A slight stream of black ichor seeped from the new wound. His enemy let out an airy cry of, what Braddok presumed to be, surprise and anger.

  Coerraine, similarly, did not waste a moment with his newly enchanted weapon. Having moved into a position between the fallen druid and the watery serpentine creature, the blond paladin jabbed with his spear. The golden light of the blade slipped into the liquid form and tore thrown supernaturally formed wyrd. With a forceful swing to the left, the blade severed the creature’s neck enough to cause the neck and head above it to collapse back into the cistern. The Redstar Knight had a moment to be thoroughly pleased with himself before steeling himself in position as two more “necks” rose from the pool and quickly formed glowing-eyed-tooth-filled serpentine  heads.

  Duor, stil surprised by the apparent magic nature of his pilfered dagger struck out with the green-glowing blade, effectively knicking the neck attached to the head that had, moments before, almost took off his beard. The dwarf was happy to see the blade did seem to wound the creature, as it withdrew from his reach, but did not damage it enough to create yet another head. “Hey Pally, look at that. Maybe if we just hurt it without cutting off the heads?”      


  Alaria rushed for the cistern. Perhaps, she reasoned, with the water-hydra-thing’s heads occupied by her companions, she might be able to get to the pearl. Her reasoning was somewhat askew as one of the newly formed heads turned its attention to the spear-wielding paladin protecting the water and nature priests. The other, unfortunately, was keenly aware of the magess’ movement and lashed out in her direction.

  Alaria was terrified as a living stream of water flashed before and behind her and in the blink of an eye, found herself constricted and lifted from the ground and pulled towards the cistern pool, a watery snake-ish face hissing at her face-to-face. The pressure holding and carrying her was crushing. 

The wizardess’ mind swam with the options of spells available to her, but her arms were wholey bound and the crushing force barely allowed her to take the shallowest of breaths. It seemed the creature meant to pull her down into the magicked pool. She would drown, surely.

Despite herself, her consciousness faltering, Alaria’s mind turned to the stories in her training of the old tortures of witches in the Lost Ages, before R’Hath’s formation, by dunking suspected spellcasters into water…”Shall I float or sink?” Alaria wondered. Then shouting filled her quickly clouding mind.


  Noting the effects of Haelan’s casting, Erevan quickly quivered his bow and drew his slender longsword from its sheathe. The elegant blade glowed with the honey-colored blessing of the halfling’s nature goddess. The sword’s hilt was shaped of ivy leaves and vines that twined their way up the blade, a common decoration for elf-made blades. 

  Erevan remembered the soft spots among the joints of the giant crabs and a couple of well-placed joabs later, the crab-man he faced was oozing black fluid from his waist and one elbow. The elf’s natural grace and dexterity saved him from a series of would-be crushing blows. Erevan took a moment, ducking another snapping claw to survey the room. 

  Braddok seemed to be making some progress against the other crab man with his momentarily enchanted sword, though the dark-haired warrior was bleeding from a nasty looking wound in his shoulder. The battle raged at the cistern at the other end of the chamber. A barely perceptible moment of fear crossed the elf’s face to see the magical water beast now sported three heads.  Coerraine’s invoked defenses seemed to help keep one of the heads at bay.  The knight covered the druid as the water-priestess cast her healing magics. Duor was lunging and tumbling, deftly avoiding another head’s lashing attacks. 

  He dodged and slashed again, but his sword made no contact.

  Haelan appeared torn. Frozen in place between the two clashes, his glowing mace-head slumped to the ground as the halfling’s large eyes, filled with fear, darted from their companions at the cistern to the monstrous crab-men.

  “Haelan, aid Braddok.” Erevan called. “Remember the giant crabs? Your mace is our best chance against the creature’s shell.”

  This seemed to snap the cleric from his indecision and he charged with what could, kindly, be called a battle cry to slam the crab-man in the knee. The golden light surrounding the pinecone-shaped weapon flared on impact and a loud crack echoed through the chamber, followed by another hissing bellow of pain.

  Turning his attention back to the motion at the fountain, Erevan was surprised to see Alaria being lifted from the floor before his senses were blasted by the pain of a huge claw crushing his waist. The elf cursed his distraction and returned his focus to his adversary.


Braddok made another telling blow against his foe with the glowing sword. 

“This was a great spell, Haelan. Well done.” Commended the warrior. He withdrew his black ooze-covered blade just in time to see the honey colored glow of Haelan’s enchantment flicker for a moment and then disipate.

“Of course,” muttered Braddok.

  He looked from his now mundane blade to the toothy maw of the crab-man who, Braddok was sure, grinned from bulbous black eye to bulbous black eye before smacking Braddok halfway across the chamber with a monstrous claw. The fighter landed with a heavy thud and had the wind knocked from his wounded body. A short distance before him on the right was Fen, Trihna and Coerraine. To his left, a water-snake wrapped Alaria was nearly at the cistern’s short wall. The magess seemed to be faltering in consciousness. 

  “Hey!” shouted Haelan, “That was my friend.” The indignant cleric swung again and with the last remaining divine might of his spell, the mace landed a solid blow on the monster’s abdomen. The pinecone shaped head crushed shell and sinew, black ichor gushed from the opening and the creature, looking as surprised as a demon crab-man’s face can look, the monster slumped forward to lie at the blond-tufted feet of his less-than-half-sized foe.

“So there.” Haelan said with a victorious nod.

  It was then, Haelan, Erevan, and the rest of the company heard the unnatrual sounds, or was it that they “hyper-natural”, echoing through the chamber. The syllables, what could have been words, assaulted the ears of the party and their crustacean foe.

Yes, thought Haelan, they are words…but not words…

Erevan took the momentary distraction of his foe to regain his footing and turned to the source of the oddly familiar, yet not at all, sound.

  From the ground behind Coerraine, Fen lay with arm outstretched towards the serpent drawing Alaria in to the pool. The young red-headed druid was the source of the bizarre words. They came from his lips but seemed, almost, to be coming from the very walls and air of the cavern itself.

_“--/./…][--.-…--!”_ <druid spell_: Reversed Create Water_. _Druidic magic is cast in the secret language of the druids. It is unknown and incomprehensible to any not initiated in the Ancient Order._> 

As Fen spoke, his hand was surrounded by a greenish blue light which increased with his “words” to flash out of existence at the climactic sounding finale.

  The length of the water-beast’s neck which was pulling Alaria to the pool burst in an explosive manner, separating the magess from the pool. The other two heads of the creature let out roaring cries of obvious pain.

  Alaria dropped to the ground, as did all of the water surrounding her. She coughed and sputtered from the impromptu shower. Alaria quickly swept her soaked tresses from her face and twisted in sopping robes to face the cistern, completely expecting to see two more heads forming before her. When they did not, Alaria noticed the unnatural glimmer within the water that had held her, now surrounding her on the ground, had disappeared. The completely normal looking water quietly seeped into the dry dusty earthen floor.  

  “My thanks, again, master druid.” Coughed Alaria. “Trihna, can you do anything about this creature?”

  Trihna had _only_ brought the druid back from the brink of death, she thought to herself. But replied unphased to the soaked mage, “My initial spell to control the waters of the pool utterly failed. The power of the tainted pearl is simply too strong for me.”

  “’The tainted pearl’…” the words resounded in Alaria’s head. “That’s it! Trihna you are brilliant.”

  Pleased as she was by the compliment, the water priestess thought their situation still on the dire side for such a celebratory tone.

  While Duor continued to slash and run on one of the wyrd’s heads the other continued to attempt attacks on Coerraine, its attacks hedged off by the paladin’s protective invocation. Fen rose with Trihna’s help and sought a decent angle to again attack the creature. Haelan moved to aid Erevan in bringing down the last crab-man and Braddok also rose and moved to helpthe magess to her wet feet.

  “Do you have any more of the Tidemaster’s Pure water?” Alaira asked the warrior at her side.

  “Well yes. But how are you going to defeat water with water?” Braddok handed over the half-full waterskin. Without taking a moment to answer, Alaria uncorked Braddok’s flask and her own nearly empty flask. 

  “We must get closer. Defend me.” Alaria said. The swordsman took a defensive stance between the sorceress and the water creature as the two came to the very edge of the cistern. 

  Another stab with his magic dagger and Duor cursed to see the creature destabilze and two new necks quickly streamed into formation.

_“Extermiz maguuz”_ <mage spell/cantrip: Mage Hand> A spectral greenish mist coalesced into the form of a three fingered hand linked to Alaria’s own. She placed her own flask into the magical appendage and the hand floated over the cistern to the ledge where the pearl sat, pulsing its unnatural energies.

  “What is this?” came wheezing cry from the back of the chamber. “Stop them!”

  Braddok turned to see, at the passage at the very rear of the chamber (the one which had smelled of earth) a hunched form with a grey beard clad in layers of black robes and cloaks. The figure leaned upon a staff engraved with markings the warrior could only assume were magical in nature. Upon the figure’s head, a reptilian looking skull sat over his hood and shadowed most of the man’s face beneath the toothy-snouted visor. Two more crabmen rushed into the room at the figure’s command.

  Erevan lay at the feet of the remaining original crab-man. He saw the elf’s figure move slightly in a failed effort to rise. Haelan stood in defiant defense over the elf only to be casually swept aside by a massive claw. The halfling tumbled end-over-head over the body of the fallen elf and the crab-man charged forward toward Braddok and Alaria. The warrior looked worriedly at the giant liquid hydra then to Alaria who was concentrating, seemingly unaware of the foes about to be upon them.

  The spectral hand poured what little remained of Alaria’s pure water onto the pearl. The orb hissed and seemed to bubble and fizzle where the water touched it. For a moment, Alaria noticed the color of the light pulsing within the pearl shift to a clear blue-white before being again consumed by the sickly green.

  The three-headed serpentine form shifted all of its attention to the mage and warrior. Coerraine, noticing his charge in imminent danger moved to stand with Alaria and Braddok. He arrived just in time to throw the creature’s attacks from them, hedged to the side by his protective field.

Braddok readied to begin a new battle with the wounded crab-man, not having the faintest idea how they could outlast another two of the ogre-sized monsters.

  Again the air around them charged with an unfamiliar force as Fen, leaning heavily on Trihna, cast again. He purposely subdued his volume to spare his companions from the assault of the eerie tongue of the druids.

  As the two new arrivals neared Haelan and Erevan’s position the earth between them and the halfling cleric, fully engrossed in his healing prayers over the elf’s limp body, erupted with roots and sprouting vines to fully entwine the monsters’ legs. Their flailing claws were soon, similarly_ entangled_ and they set to snapping their way free of the magically induced growth.

  With the water-hydra’s attention now firmly on the wizardess, swordsman and paladin, Duor took the opportunity to climb up onto the cistern’s short wall and leap onto the back of the nearest neck. The green-glowing blade sank easily into the watery form, slicing it in twain for the majority of its length as the dwarf’s weight pulled him down its “back” and into the pool. As expected, two new necks formed and the two new heads turned their attention to the dwarf, now, up to his chest in the enchanted pool.

   Alaria sent the magic hand back to the ledge, this time with Braddok’s much fuller flask. The serpentine heads paid the spell no mind, entirely focused on attacking the bodies before them.

Braddok stepped outside of the paladin’s holy protection in an attempt to draw the heads away from Alaria. The ploy worked, too well. One of the necks whipped around the warrior and, as easily as it had Alaria, lifted the armored warrior from the ground. Being as near to the cistern as they were, Braddok didn’t have a moment to think before finding himself pulled into and under the pool of water.

  Chanting from the back of the room, behind the entangled crab-man, told the party that the dark-robed arrival was casting something. The incantation came to an end as the pure water from the flask began to strike the pearl.

  Haelan watched as, for a moment, the entire far end of the chamber was enshrouded in darkness.

Erevan rose, wearily taking up his sword again. The elf saw the darkness spell drop upon their friends and began to half-lead half-drag the daelvar priest toward the passage they had entered.

  Then, from within the inky black cloud, a silver light began to pulse, then flicker, then glow steadily, rising to a strong shine. The impenetrable darkness dissipated in a moment. Ribbons of blackness gave way to the growing light until none remained.

  The form of the water hydra simply stopped for a moment, as if held, before the waters fell, losing all form, lifeless back into the pool.

Duor quickly grabbed the half-drowned Braddok. Gasping for breath, the warrior grabbed the gleaming blue-white pearl without a thought. The two climbed out of the pool as fast as possible.

  Braddok handed the pearl over to Trihna, who simply held it out in front of her, at something of a loss for what to do with it. She was soon filled with feeling secure and overwhelmed with the grace of her goddess.

  Haelan, similarly, felt a renewed connection with his goddess as the oppressive evil that had flooded the chamber seemed to shred even as the magical darkness had.

  “You shall not deprecate the power of the Ocean Mother with your malignancy ever again, evil one.” Called Trihna across the room. She neither knew nor cared if the dark robed figure heard her.

  The chamber was filled with the sounds of roaring waves crashing upon a shore, the blues of the water-priestess’ robes again swirled and churned, looking for a moment, like she was clothed in the sea itself.

  High-pitched shrill cries escaped the three remaining crab-men as they seemed to strain against some unseen pain. Then the three explored in columns of water and bursts of green flame, leaving nothing in their wake but puddles, quickly claimed by the dry earthen floor.

  As the shrill cries trailed off as the puddles were quickly claimed by the earthen floor, the shining silver light returned to a glimmering pulse within the large black pearl.

  “Meeessh beees freeeeeeeee.” the steam mephit clapped in adulation before his form and voice trailed off and disappeared in wisps of steam and mist.

  “Bye Mister Meeessh! Thank you!” called Haelan to the quickly dissipating form.

  With the light levels returned to normal, there was no sign of the robed-figure.

  “Let’s get out of here,” commanded Alaria. “Hurry, that evil priest will no doubt return with reinforcements.”

  Duor ran over to the orb on the other ledge and splashed it with his remaining pure water. Sure enough, the orb fizzed and hissed and the blackness of the orb seemed to trail away into the empty cistern surrounding it. This orb, Duor was pleased to see, was definitely not a pearl. It appeared to be made of quartz or other clear crystal of some kind. “Hey look.”

  “Just grab it, Duor. Come on!” was Braddok’s curt reply.

  The companions hastened through the passages through which the mephit had led them. The less wounded aiding those more so.

  They had little choice but to simply sprint through the chamber of hellhounds. Trihna hoisted the black pearl menacingly over her head and, whether it was the grace of the goddess of the seas or simply the creature’s defensive posture, the chained hounds backed off as the company sped through their guardpost.

  Breaking forth from the mountain into the early afternoon air, Alaria insisted they not stop until they’d reached the boat or night fell. 

  “But what about the harpy’s treasure?” cried Duor in horror. “Yeh can’t just mean to leave it!”

  “We may return to it when we are rested,” Alaria sternly replied as she helped the still badly wounded Erevan to carry on as fast as they could. “But for now, safety is our first concern.”

  “Besides,” added Coerraine, “it would seem you have availed yourself of more of that treasure than we knew.” The paladin gave the dwarf an accusatory scowl and nodded at the enchanted dagger, still in the dwarf’s grasp.

  The dwarf, heartbroken, was completely out voted and without the detour to the harpy’s lair, did reach the beach and their small vessel by shortly after sundown.  They camped upon the moored ship and spent an anxious night binding their wounds and making plans to leave the following day on the first available tide.

  Of all of the company, Trihna seemed the most at ease, full of confidence that by regaining the pearl, they need fear nothing upon the sea.

  Shades of her belief in their ‘Shoal spirit’, no doubt Alaria thought. But the R’Hathi wizardess finally settled in for some much needed rest and the assurance that the next day, their errand to Welford could be renewed.


----------



## steeldragons

Just a small wrap up on the group's adventure on Dragonbone Isle...(not that they're totally out of the water, so to speak, just yet 

I don't want to get into too much (well, any, really) "crunch" as this is not a "mechanics" kinda story hour.

But here's why I LOVE running low level groups and/or starting at 1st level.
Following the last scene/on the run, the crew looked like this:
Alaria: 1hp
Fen: 2hp (after being healed from -2 by Trihna)
Braddok: 2hp
Erevan: 3hp (after being healed from 0 by Haelan)
Haelan: 5hp (reeeally got off easy. But given he nearly died with the harpies, I didn't mind so much the dice giving him a break)
Coerraine: full hp (the guy's just damn tough to hit! Also, his "Protection from Evil" field was UBER useful against the elemental)
Duor full hp (let's hear it for Dexterity bonuses and great rolls. Definitely kept him out of a world of pain.)
Trihna (NPC): full hp

I'll also take this opportunity to lament, as a DM, the encounter with Meeessh. If the party had not encountered Meeessh (or if it had gone badly) they would have had to enter the mountain via the "front door" cave that Fen knew about. It would have been a VERY different (and I daresay, more deadly) adventure...*disappointed sigh*. My own fault for putting him in there.

But them's the gaming breaks, aren't they? Players will always figure out some way around your most well thought out, detailed and planned encounters (...as they should!). C'est la guerre.

It's ok though...Tresahd will live to rear his bone-crowned head another day which, while not originally being in the "plan", is just fine with me. Bwahaha. 
--SD


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## wolff96

Recurring villains for the win.  I always like to have the masterminds get away (when they can, I don't cheat for 'em).  The players are always so stoked to finally nail down someone that's been plauging them for a while...


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## steeldragons

*Joy to the Pearl*

No sooner had our battered, bruised and nearly bereft of spells band hunkered down for the night when they all bolted up right at the sound.

  “AWOOOOOOOOOOooooo.”

  It hauntingly eerie howl echoed through the night. The sound unlike that of a normal wolf or dog, a preternatural edge sent chills down the spines of everyone.

  “They are not far off.” Erevan stated. None questioned the veracity of his elvin ears.

  Alaria’s face showed visible concern in the shimmering silver and green light from the waning greater and waxing lesser moons. Her ability to work any serious magic was spent for the day and if these were, indeed, the hellhounds they had seen earlier, she knew she had not the strength to stave off such supernatural creatures. Reluctantly, she drew the slender white wand from its holster and began barking orders.

  “Braddok, sever the line. Trihna, get us out of here.” Said the magess.

  “We are beached, Alaria. I will not be able to…”the priestess replied apologetically.

  “Use the pearl!” commanded Alaria.

  Taken aback by the curt command, Trihna did take up the sacred orb of her faith and sat beside the tiller with it in her lap. She closed her eyes and almost immediately, the flickering blue-white light within the pearl began to pulse.

  Braddok, Erevan and Coerraine readied weapons at the boat’s prow, scanning the tree line for their expected arrivals.

  “They don’t like the water, do they Alaria. Maybe we’ll be safe here on the boat?” Haelan questioned wearily. The daelvar cleric from the Free Hollows had had about all of the adventure he could stand the past couple of days. Harpies, hellhounds and a watery hydra was plenty enough for him.

  “I’d rather we be safe than sorry, Haelen.” answered Alaria without looking at the halfling.

  “AWOOOOOOOOO….” Came the cry again. Even non-elvin ears could tell it was definitely closer than the first. Again chills went through the group in anticipation of a battle they had little hope of winning.

  As the sound of the waves around them seemed to increase, everyone watching the beach steeled themselves as a pair, then two, of bright orange flaming eyes could be seen in the shadowed forest.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Trihna.” Shouted Braddok from the prow.

  The sea priestess seemed not to notice. Her face was passive, eyes closed and lips whispering some chant to her ocean mother the others could not hear.

  “Maybe you could use this, boss.” Offered Duor. The magess turned to the dwarf holding out the crystalline orb he had pilfered from the other altar in their hasty retreat.

  “I don’t know what it is or does, Duor.” Alaria replied in annoyance. Honestly, she thought, does the dwarf not understand anything about the workings of the arcane?

  “Well I don’t either! Give it a shot!” said the dwarf. The worry in his voice caught Alaria by surprise and she turned in sympathy to take the orb from him.

  Alaria could feel the energies pulsing about the device and a swirl of wind seemed to surround her for a moment. Then the wind all around the ship grew and rose, coming off of the water. The sound of crashing waves increased more and the ship lurched up as the increading sea gathered beneath the vessel.

  Just as the two black hounds burst from the treeline, their flaming eyes and maws seared the souls of the party with fear, the wind turned to come off of the land. The ship lurched again as a great swell of water and strong wind heaved the small ship out into the cover andbeyond the breaking waves.

  The hounds stopped just short of the waterline. One yelped in fear, and perhaps pain, as the edge of a wave washed over its flaming paws.

  The hellhounds let out a combinations of frustrated barks and howls at their prey, far beyond their reach in the accursed water.

  “Blessed be Her depths.” Said Haelan loudly with a broad smile at Trihna. The priestess smiled back at the halfling, “Well said, brother Hilltender.” She turned to Coerraine and Braddok, “Raise the sail if you would, brave warriors. It seems we shall be departing this night, afterall. Erevan, might you be able to take the tiller for a while. I am so very tired.”

  With a deep bow, “It would be my pleasure, Waverider. You’ve done your goddess, and we, great service this day.”


  Trihna nodded weakly and smiled. She rested herself below the aft section and as she was passing off to blissful sleep, a light hand ws on her shoulder.

  She turned to see Alaria’s face. “Thank you, Trihna.” Said the wizardess.

  Again, Trihna smiled weakly and simply said, “Blessed be Her depths, magess.”

  The night dragged on and hours later, the two moons low in the sky, Trihna was back at the tiller. The elf had not slept that she had noticed. Instead, he had been at the prow since she had risen, scanning the sea and sky. She had mused at the breezes causing his silver grey hair to flow and glitter in the moonlight, almost like waves itself.  She discreetly got Erevan’s attention, not needing to make much sound to catch the elf’s ears notice. With his inherent grace and balance, he wove his way through their sleeping companions to the back of the ship.

  When he’d arrived, Trihna said softly, “Do you see there, master elf? That bank before us…can you senses pierce the fog?”

  Erevan turned to the large fog bank on their horizon. “I am afeared not, Waverider. Though it seems peaceful and quiet and lovely in the moonlight.” His violet eyes turned to the human priestess and he smiled a small smile on his handsome ageless face.

  “Lovely, it is.” Admitted Trihna, not seeming to notice the elf’s flirtation. “But that is where we should be coming upon Shoal. The temple should be in view though I see nothing but the mist.”

  “You sense some doom has befallen your village.” Erevan stated. It was not meant as a question.

  “I do not. The Shoal Spirit and Tidemaster Kama keep the village safe…”the priestess paused a moment, “Though I can not, in my life there, recall ever seeing a fog over our waters.”

  “While I dare not suppose to know your waters better than you, in my homeland, a morning mist is quite common.” Replied Erevan. “In fact, they are an almost daily pleasure. The young of my people use them to play a game that helps to train and heighten the vaunted “elvin senses” you humans are so fond of remarking about.” Erevan smiled again. “Do you think we should stop here?” he asked. “Surely, in the morning sun, they will disperse.”  

  “Perhaps that would be wise.” Trihna replied. Again, she seemed to be paying the elf’s subtle displays of  interest no mind. She left the helm and tossed the small anchor overboard.

  Erevan turned to again look to the fog. Perhaps, he mused, the water priestesses are not allowed the pleasures of the body.  He understood many of those in religious orders seemed to be denied the pleasure in human lands. A sacrifice of their bodies to their respective deities, as Erevan had once been told. A sacrifice, indeed, thought Erevan. But he did not press the issue and returned to his place at the prow.

  Dawn came and the sun rose to mid-morning. The fog did not disperse. Nor, noted Erevan, had its position or size changed at all in the increasing heat of the day. It was, unquestionably, not naturally formed. After some discussion, and Trihna’s assurances that she could unerringly direct them back to the temple, it was decided that the party would press forward. 
  A short time passed and the small ship came out of the fog bank into the bright sunny day, in full view of the village and the temple of Tyris upon the high rocky outcropping. Alaria studied the fog from the “inside” and could see that it seemed to create a ring, extending beyond the shoal, to encicrle the waters beyond the village.

  As they neared the temple dock, they could see a throng assembled. The long white beard of Tidemaster Kama was unmistakeable, even at a distance. The high priest was flanked by his twin acolytes. Several others, most in the blue and green wraps and robes of Tyrisian garb, were there also.

  “Hail to the champions of Tyris!” proclaimed Kama. A great cheer went up as the ship pulled up to the dock. Dihm and Suhm, the twins, leapt aboard the ship and deftly secured lines as another lesser cleric laid out a gang plank for the returning adventurers.

  The group disembarked to more cheers and adulations.

  “Tyris, blessed be Her depths, is greatly pleased by your success, brave souls. The Shoal Spirit reported the taint of the crab-demons are gone from our waters. You have done us a great service.” Tidemaster Kama proclaimed.

  “We are humbled by your praise, Tidemaster. But, I fear, we could not have succeeded without Waverider Trihna’s excellent aid.” Alaria replied and stood aside as Trihna presented the black pearl to the Tidemaster.

  As the aged priest took the artifact tears formed in his eyes. He stared at the pearl for a moment before turning to the crowd and raising it above his head. “Praise to the heroes of Shoal. Praise to the Ocean Mother. Long blessed be Her depths!” 

  “Blessed be Her depths.” Came the communal response. Then the crowd swarmed the heroes and as a wave of humanity, led them back up the outcropping to the temple grounds with great cheer, dancing as the music of woodwinds and flutes rose from somewhere in the assembled crowd.

  The companions were taken to quarters within the temple to wash and clean themselves as a lavish feast was prepared and brought out. All members of the village were present with much music and dancing, drinking and merry-making both around the temple and in the village below. 

  News of the heroes return spread quickly and soon Elder Bundo and the other Elders arrived at the temple’s courtyard to share their respectful thanks and congratulations to Alaria and her band.

  As pleased with the reception as Alaria was, she was ever mindful of the work before them. She repectfully requested the use of the temple library and Tidemaster Kama’s help in identifying the magical items they’d found. She also wished to speak to him about the other strange orb, its properties and purpose in that evil place.

  Tidemaster Kama granted her request for access to the temple’s limited resources and simply smiled in reply to the R’Hathi mage’s next barrage of questions.


Finally, he said, “My dear young wizard of R’Hath, your thoughtfulness is to be admired. However,  you must learn to enjoy the ride of the waves when they crest. ‘Ere they are lost on the ebbing tide.” The elder priest winked at Alaria with a smile and raised his goblet of sweet wine to her.

  Alaria smiled in response and clinked his goblet with her own. “Indeed, Tidemaster. I apologize for any unintended insult. The festivities and hospitality you have shown us are most welcomed.”

  “You have returned to us a great treasure, Alaria.” Kama replied. “As you shall to many others.”

  “Indeed? Has the Shoal Spirit told you this, Tidemaster?” asked Alaria in mild jest.

  Kama leaned in close and whispered in the magess’ ear, “Not all treasures are of gold and magic, after all.” With a smile and nod of a bow, the long-bearded cleric turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  The following day, Alaria spent her time with Tidemaster Kama and the young priest in charge of the temple’s library pouring through scrolls and tomes and casting various divinations on the items she knew to be enchanted, including the dagger that Duor had reluctantly turned over for examination.

  Braddok, Coerrine and Haelan went down to the village to take up the shopkeeper, Patty, on his offer to resupply the band insofar as his wares could.

  Fen explored the village nd its surrounding woods, stopping often to chat with the locals about the various plants and herbs to be found so near the coast.

  Duor nursed his hangover with the remains of the ale leftover from the previous day’s festivities. It was a watery concoction, but enough of it did the job. The rest of his time was spent wandering the temple and waiting for Alaria to return his new prized weapon.

  By the end of the day, it had been determined that the potions in the small coffer included one to heal, one that could neutralize poisons of all types and the electrum flask embossed with vines had something to do with the growing of plants…though, Kama apologized, they could not specify exactly its use or application. All of the vials in the coffer were above average size for such elixirs and the temple’s librarian supposed there were two or three draughts of each liquid.

  As to the hematite ring it could only be discerned of being protective in nature. Alaria donned the ring as her own. After an initial tingle as the magic of the ring flowed over her body, the magess felt nothing.



Haelan’s shield and Duor’s dagger were each shown to possess the mildest of enchantments, though the dagger possess something “more.” 



Of the crystalline orb found with the pearl, they were unable to discern any specific properties...other than it was, most definitely, enchanted and contained magic of a magnitude significantly higher than their other treasures.


Kama and the librarian were very sorry their expertise could not be more specific. Alaria admitted, and also apologized, her own craft was also unable to achieve (what she would have cinsidered) sufficient answers. Still, she thanked the clerics profusely and offered the librarian a token of a few coins as "donation" to the temple for his time and help.

  It was suggested by the librarian, that Alaria might seek the aid of the elves at the trading post of Silver Falls. They were known to maintain an enclave of elvish sorcerers to aid the passing of the Miralosta trading skivs up and down the falls to reach the Whitegull Bay and proceed on to their trade in Hawkview.

  The following day, fully equipped, and presented by Kama with a small shallow ship of their own. They thankfully took on the provisions of fresh skins of Pure water and a map of the coastline north which included the river D’Evand and the Laklans. 

  Despite their supplications, which included a sizeble donation of their found gems and gold, Trihna was unable to continue on with them. The Tidemaster explained that since she had used the pearl it was to be her new duty to be the keeper of the pearl’s shrine and to further explore and master the pearl’s power.


The Waverider did take a moment from her new duties to see the party off, hoping they would not be long in their quest and looking forward to seeing them again soon.


After many long hugs and thanks the party, clumsily at first, set sail for the river D’Evand, to the Silver Falls and, it was hoped, on to their destination in Welford.


----------



## wolff96

I really enjoyed the purification of the pearl being the real key to the fight.  Also, the water-elemental-hydra was a very cool foe.  

Either the party level is higher than I thought or you're using some unusual stats -- do you mind sharing?  

And I like the celebration.  Always nice to make the heroes of a story FEEL like heroes.  The best 'treasure' I ever handed out in my Rise of the Runelords game was a day of celebration in the party's hometown to commemorate their victory over the goblins..


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## steeldragons

wolff96 said:


> Either the party level is higher than I thought or you're using some unusual stats -- do you mind sharing?




Umm. I dunno. What do you think is/was unusual? 

The party was all (has attempted to be written as) 1st level characters. The game is an amalgam of 1 and 2e rules with some homebrew rulings (particularly in the working of magic) in the mix. I'd be happy to outline those if you like?

For example, for purposes of the narrative, all characters start 1st level with full hit points +Con. bonuses as applicable. So Alaria had 4hp, Haelan had 8hp, Braddok had 11hp to start.

Following the retrieval of the pearl, everyone except Fen, Coerraine and Erevan has made it to 2nd...so there should be some indications of that in the upcoming installments...really should only notable by the spellcasting abilities of Alaria and Haelan.

A brief breakdown, since I do like/want to avoid "crunch" would be as follows.

Alaria: Mage/2. Hp 7 (up from 4). No armor. Wpn. staff. Spells: 4 0lvl, 3 1lvl (2 1lvl as a 2nd lvl mage +1 from Int. bonus). Magic: Ring of Protection +1, Wand of Lightning Bolts (3 uses), Potion of Water Breathing, Scroll w/2 1lvl spells, scroll w/ 2 2lvl, also carrying the crystalline orb they don't know anything about yet and the small unknown "item" in her package being taken to Welford. (that does seem like an awful lot of magic for a 2nd lvl mage, but I was kind of expecting some of her initial items to get used up by now...it all evens out in the wash.)

Braddok: Fighter/2. Hp 15 (up from 12). Chain & Shield. Wpn. Long sword, Short bow, dagger. Magic: Potion of Water Breathing.

Haelan: Cleric/2. Hp 11 (up from 8). Chain & Shield +1. Wpn. Mace. Spells: 4 1lvl (2 1lvl +2 Wis. bonus). Magic: Shield +1, Potion of Water breathing, carries the Potions of Healing & Neautralize Poison (3 uses each).

Erevan: Fighter-Mage/1-1. Hp 7 (max d10 + max d4 divided by 2, no Con. bonus). Leather. Wpn. Long bow, Long sword, dagger. Spells: 1 1lvl. Magic: Potion of Water Breathing.

Duor: Thief/2. Hp. 13 (up from 9, Duor has a +3 Con bonus). Leather. Wpn. Short sword, Dagger, Dagger +1, Hand crossbow. Thieve's Skills are a bit more "free form" in my game, so Duor is very good with climbing, traps, hiding in shadows...he's..."less good" (otherwise known as "pretty crappy", hahaha) with things like moving silently and pickpocketing. Magic: Dagger +1, Potion of Water Breathing.

Shall I keep going on with this or has this somehow answered your question(s)?


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## wolff96

steeldragons said:


> Shall I keep going on with this or has this somehow answered your question(s)?




It was a water elemental hydra, facing level 1 characters.  I didn't realize you were playing a 1E/2E hybrid, so I was kind of shocked that a 1st level party could fight it.

Then again, I'm still kind of suprised that a 1st level party could fight it now that I know you're playing an older system.  

I was mostly curious about the stats on the monster, but it's fine if you'd rather not share.  It wouldn't mean much to me now anyway, as I now know you're working from a different ruleset!  So don't bother.


----------



## steeldragons

wolff96 said:


> It was a water elemental hydra, facing level 1 characters.  I didn't realize you were playing a 1E/2E hybrid, so I was kind of shocked that a 1st level party could fight it.
> 
> Then again, I'm still kind of suprised that a 1st level party could fight it now that I know you're playing an older system.
> 
> I was mostly curious about the stats on the monster, but it's fine if you'd rather not share.  It wouldn't mean much to me now anyway, as I now know you're working from a different ruleset!  So don't bother.




Well, I am writing it to be able to be applied (as I try to do with all things "Orea") system neutral.

Basically, it was an old school "water weird" that I added the hydra-look/properties to just to make it interesting. 

For play purposes, any attack that did more than 6hp "dissipated" the neck/head and it was replaced with 2. 

It could only be hit be "magic weapons", hence why Coerraine's spear could harm it with the +1 from Haelan's Bless spell, while Fen's spear (prior to the casting) passed right through it.

Also, any attack by the creature that hit by 4 or more on the role counted as an "ensnaring" attack to drag the character underwater to drown them (the basic water weird attack).

In essence, the characters weren't supposed to be able to defeat it. heh heh. I would have been exceptionally surprised if they had been able to defeat it on their own/using sheer force. 

As in the story, they were supposed to purify the pearl to win the battle...hence the none too subtle "tip" from Trihna...which Alaria picked up on nicely. 

Had they not "engaged" it and backed off from the well/pool it was in, it would have dissipated...until they got close again. So, maybe if a party spends some time to step back and analyze the situation instead of just charging in, they might not need the tip.

I'm a pretty firm believer in letting the characters encounter things in the world...not simply "level appropriate" things. Fighting is not_ always _the best course of action in my games. 

--SD


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## steeldragons

Whether it was the apparent sea-sickness or simply that he was satisfied to be getting the remainder of the treasure at all, Duor put up very little argument when it was proposed that Erevan and Haelan would go collect the rest of the loot from the harpies’ hidden ledge. Coerraine was most adamant on this point, believing the dwarven rogue ought to be “punished” for his obvious “betrayal” of his fellows in pocketing the magical dagger.

  “Wonder what he’d expect as penance if he knew about the pouch of gems?” thought Duor. His momentary inner laugh quickly washed over by the nausea of the gently bobbing shallow sailing ship on which he and his companions traveled.

  With Erevan and Braddok doing most of the sailing work, they brought the small vessel around the high rocky promontory to the side where they knew a natural opening appeared. It was hoped they might actually bring the ship into the large cavern but their less-than-perfect knowledge of the tides made this impossible. Only the very top of the opening was visible above the water’s surface, not nearly tall or wide enough to allow the ship to enter.

  The two "divers" decided it was time to use the water-breathing potions that Tidemaster Kama had given them. Securing themselves to each other with some rope, the elf and halfling quaffed their potions and leaped from the ship. Haelan had removed his armor, both better to swim in and for making himself lighter for Erevan’s magical platform.

  Alaria seemed to not be overly concerned by any of the goings on, concentrating heavily on reviewing one of the scrolls from her former master, the wizard Vertior.  She lowered the parchment pages in frustration, trying to recall some of her lessons to discern the spell she was attempting to learn. Staring off at the wooded coast of Dragonbone Isle, the R’Hathi wizardess grudgingly admitted to herself that the magic was still beyond her expertise.

  A flicker of black among the branches of one of the trees startled Alaria from her thoughts. A panic gripped her as her mind turned immediately to the massive hellhounds that she supposed still roamed the island.  The momentary fear was quickly replaced by reason and logic. The small shape flitted from one tree to another before taking wing and rising above the trees to circle briefly and fly off to the north. Merely a raven. “Silly girl.” Alaria berated herself. 

  Coerraine, had he known Alaria’s mind, would have found it anything but silly as he intently scanned the treeline and the rocky cliff above them, ever vigilant in his knowledge that the “evil” they had been sent to destroy was not, entirely, gone. There were the hell-beasts from which they’d fled. Evil. The dark-robed wizard (or priest?) they had not vanquished. Evil. The two harpy sisters that Alaria had allowed to simply go on their way to wreak what havoc they might on other parts of the realms. Evil. Not to mention, the druid’s tale of a force of goblin pirates they had not actually encountered, but “if the half-elf could be trusted” thought Coerraine, “they might still be out here…somewhere.” Evil.

  The young paladin, while being true to his orders and the mission of his rank of “Goldshield” to protect the young magess, continued to be uneasy with Alaria’s willingness to avoid, if not actively allow, the agents of darkness they crossed paths with to exist. Despite his knowledge to the contrary, and his respect for the intelligent young woman, Coerraine found his mind wander to the possibility that Alaria, herself, might somehow be an agent of evil. He dismissed the thought almost immediately, but still found himself at a lack of reason for how she could seem so at ease with her decisions.

  Braddok had found himself exhilarated in the exercise of his limited lessons in shipcraft from the sea priestess, Trihna. In the clear day, the lulling swells and the cool breezes of a life at sea appealed to the  swordsman of far off Denil.


He also took more than a bit of personal amusement at the dwarf’s obvious discomfort. It was refreshing to see the rogue, normally quick to sarcastic quip, brought to humbled silence in his gastrointestinal distress. Braddok also noticed Alaria’s apparent frustration as she stuffed the parchments she had been studying back into their banded case.

  “If Trihna and the Tidemaster are correct, milady, we should make the settlement at Silver Falls sometime in the night.” Braddok stated. He hoped to lift the seemingly pensive wizard’s spirits. He shared her desire to complete their errand.


With the treasure they’d already secured, plus his pay from Alaria, he should be returning to Hawkview with enough for some new armor, perhaps an additional weapon or two. Since his less than effective encounters with the crabs and crab-men, the warrior had been giving considerable thought to acquiring a mace.  “Welford should be no more than three days away.”

  Alaria nodded her acknowledgement, not bothering to turn to look at the warrior at the tiller.

  The sun continued to rise, as did the tide. What little of the opening in the rockface that had been visible was soon swallowed as the waters reached their zenith. It had been, by Alaria’s estimation, a half hour since the elf and halfling had gone overboard to collect their riches.

  “Ho! Look there!” called Coerraine from the prow, pointing to the north.

  All of the remaining party looked with unease as a large galleon came into view around the northern edge of the island. From the ship’s large mast a flag flew. From the distance, all any of the humans or dwarf could make out was that it flew some symbol in red.

  “That can’t be good.” said Duor in his usual deadpan.

  As they watched, figures loaded into one of the longboat’s tied to the ship’s side and quickly was lowered into the water.

  “Fen?” Alaria questioned.

  “Yes. I am afraid that is the ship I saw before your arrival. Goblins and bugbears are her crew.” The half-elf replied. Despite his statement, his voice, betrayed no concern or fear. “We should not tarry here.”

  “Really? Ya think? Maybe they’d like to share some of our treasure.” Said Duor with characteristic sarcasm. “Where’s the blasted point-ear with my gold?” Duor looked to the water on the promontory side. Noting the disapproving look from Coerraine, “Fine. _‘Our’_ gold.” Duor rolled his dark brown eyes beneath his bushy eyebrows.

  The Redstar Knight ignored the dwarf’s obvious attempt at humor. “Milady, if these are indeed pirates, let alone goblins, we must rid these waters of their evil. What if they find Shoal or attack the temple?”

  Alaria did not respond. Her view skyward, again noting the black smudge of a raven against the clear day’s sky. Her brow furrowed in thought for a moment, then subtly lifted her hand towards the sky and whispered, _“Arcanivis”_ <mage spell: Detect Magic>.

  The violet sphere of light flickered around Alaria’s hand. To her eyes, the raven similarly flickered with a pale violet aura.

  “Braddok, do you think you can hit that raven?” Alaria said with some urgency.

  The warrior looked at the magess questioningly and tried to guess the distance of the dark bird. “No. It’s much too far. Perhaps Erevan could…Why?”

  “The bird is magical. I am willing to wager that it is the dark-robed wizard’s familiar.” Alaria replied. “If I’m right, it is watching us. Relaying our presence to its master even now. Fen…”

  “Sorry. I am in the same boat as the good warrior.” The druid replied with a shrug, then chuckled. “Ha. ‘Same boat’ indeed, eh?” Seeing his pun falling on unappreciative ears, he explained, “It is beyond the reach of my magics. I am sorry.”

  “That longboat is heading straight for us. Milady, we must ready for battle.” Coerraine reported.

  Just then, a sputtering Haelan broke the water’s surface. “A little help, here, if you please.” 

  Braddok, Fen and Duor rushed to haul the halfling, elf and their sacks of booty out of the water. 

  Erevan was barely out of the water before Alaria shouted orders, “Erevan, shoot down that raven! Braddok, get us out of here. Make for the river with all speed. A ship that size surely won’t be able to follow us upstream. Coaerraine, Duor take the oars.”

  The confused elf nocked an arrow, but by the time he had gotten a bead on the dark bird, it was beyond his reach as well, having flown back to the north and into the interior of the island.

  Haelan hastily donned his shirt of chainmail. He looked with concern towards the approaching longboat, at least two of the creatures were obviously large, hairy and nasty looking. “Bugbears, for sure. Erevan, what is that red mark? What symbol do they fly.” The halfling cleric hoped with all his heart it was not the red demon skull symbol of the Chaosbringer.

  Erevan took a cursory glance at the large ship as he assisted Braddok to get their vessel under way. “Yes, Haelan, it is that red talon symbol I saw that goblin warband carrying.”

  "Oh. Whew." No demon-priests, the halfling priest thought. Then it dawned on him. “Oh! Oh bollux.” He then made a hasty mental apology to his goddess for the vulgarity.

  The party was fortunate to have some wind at their back, and with Coerraine and Duor working with oars, their shallow light ship sped away from the island.


  The longboat with its goblinoid raiding party came up on the party’s small ship quickly. They passed close enough to see the passengers easily.Two bugbears were obvious, one at the prow, one aft.  Tucked in between the two large creatures there seemed to be at least a half dozen goblins. Their long ragged pointed ears apparent popping out from behind a row of four small shields with two oars (per side) jutting out from in between the cover. 



Two goblin archers rose from the center of the ship and let their shafts fly. One missed horribly but the other “thunked” into the side of the party’s boat.

  Erevan returned in kind from his place at the till, but in the splashing jerking of the speeding vessel neither of his bolts connected. One flew clear over the goblin laiden longboat.

  The aft bugbear shouted some command in his gutteral tongue and the longboat began to turn to pursue the sailing intruders. The galleon continued to bob ever closer before them, it seemed to be attempting to cut off their escape. Fortunately, the party’s ship was much smaller and faster, but the large ship continued towards the shore and, it seemed, would come very near them as they continued north.

  Suddenly, from the galleon, a mass of flaming something launched from the ship’s deck. A catapult of some kind. The large lump of fire soared into the air and crashed into the sea just to the right of the party. It sent up a hiss of steam and smoke. The fumes from the thing choked those that caught a lungful.

  Duor was forced to release his oar for a moment to projectile vomit over the side of the ship. “Gah.” The dwarf spewed, wiping his beard. “Least it wasn’t the fire.” The dwarf retched a second time. "Actually, maybe the fire would have been better."


  With that statement a second flaming mass shot into the air from the galleon.  This one, thankfully, splashed into the water behind the fast-moving smaller ship. The huge boat continued to trek into the path of the party.

  “They’ll ram us if we keep going. We need to make for shore and try to outrun them.” Braddok offered.

  There was another ‘whiz’ and ‘thunk’ as another arrow from the longboat thudded into the ship’s mast above Alaria’s head. Another arrow clanked and shattered against Haelan’s shield as he moved to put himself between the archers and the magess.

  “They will not.” Alaria stated plainly. “I have had enough of this.” Alaria reached into her scroll case and withdrew a slender tapered wand of white wood. “I believe,”  she thought aloud, “this constitutes an ‘emergency.’” She pointed the wand toward the goblin ship.

_“Allhankowsh.”_ <the wand’s command word> Alaria shouted.

  Immediately, the air all around the ship seemed charged, like the moments before a thunderstorm. From the elegant slender tip of the wand a bolt of white hot lightning streaked across the water and slammed into the side of the galleon, very near the water level. Alaria was nearly thrown from her feet by the force of the magical release.


With a shattering boom, a combination of the thunder effect of the wand and the explosive contact, the lightning bolt slammed into the ship’s hull. Some of the edges of the wide opening in the ship’s side smoked and flickers of flame could be seen on some of the boards and within the dark hole. Cries went up from the ship, garbled shouts indistinctly heard over the water.

  Alaria quickly ducked back down in the their shallow ship. She was too busy surveying the damage of her most potent magic to notice half the party stared in disbelief at the ship. The other half stared in disbelief at her.

  “Wow, Alaria. Nice stick.” Haelan finally said.

  A raised eyebrow turned into a smile at the halfling’s naivtee. “Thank you, Haelan. Braddok, Erevan, let’s go, get us out of here.”

  One final arrow from the longboat tudded into the rear of the party’s ship, not far from Braddok’s foot. But then the raiding party turned back to return to their now crippled mother ship.

  The party’s ship skirted passed the galleon and continued to the north. The angry shouts and goblin curses were lost across the water as they moved further up the coast. In short order, the goblin ship was lost from view as Braddok and Erevan rounded a piece of coast.

  Alaria scanned the skies as they continued, but there was no sight of the raven.

  The afternoon went by without further incident. In the orange evening light, the small ship turned to face the lengthening shadows and setting sun at the mouth of the river D’Evand.


----------



## wolff96

Heh.  Got to love the wand.

Reminds me of an old Dragon Magazine comic.  The wizard is standin in the foreground with a smoking wand.  As you go deeper into the panel, there's a giant with a hole through his chest, a castle tower behind him with a perfectly round hole in it, a mountain behind the tower with a hole through it, and finally the rising moon - with a hole punched clean through IT.

The wizard's comment and caption to the comic?  "I *LOVE* this wand!!"


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## steeldragons

The party continued, struggling up the river D’Evand, “the Silver River” as named by the elves in ages part. When night fell, they found a shallow indent in the banks of the river and easily beached their shallow ship on the smooth river rocks and sand. Erevan and Fen did their best to camouflage the boat with branches and brush. A lean-to was constructed to block light from the campfire from the east and north. The night passed easily enough, though the party teamed up for watches of two throughout the night, keeping a sharp eye downriver for any pursuit from the goblinoid mariners. 

  During Erevan and Fen’s watch, Erevan watched as Fen took a position on the wooded side of the camp and through the enchantments of his druidic cloak faded from view against the trees.  Shortly passed midnight a thick cloud cover blew in from the north. A few rolling rumbles of thunder threatened rain but none came. As the day lightened behind the clouds in the east, the stormfront continued southward and Haelan and Coerraine ended their watch under patchy clouds with breaks of blue sky.

  The party broke camp and piled back into the ship. Haelan suggested that their stalwart vessel needed a name, as all the great ships in the great tales of old. Most of the party was content to let the halfling ponder this on his own. “Long as it ain’t ‘Lilypants’,” stipulated Duor.

  The dwarf found traveling the river significantly easier than the constant up and down sways of the open sea and was thankful for it.

  Despite the lack of rain, the party found themselvs without any useful wind and so the the warriors, Fen and Duor took turns using the oars and poles to force their way against the river current.

  About mid-morning, Haelan noted something curious to the north. Beyond the wooded bank, between  two or three large hills, which Fen explained were the beginnings of the foothills to the Zarchan mountains, the daelvar cleric pointed eagerly at a curious formation.

  “See there, through those to hills? Look. Doesn’t that hill look like a huge face lying down?” Haelan asked. 

  “That is Titans’ Rest, friend Haelan.” Fen explained. “There is a second mountain, which we cannot see just now, facing it. Between those massive faces marks the valley entrance to…”

  “The Land of Sleeping Giants.” Finished Erevan.

  Fen turned to his elvin “cousin” and nodded. “Quite so.”

  Alaria had come across mention of the fabled place, though she had never truly believed it would, indeed, look like a massive slumbering titan.

  “Indeed. So that’s where it is?” Duor said offhandedly. A question from Alaria sparked an explanation from the dwarf, “I have heard the songs of Thornbeard, a great dwarf lord of the Lost Ages. The giants don’t ‘sleep’, point-ear. They’re dead. Thornbeard invaded that land with a great army. He fought and defeated Gorekt the Giant King and all of his kin.”

  Alaria confessed her unfamiliarity with dwarf history, but saw no reason the dwarf to make up such a tale.

  Haelan, naturally, was intrigued. “Really, Duor? So is that where your people come from?”

  Duor said with all sarcasm intended, “Quite right, Hilltender. Every mountain you see has dwarves beneath it.” He turned to Braddok and rolled his eyes.

  “You mock me, Duor. That cannot be true,” Haelan turned to Braddok, “….can it?”

  “No, Haelan. Duor is teasing you.” Alaria clarified for the endlessly gullable halfling. “But the question is valid,” she continued after a thought, “Is that the land of your clan, Duor? Or do other dwarves live there?”

  “Well, I, ehm…” the dwarf was at a rare lack of words.

  “Indeed,” Erevan added, not wanting to pass up an opportunity to make the dwarf squirm. “It seems unlikely a great dwarf lord would counquer a land and king, and all of his folk, and leave his halls and _treasures_ untended.” The elf looked impassively at the dwarf.

  “I, um…Well, I’m sure I don’t know. Nevertheless, Thornbeard slayed the giants of Titans’ Rest, of that you can be sure. He was a great warlord.” With that, Duor folded his arms in a huff and turned his attention upriver.

  Erevan smirked a rare smirk and caught Fen’s eye. The druid merely shook his head slightly from side to side.

  Alaria caught the exchange and pressed further. “And what can you tell us of Titans’ Rest and the Giant Lands, Fen.”

  “Alas, milady, though we are near to my homeland and I have traversed a great deal of the territories to our south, I myself have never travelled to the Land of Sleeping Giants…be they dead or no, I’d not care to wager.” The red-headed half-elf smiled his charming smile at the R’Hathi wizard.

  “Is it true that Daenfrii lies beyond?” Alaria questioned further.

  “That I can avow.” Fen answered offhandedly. “From the maps of the region that I have seen. But there are a great many easier paths to the realm of the Dragonmage.” Erevan nodded his agreement.

  Braddok then understood Alaria’s question. The realm of the world’s most (allegedly) powerful wizard, the Dragonmage, would undoubtedly be of great interest to the aspiring young wizardess.

  “Hm.” Was Alaria’s only response. She then took out her scrolls from their satchel and returned to her almost constant study of the mysterious papers.

  The day passed slowly until mid-afternoon, when Erevan seemed to notice something before them and moved with his typical grace to the prow of the ship and intently stared before them.

  Duor, casually sitting with a makeshift fishing line off the side noticed the elf’s movement and rolled his eyes. No doubt, the dwarf thought to himself, the point-ear’s eyebrow was doing its twitchy thing again.

  “What is it, Erevan?” Haelan asked. The rest of the party turned their attentions to the back of the elf.

  “Something is wrong.” Was the elf’s response. “Fen, do you notice anything odd about the woods?”

  Typical, thought Duor. The point-ear and half-blood are in cahoots now. We’ll be swimming in cryptic elvish nonsense the whole way back to Hawkview.

  Fen seemed to concentrate from a moment. He stared at the woods to their left. Then, seemed to be sniffing the air. “The woods are silent.” Fen finally said. “And I smell…smoke.”

  Duor furrowed his bushy brows. He took a few quick snorts of the air. “Where there’s smoke there’s fire, druid. Where d’yeh think there’s a fire. I don’t smell anything.”

  Alaria now was scanning the river and woods before them. Braddok and Coerraine, left to the majority of the rowing halted a moment and also turned to see if there were any smoke in the sky. Haelan at the tiller also noted that he did not smell anything.

  “Perhaps we get the clean air, eh hairfoot? The smoke must only be in the point-ears’ air.” Duor chuckled at his jab at the elvin companions.

  “But I have pointed ears too, Duor?” Haelan replied. Duor again rolled his eyes at the halfling. Sarcasm and jest both lost on the poor simple priest and returned his attention to his fishing line.

  “No, Duor.” Coerraine added. “It is faint, but I smell it as well.”

  “It’s a conspiracy of the big folk!” shouted Duor in mock assault. “Or perhaps, Sir Goldilocks, you have some point-ear blood in yeh, as well, huh?” Duor chuckled to himself. He did not see the Redstar Kight’s scowl.

  “We shall see, friend Duor.” Fen replied with passive diplomacy. The young druid outstretched his arms and raised his leaf-tipped spear. The cryptic syllables of his secret tongue murmured on his lips, again too soft to cause his fellows any possible harm from hearing it. His casting finished, Fen lowered his arms and scanned the sky.

  “Fen, what did you…” Alaria began to ask only to be cut off by the shriekd of a hawk that had appeared from the trees before them and winged its way towards them.

  Haelan shrank back a bit as the hawk let forth another shrill cry. His mind was inundated with disturbing visions of his encounter with the harpies.

  To the party’s amazement, the hawk alit on Fen’s outstretched arm and sat calmly looking at the druid. Haelan nearly jumped out of his shirt when Fen, himself, opened his mouth in a series of sharp shrill notes and calm chirps.

  “Feorn’s beard.” Whispered Duor.

  The hawk replied in similar fashion, carrying on an obscure conversation for a few minutes before taking wing again. It circled above them briefly before returning to the surrounding woods, apparently gone back to his afternoon hunt.

  “By the Hillmother.” Haelan piped up excitedly when the hawk had left. “You _can_ talk to the animals! What a fantastic talent!”

  Fen merely smiled a slight smile at the daelvar cleric. There was something behind the look that seemed sorrowful.

  “Can you teach me to do that? Pleeeease, Fen. I’m sure the Hillmother wouldn’t mind. I would love to be able to speak to the animals back home...maybe not hawks or wolves…but, the nice ones, you know like…”

  “Haelan!” burst Braddok in irritation. The warrior turned to the druid, “Well?”

  His eyes downcast, Fen replied serenely, “It seems...upriver, there was a village of elves that was sacked and burned yesterday by a great evil force. The animals of that part of the wood have all fled from an encroaching army of…goblins.” Fen looked towards Erevan, “I am sorry _kiiri_ <elvin term of familiarity, loosely translates as “cousin”>. I fear the hawk could only be referring to the outpost at Silver Falls.”

  Erevan’s face betrayed no emotion. “Did the bird say anything of survivors? Has it seen any elves since the attack?”

  Fen shook his head. “She said she had not seen any but the bodies of the dead in the village.” Fen seemed more distraught by the hawk’s report than the full-blooded elf. 

Even Duor lowered his head. The dwarf felt a pang of remorse for the elf and his people. 

  “But that is not to say none escaped!” added the ever-optimistic Haelan. “Maybe she just didn’t notice anyone retreating or…or she was hunting or something.”

  “Erevan, I…” Alaria began.

  The elvin scout turned again to face the river before them. “No words of condolence are necessary, magess. Haelan is correct. We still must pass the outpost. We shall see for ourselves soon enough.”

Sure enough, as the evening sun lowered itself in the western sky, the small ship came upon the high Silver Falls. The smell of smoke was noticeable to all of them as were the thin trails of smoke rising above the treetops not far into the woods beside the foot of the falls. 



With all caution and alertness, the party secured the boat and ventured into the deepening evening shadows of the forest.


----------



## steeldragons

Erevan and Fen moved with trained, and somewhat natural, ease through the darkening trees and undergrowth. Duor had his hand crossbow nocked and held his enchanted dagger in his other hand. The blade glowed the eerie green light they’d not seen since their battle beneath the mountain on Dragonbone Isle. Alaria pondered the idea that the blade might possess some sort of detection magic on it. She sincerely hoped, she were incorrect. Coerraine and Braddok, similarly, had weapons out and at the ready. If it were true that a goblin army had moved through these woods just the day before, stragglers and looters could easily still be afoot.

  Not far into the woods, the group came to a break in the trees. It was a small glade with a few elegantly formed buildings along the bases of the trees. Burned and broken stairways wove their way up around the treetrunks of the great silverleaf and bronzewood giants to similar arched and sharp peaked constructions among the trees’ large boughs.

  All around them, destruction was evident. Smoldering mounds of wood, cloth, weapons and….bodies littered the serene glade that was bathed, most ironically, in the peaceful silver light of the rising greater moon. Among the constructions in the treetops, most had obvious damage and trails of smoke rose from unseen smoldering fires. Several goblin bodies and a few bugbears were scatter among the battle site. Several of them wearing tabbards or holding shields painted with the red claw symbol they had seen, now twice in their travels.

  In the center of the glade was the most disturbing scene as a dozen of so elvish heads sat atop pikes driven into the piled bodies of elves. Their faces were a mixture, some frozen in abject horror some showing a defiant peacefulness in their eternal repose. At the center of the ring of spears, higher than any of the spears, a banner emblazoned with the red talon symbol.

  Alaria raised a hand to her mouth. The sight and odor of the atrocity churned her stomach. 

  Tears welled up in Haelan’s eyes as they did in Fen’s. 

  Erevan approached the horrific site with slow purpose. His face, still, not showing any emotion. 

  Coerraine followed the elf and laid a gauntlet-sheathed hand on his shoulder. The Redstar Knight spoke with soft reverence for the deceased, “My friend, the monsters will pay with this atrocity. I swear to you.”

  Erevan placed a hand atop the paladin’s and simply said, “Yes, Coerraine. They shall.”


Erevan reached into the mass of spears and carnage and ripped the fluttering tattered banner from its pole. He looked at the square sheet of rough fabric a moment before letting it slip from his hands into the blood dampened ground beneath his feet. 

  “We should,” Braddok began. The dark-haired warrior stopped a moment, at a loss. Then, forcefully, “We should explore the village. See if there are any left alive or any goblins lurking about in the wreckage.”

  Duor nodded his agreement and moved off, silently, into the shadows of the evening.

  “Erevan,” offered Alaria, “should we not put your people to rest?”

  Erevan responded coldly. “Better we should follow Braddok’s lead to insure our own safety and see if there is anything useful to salvage. I do not think we should linger here.”

  Alaria seemed shocked by the elf’s frigid response. 

  Erevan turned to her as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it in the elegant elf-made longbow. “Then, we shall hunt down the culprits and raise a mountain of pikes for their heads.”


With that, the elf moved off in the direction of the nearest intact building with a stairway leading up into the trees.

  Coerraine knelt before the mass of spears, saying prayers to his deity for the repose of the innocent souls and vowing revenge upon the cruel killers. Haelan, similarly, stayed near the paladin and began chanting prayers of Faerantha for the unjustly slain.

  Fen was nowhere to be seen. Moved into the surrounding woods to scout, no doubt, thought the wizardess.

  Alaria left the religious types to their rites and followed Erevan, deep concern evident on her face. Braddok also headed in the direction Erevan had chosen and as they neared the dwelling, Duor appeared from some bushes to declare that he’d found nothing amiss around the glade’s periphery.


“I might have stabbed a few goblin corpses, just to be safe.” He offered. Duor hoped the notion might be of some comfort to his elvin companion.

  The mage, the elf, the dwarf and the swordsman entered the archway, its delicately carved door shattered and hanging limply from a single remaining hinge.


The interior was a shambles, an office of sorts judging by the smashed and overturned furniture. There was a desk, nearly  split in two, deep cuts in it led all to assume a very large axe had been used on the previously beautiful piece of golden wood furniture. Papers and other desk top implements were scattered about and trampled. There were a few chairs splintered and scattered among the room.

  There were two goblin bodies. One was filled with arrows. The other bore obvious burns and scorching that Alaria surmised were magical in origin. The remnants of some energy spell as best she could tell.

  Finding nothing of use or interest in the rubble and carnage, the group moved with purpose to the stairway that began in the dwelling and sloped up along the nature bark wall up through an opening, similarly chopped and splintered, out the roof of the office and along the bronzewood tree.

  They passed another few goblin bodies and a fallen elf warrior, multiple goblin-made arrows imbedded in his chest.


Alaria looked long at the elf’s peaceful face. He seemed young to her eyes, certainly no older than Erevan, himself, appeared. But then, she reminded herself, the elves of the Miralostae nation are very long-lived, if not immortal…no human could be sure, so there was no telling the elf’s actual age. Shreds of his chain link armor shone beneath the forest green tabbard, a shattered blade still clenched in his hand. 

  At the top of the stairway, where a platform surrounded the tree trunk and multiple rope and plank bridges led off to other trees, they found another elf. This one appeared to be in blue robes. He lay sprawled and bloody beneath the body of a very dead bugbear. The beast’s large spiked club lay near where this brawl came to an obvious end.

  Erevan knelt beside the crushed elf. “Here is one of your elvish sorcerers, milady.” He said plainly.

  When Erevan spoke, the fallen elf’s eyes shot open in panic. Duor nearly jumped off of the platform in alarm. The bearded thief looked on in shock to see Erevan himself leap up in surprise.


Never in all of my dwarven days, thought Duor, would I ever see an elf taken by surprise.

  “HAELAN!” Alaria shouted down from the platform. She completely ignored any possible threat this might open to her group, “Get up here! We’ve found one alive!”

  Haelan, deep in reciting his people’s funerary blessings, jumped at the shockingly loud command. “One what?” called up the startled halfling.

  “Haelan!?” Alaria scowled. Her dark look seemed to snap the priest from his confusion. Haelan sprinted with all speed into the building at the base of the tree.

  Braddok heaved the massive hairy goblinoid off the now awake and very weakly breathing elf.

  “_Leivar ne. Ria ne tohm. Aiu preis.”_ <elvin: “Do not be alarmed. Be still. Help is coming.”> Alaria said quickly, kneeling beside the elf.    

  The elf sorceror looked from the mage to the warrior to the elf and finally the dwarf. His eyes betrayed pain and shock. He attempted to inhale to say something but only coughed out blood. He looked, pleadingly at Alaria.

  “It will be alright.” Alaria responded, forgetting to speak in elvin. “Haelan!” she shouted again.

  Weakly, with the arm that had not been crushed beneath the bugbear, the elf tried to reach to a satchel on his belt. He had not the strength to grasp anything but weakly nodded his head towards the satchel and looked at Alaria.

  The magess took the hint and gently reached into the pouch.


Perhaps he has a healing potion, Alaria thought.


What her hands found was not a vial, but a small leather bound book. She looked at it confused then looked to the elf. He nodded slightly before looking beyond her...serenity passing over his ever-young face.


The companions turned to see the elf was staring at the great silver moon, now rising into view above the treetops.

  Alaria turned back to the fallen mage to see his previously vibrant green eyes were now clouded over with an empty greyish tint. His stare empty. His spirit gone.

  “No.” whispered Alaria.

  Haelan arrived, panting, to the platform to find Alaria sobbing over the elf’s body. Erevan looked out at the rising moon. Braddok and Duor’s faces downcast in silent respect.


Duor looked up at the halfling’s arrival and simply shook his head silently. “Too late, hairfoot.”

  “Oh no. No, I’m sorry Erevan. I ran as fast as…”Haelan began.

  “I know, _vaaria_.<elvish for daelvar/halflings, literally “one who is of the hills”> Do not let it cause you sorrow. There is nothing you could have done. His wounds were too severe.” 

  “Alaria, we really must continue with all speed.” Braddok prodded gently.


The magess pulled herself together. Sniffing and wiping her eyes. She nodded and rose, looking blankly at the small book in her hand.  She stuffed it into one of her belt pouches and wiped her eyes again.

  “Alaria, are you…I’m sorry…” Haelan began.

  “I will be fine, Haelan. Braddok is right.” She turned to the warrior, jutting out her chin in resolution. “Lead on, swordsman.”


----------



## wolff96

steeldragons said:


> The elf sorceror looked from the mage to the warrior to the elf and finally the dwarf. His eyes betrayed pain and shock. He attempted to inhale to say something but only coughed out blood. He looked, pleadingly at Alaria.
> 
> Weakly, with the arm that had not been crushed beneath the bugbear, the elf tried to reach to a satchel on his belt. He had not the strength to grasp anything but weakly nodded his head towards the satchel and looked at Alaria.




For some reason, this bit reminds me of the section on Haven, in the movie Serenity.  Nice writing.


----------



## steeldragons

Coerraine joined his companions on the treetop platform and the group carried on. The Redstar Knight toiled inwardly with his feelings of remorse and fury. He was under the presumption that the warband they had encountered nearly a week before was responsible for all of this destruction and death which they now picked through like the scavenger birds that picked at the remains in the glade below. 

  Initially, Coerraine was consumed with a rant to bestow on their “leader”, the mage Alaria. It was her decision to avoid the warband. These deaths were on her head. But a single look at the tear stained face of the young woman quelled his rage. She, obviously, was punishing herself enough, thought the blond paladin.

  They moved swiftly but with caution. From dwelling to dwelling, they found a number more bodies, both goblinoid and elvin warriors. A few dressed in similar blue robes to the mage they had discovered. Broken weapons of goblin and elf make were broken and littered about. Furniture and belongings strewn haphazardly.  Coerraine murmured a prayer of thanks to Celradorn that they had not encountered the bodies of any children or females in the carnage.

  “How many elves were stationed here, Erevan? Do you know?” the paladin questioned softly.

  Erevan shrugged a response. “I can not say. I have not been to this outpost before.”

  “When I passed through two winters passed,” offered Fen, “there were not a force of more than twenty trained soldiers. About half as many support staff, as I recall.” The half-elf looked around thoughtfully. “Thankfully,  I have not noticed any of the workers among the dead…and I would estimate that we have located almost all of the warriors.”

  “Thank Manat for small blessings.” Alaria whispered. The mage that died before her had coupled with the carnage in the glade below firmly cemented her  guilt. She tried desperately to argue with herself that their small number could have done little to impede such ferocity. But the remorse still stung at her heart.

  By the time they came to the final treetop building, they had managed to accrue a second full quiver of elvish arrows for Erevan. Braddok replenished his little used quiver with the superior crafted bolts as well. Duor had added a length of elvish rope to his equipment. The dwarf rogue was as much disgusted as infuriated that all of the corpses seemed to have been robbed of any coin purses they might have possessed. Damned goblins, Duor cursed to himself.

  Haelan respectfully asked Erevan if it would be alright for him to take a discarded helmet of one of the elf warriors. The steel helm was banded in copper and brass with a great spreading oak tree at the bridge of the nose. He felt it would be a tribute to both, the warrior who apparently had slain a number of goblins before falling himself, and to his nature-loving goddess. 



Erevan smile slightly at the suggestion and nodded his consent.

  As the party saw a final bridge that led from the last tree housing a construction to the high ground above the falls. 

  “How are we to proceed now?” Alaria questioned out loud. “Without the elves here, how are we to get the boat to the top of the falls?”

  As party pondered this, Duor raised a gloved hand in what the party took as a sign to “be quiet.” The dwarf leaned slightly toward the edge of the platform. Erevan, similarly crooked his head in the manner he often did when noticing some imperceptible sound. 

  Duor scowled and pointed down toward the eastern edge of the glade. As the party watched, three goblins cautiously stalked their way into the open. They were obviously trying to be stealthy, but grumbled among each other in their garbled tongue. Only a firm hand on his chest kept Coerraine from racing down the wooden steps to engage the murderers.

  Erevan crouched near the edge and nocked an arrow, all the while straining to hear the goblin conversation. “They are deserters.” Said the elf, finally . “They are hoping to scavenge what riches they can and return to their camp unnoticed.”

  “They shall do no such thing.” Said Alaria pointedly. She motioned for Braddok and Coerraine toward the ramp then motioned for them to wait. They nodded, in position as the magess reached into her one of her compnent  pouches and withdrew a handful of the pink sand they’d seen in Hawkview.

  She purposely moved to the edge of the platform , flung the pink sand before her, and pronounced in a surprisingly quiet voice, “_Contro es amberall buul._”<mage spell: _Sleep_> .

  As the first goblin noticed the fine grains of twinkling sand fall lightly into the glade he had time to turn and point up at the mage’s face, scowling at them in fury, before he dropped into an arcane slumber. A second of the trio similarly fell without even turning. The third croaked some sound as he raised his shortbow toward her position. Then he too fell to Alaria’s mystic assault.

  Braddok and Coerraine hurried down the platform. Coeraine was obviously planning on skewering the goblins where they lay before Alaria interrupted his thoughts. 

  “Bind them. We need them alive for information.” She said.

  “All of them?” asked Duor in all sincerity. Alaria frowned at the suggestion.


  “What one does not know, another might.” Pointed out Erevan.


  Carg awoke to a rough shaking. When his wholy red eyes jolted open, he found a golden spear head in his face. A blond armored human held the spear and scowled darkly at him.

  “Give me one reason not to smite you where you stand, creature.” He said.

  His companions were roused in an equally rough manner. Borf had a red-headed half-elf holding a spear to his throat. Trak looked nervously at the dark cloaked dwarf holding a crossbow before him.

  Carg shuddered visibly to see another human female with a staff, a swordsman and another elf standing with his arms folded behind the armed captors. 

  “_What happened here_.” <translated from goblin> Said the elf.

  “Carg not creature.” The goblin soldier spat defiantly in what little human tongue he knew.

  “What about your friends here?” said the dwarf. “Maybe they know? You can get rid of that one, Coerraine.”

  “No! No! Not talk hoomun. Only Carg.” He quickly replied. Carg struggled in his bonds to find himself completely immobilized.

  “_Fine…Carg.”_ Said the elf, again in goblin. “_You tell me or you all die now.”_

_“We killed your people.”  _Said the goblin archer called Trak with a sneer.

  The dwarf lowered his crossbow and shot Trak in leg. The goblin let out a snarling yelp.

  “Duor!” called the female. The dwarf seemed not to be bothered and the female made no further chastisement. Slowly, calmly, the dwarf merely reloaded his hand crossbow and again pointed it at Trak’s head. Then his dark eyes shifted to look at Carg.

_“ The Master brought us here. You can see what happened. The Bloody Talon will kill all point-ear,”_ Carg said, his voice full of defiance and menace. He looked to the humans and finally back at the dwarf_, “_Then the Master will kill you all!” his final word directed at the dwarf.

  “Ain’t happened in a thousand thousand ears, scumbucket.” Said the dwarf. “Ain’t gonna happen now.”

  The smallest goblin, Borf, whimpered and tried to scuttle away from the spear tip before him.

  “No kill! No kill! Master’s fault.” Borf cried in broken Common.

_“Traitor!”_ shouted Trak. “_The Master will flay your cowardly hide_.”

  Carg also looked with disapproval at the smallest of his companions.

  “Just looking for eat.” Carg quickly amended. “No want fight. Forgive Borf. He just soft boy.”

  The female said something to the elf. Then the elf spoke again, “_Who is your ‘Master’? How large a force does he command and where are you heading.”_

  Trak let out a gutteral laugh._ “You’ll never defeat the Master. Sharzaak will rise and the goblins will rule everything.”_


At this, the elf raised an eyebrow. The female looked nervously at the elf. 

_“Be silent, Trak!” _Carg commanded.

_“How many are you and where do you go?”_ the elf repeated. 

  “Carg no know! Not know! Many many gobilenses. Burgbars too. Ogorses. The Master brings all to him. Gone to kill the elves. All elves in the big wood.” Carg quickly tried to answer as the blond humans spear pressed against his throat. He sealed his lips and pressed his eyes shut as the spear bit into his mottled grey-green flesh. 

  “Easy, Coerraine.” Came a meek voice from Carg’s right. He had not noticed the small hairfoot behind the big man. “It is wrong to torture them.”

  The blond armored human closed his eyes and heaved an exhale. “You are correct, Hilltender. Celradorn, forgive my anger.” He rose and stepped away from the Carg. "I can not slay a bound foe." The goblin sighed in relief.

  Then the other human with the sword stepped forward and leveled his blade before Carg. “You are fortunate, murderer. My friend here has a certain code of respect.” The warrior leveled his sword blade to Carg’s neck. “UNfortunately, I do not share such…moral qualms.”

  “Wut’s is ‘morl kwallms’?” said Carg innocently.

  “Means yer skewered either way, goblin.” Said the dwarf.

  The elf looked at the female. The female looked at him mournfully, turned and walked away.

_“The goblins will rise! Death to the elves_!” shouted Trak before the dwarf put another crossbow bolt between his eyes.

  Borg began to murmur prayers to the goblin gods, broken by uncontrollable sobs.

_“Who is your Master?”_ questioned the elf again. Carg, now seeing they had no hope of survival. Simply lowered his head.

_“You will kill me anyway. I will not answer you.”_ Carg mumbled.

  The human with the sword to his throat turned to look at the elf.

_“Tell me and I will free you and your companion.” _Said the elf.

  Carg thought for a moment. “The Master have many..." he struggled to find the human word, "...names. We call Bulgruch. He mightiest leader we have ever have.” He paused for a moment and, fearing he would be slain anyway, added, “You not beat him. No one beat Bulgruch.”

  The elf’s brow furrowed a moment. “Release them.” He said to the captors.

  “Are yeh out of yer pointy-eared head, Erevan!” the dwarf yelled.


“You can’t be serious!” said the blond spear-wielder.

  The half-elf untied Borg without hesitation. The hairfoot came and undid Carg’s bonds.

  The goblins sat for a moment, frozen by awe and fear.

  The human warriors looked down at the newly released and completely unarmed goblins. The swordsman made a lunging movement at Carg. That was enough to send he and Borf scurrying for the trees.

  Carg ran as fast as his clawed feet could carry him. First he heard the whizzing noise. Then the wet thud of what he presumed to be Borf hitting the blood-soaked mud. Then another whizzing noise as he turned to look before the pain ripped through his shoulder. The force of the impact on the slippery ground knocked him prone. He looked back at the elf as it drew another arrow into his longbow. 

  “Curse to all elves and their big bows.” Carg thought. 

  Hatred burned in the elf’s almond-shaped eyes but otherwise, no emotion shown on his face.

  “Erevan!” said the blond man.

  “I said I would set them free. I never said I would let them live.” Said the elf. 

  Carg felt the next bolt slam into his chest.  As his vision blurred, Carg noticed the hairfoot looking at him in great sadness. Then…Carg felt the darkness come upon him.


----------



## wolff96

I've had players use that one before in my own games.  

And yet they howl when the villains of the piece pull the same kinds of shennanigans...


----------



## steeldragons

*Thoughts and feelings*

The magess from R’Hath, the swordsman from Barforth, the Redstar Knight of Celradorn, the elf tracker, the dwarf thief, the halfling cleric of Faerantha and the half-elf druid carefully piled the bodies of the elf defenders of Silver Falls into a pire in the center of the glade. 

  A flick of arcane fire from Alaria set the elvin bodies ablaze. 

  They silently gathered what supplies they could carry from their ship and climbed the stairs around the massive bronzewood tree to the bridge that led to the top of the falls.

  Each of them lost in thought over the discovery and events of the previous afternoon. It was was agreed that for all of their sakes, they not camp at the decimated elvin outpost. They got a solid league away, sticking close to the D’Evand, following Erevan and Fen’s superior night vision in the cloudy darkness of night before stopping and making camp.

  There was a goblinoid army on the loose. From what they’d learned from their captives, it was heading to “the big wood.” Erevan, Alaria and Fen (who actually hailed from the nearby region of the Laklans) agreed that could only mean they marched for the kingdom of the Miralostae elves itself. 

  Erevan scoffed at the thought. No matter who or what this “Bulgruch” was, there was little doubt in his mind that he would be able to march, unopposed, into his homeland.

  What concerned Alaria (and the rest of the group once she explained) was the statement by the goblin archer that “Sharzaak would rise.” 

  Sharzaak was the dreaded dragon of legend whose remains were the very island of Dragonbone Isle itself. If that were true and a purpose of this army, then Tresahd must, in some way be related to it. 

  Alaria couldn’t really get a clear picture as to how, but was firmly convinced that the possession of the black pearl from the Tyrisian temple and the clear orb she now carried were somehow related to the “rising” of Sharzaak.

  Worse yet, Fen pointed out, if the army headed west and north, they would sooner or later come to the hamlet of Welford. If the remnants of Silver Falls were any indication, the quiet orchard farming hamlet stood little to no chance.

  Most of the party passed the night in fitful sleep.

  Alaria awoke several times, haunted by nightmares of the elvin mage she’d watched die that evening. She pulled the small leatherbound book from the satchel that contained her spellbooks and paged through it. It was obviously the mage’s spellbook. As best she could tell by a cursory examination, it contained two spells she could use and three others that were currently beyond her capacity, like one of the scrolls Vertior had given her. The young wizard stared for a moment at the crystal orb in her pouch, wondering what role it played in the, almost unthinkable, resurrection of the dread dragon, Sharzaak.

  Coerraine passed the rest of the night and following day in silent contemplation. Was it wrong he had not intervened in Erevan’s “dishonorable” slaughter of their captives? Would they have showed the party any similar concern had their roles been reversed? Could he forgive Alaria her allowances for evil to “pass them by”? Could he maintain his god-given duty with this group of beings? He prayed heavily on these issues.

  Haelan lamented the goblins’ end. But given the devastation their company (and possibly they themselves) had wrought, he saw no conclusion but that their deaths were just. Still, the deaths did not sit well with the daelvar Hilltender. Tears flowed from his eyes as he wondered why the races of Orea couldn’t “just get along?” Why did there have to be evil in the world? Fen seemed to think there should be…no, _had_ to be to maintain his esoteric “balance.” Haelan scowled at the thought. He liked the druid very much, but something was just wrong to everything Haelan had been taught to believe. Most perplexing for the halfling, why would anyone_ want_ to be evil?

  Braddok and Duor slept soundly, if lightly.


Braddok kept two watch shifts instead of one. He was certain they were in danger. His strategic training led him to the most disturbing conclusion. If this was, indeed, an army of goblins…marching west…they were now _behind_ the enemy’s lines.

  Erevan, as usual, kept a vigil all night, silently watching and listening in the darkness.


During his watch alone, there was a momentary break in the cloud cover that revealed the partial silver greater moon, Arinane. The elf looked around at his, then sleeping, companions and back to the moon. The silver light glistened against the tears that welled up in his violet eyes and streamed down his cheeks.

  The slightest of rustling in the night air caught Erevan’s ear and the elf turned with a nocked arrow to see Fen looking with sadness (or was it pity?) upon him.


The elf lowered his bow to his half-blooded _kiiri._ Before Erevan knew what was happening, the two embraced and held each other tight, silhouetted in the silver light.


The clouds, again, closed and the two elf-blooded companions continued to hold each other in the near-complete darkness.


----------



## steeldragons

*Don't split the party!!!*

The following morning, the mood at camp was grim. Haelan attempted to lift spirits by making breakfast, using up the last of the fairly stale bread and final few sausages he had packed from Shoal. The sounds of songbirds filled with early day.

  Fen nibbled on a handful of bright red and black berries he’d gathered

  “It may be unwise to cook such savory delights, friend Hilltender.” The druid mused. “We are nearing the woods and hills known for bears in this country.” . His attention seemed drawn to a jay that had alit on the branch of a silverleaf tree handing out over the river. Its leaves had turned their dark green, the metallic silver edges of the leaves dulled to the deep violet of the late summer. The leaves will drop soon, thought the druid.

  Haelan looked concerned for a moment before retorting with a broad smile, “Well, you can just talk to them and invite them to join us for breakfast, then.”

  Duor huffed a short chuckle. Even Coerraine smiled.

  Alaria had her nose in the small leatherbound spellbook of the elf mage while the halfling cleric cooked. She had learned in its pages he was named “Lethyllis” and belonged to “Eres’ka Staliirosta” _<elvin: “House Starwatcher”, _literally “those who watch the stars”> . Her inquiry as to if Erevan knew or had heard of him was met with a silent negative.  The elf tracker did note, after a moment, that Eres’ka Staliirosta was the ruling house of the province of Evandrial, Miralosta’s most eastern region, though he had not heard of anyone named Lethyllis in the royal family.

  Braddok brooded through much of the morning and ate in silence. When most of the party was finished with their morning meal, the western swordsman spoke.

  “We should move away from the river and proceed with all caution.” He began. “The goblin army is somewhere between 1 and 2 days ahead of us, now. Thieir size will cause them to move more slowly than our group…and an army, even of goblinoids, needs a lot of water.”

  This was mulled over by the group. Alaria did not like the idea, siting the river was their best chance to a) arrive to Welford ahead of the army and b)arrive at Welford more speedily. The completion of her errand was never far from her mind. “If we arrive at Welford before the goblins pass by, we can perhaps save some lives.”

  “Or aid in the town’s defense,” added Coerraine.

  “True, magess. But we no longer have a way to move upriver.” Duor pointed out, paying no mind to the paladin’s foolish assumption.

  “We could make a raft.” Haelan offered.

  “We could.” Conceded Braddok. “But sitting on a raft in the river is a great way to get us all filled with goblin arrows when we pass the army’s position.”

  Alaria admitted this was not a pleasant prospect.

  “Besides,” continued Braddok, “we have no indication the goblins are going to pass Welford. If they are heading for Miralosta, as you and Erevan suggest, they may pass by the hamlet without even knowing it is there.”

  Braddok had a point, Alaria admitted. However, given the state of the elvin outpost, the prospect that the force might pass by or through Welford was not one any of the party wanted to dismiss.

  Finally, Erevan weighed in, “If they are headed to my people’s realm, they will encounter the stronghold of Evandrial in the eastern wood.” He turned purposely toward Alaria. “Milady, if we can get before the enemy, I must continue westward to warn my people of the coming invasion.”

  Alaria nodded. “Of course, Erevan. We will do everything we can.” Alaria has always been fascinated with the elves she had met. Erevan was no exception. She had studied their tongue since a young age. She felt an affinity for them and their legendary skill in magic-use. She also admitted to herself that the prospect of actually seeing or visiting the elvin land would be a most welcome experience she had not even considered as part of her foray into the realms beyond R’Hath.

  Braddok was not at all concerned with the possible problems for Miralosta and made his position clear. “Alaria,” he began gently, “my lady, you hired us to protect you on your errand. Please allow us to do so. The decision is yours, of course. But I strongly recommend we leave the river. If we are set upon and it becomes necessary, we have no way to escape across or down the river. As a smaller group, we can easily overtake a large military force on foot…and gods willing, unnoticed.”

  Duor had not thought of this and heartily endorsed Braddok’s position.

  “But we also know we can’t be attacked by them from the river either.” Haelan pointed out. He cringed a bit at Braddok’s dark glare.

  Alaria calmly packed the small spellbook back away in her pack with her own. She thought a bit before realizing that everyone was looking to her to make the final decision. Braddok’s argument was sound…but she desperately disliked the idea of slinking through the wood on foot in, what she had to consider, “enemy territory.” She felt saddened and defeated that all of the time to be saved to arrive in Welford now seemed to, again, be denied her.

  As if in answer to her distress, Fen interrupted her thoughts. “Look there!” the druid pointed upriver.  Slim barge floated aimlessly near the middle of the river.

  “The gods are smiling on us, Alaria. Perhaps it is a gift from Tyris for getting her pearl for Tidemaster Kama!” Haelan enthusiastically suggested.

  All in the party were forced to admit, it was a happy coincidence until they realized they had no way of retrieving the drifting skiv.

  As it neared, Duor amended, “Not Tyris, hairfoot. Looks more like Desri.”

  The mood was again darkened as they noticed a body slumped over the side of the vessel, the upper half dragging through the water. A number of arrows could be seen protruding from the corpses back. More arrows were visible sunk into the side of the barge and the few barrels that seemed to be its cargo.

  “Here.” Said the dwarf plainly. He handed his length of elvin rope to Erevan and set to tying the other end of it to his normal length of hemp.

  Erevan looked distractedly at the rope, then the dwarf.

  “An arrow, yeh daft…” Duor quelled his tongue. Even the rock-thick skull of the dwarf felt pity on the elf for the severe loss he had suffered the previous day. “Tie it to one of yer arrows and drag it over here.” He finished as kindly as he could muster.

  Understanding flashed on the elf’s face and a moment later, the archer was taking aim. His elvish skill was unquestionable as the bolt flew steadily into the prow of the barge. Gently, Erevan and Coerraine led the barge to the riverbank some distance downstream from their camp.

  Sure enough, the bargeman had been an elf. The barrels, several of which at leaked their contents through holes made by goblin arrows, had begun to fill the floor of the barge with the golden elfvine wine, so treasured in the Freelands and R’Hath.  Laying out of view, on his back on the deck of the shallow barge, another elf was peppered with goblin arrows in his chest. A bow and mostly empty quiver lay beside him.

  Coerraine and Haelan, again, bowed their heads and began funerary rites of their respective religions.

  “They’ve been dead ‘bout half a day.” Duor observed after a quick examination of the bodies.

  Alaria and the others looked at Duor in shocked question.

  “I’m guessing!” defended the dwarf, “I’m no physician.”

  Further examination, lamentably for Duor, revealed they held no treasure but a few silver coins stamped with the large tree with a circle in the tree’s leaves and topped by a . This was the symbol of the Miralostae nation. The dwarf handed the coins to Erevan. “I can’t do anything with elf coins,” reasoned the dwarf to himself.

  “Probably traveling in the night,” reasoned Fen. When he received some questioning looks, the druid explained, “The Moonwatcher elves are prone to travel at night. They prefer it and it is safer,” he looked at the bodies, “…usually. As I understand it, anyway.”

  Erevan confirmed Fen’s statement. He added it was part of the reason that humans rarely encountered elvin merchants or travelers outside of human lands. His people, if they left the security of Miralostae at all, preferred sticking to the woodlands and waterways whenever possible.

  “Erevan,” Haelan began gently, “shall we burn them like we did the others.”

  “No.” said the elf plainly. This raised some questioning eyebrows. 

  “Erevan’s right.” Braddok offered. “Setting a pier now, in daylight, could attract notice.”

  An hour or so later, the elvin winesellers entombed in a shallow grave near the riverside, the party discussed their next move. Alaria refused to pass up the prospect of speed that using the barge allowed them. Nor, she added, would she seek to offend whatever deity it was who offered them this chance. 

  The problem became logistic. The barge, even without the barrels, was not large enough to carry the whole party.

  It was decided Alaria, Coerraine (who refused to be separated from his duty to his charge) and Haelan would take the barge and proceed by water, staying as far to the opposite bank as the river would allow. Erevan, Fen and Duor would proceed on foot, staying near/within view of the river to better be able to allow assistance or signal for aid if they needed it. The elf tracker, half-elf druid and dwarvish rogue were sure they could move with speed and stealth through the woods. Braddok insisted he would be able to keep up. Erevan insisted, due to Braddok’s armor, he (and Fen if he wanted)  move ahead of the band on foot to better survey the region before them…and better keep silent away from the chainmail clad warrior.

  Coerraine declined Braddok’s offer of his bow. He admitted, somewhat sheepishly ,that he was not trained in the art of archery. This troubled Braddok, but Alaria assured that the spellcraft of herself and Haelan would offer them ample defense should they be assailed from the riverside. And in the event of goblin arrows, Coerraine’s armor and shield would prove invaluable.

  “Here.” Said Haelan offering him the crystal vial with the pink potion. “Take this. You may need it and I may not be able to reach the shore in time if you require healing.”

  Erevan nodded a silent thanks and carefully stashed the magical draught in on of his belt pouches.

  “How far are we?...from Welford.” asked Alaria.

  “As best I can tell, my lady, 3 days.” Braddok answered. “And if Duor is correct, and I believe he is close to it, we will run into the goblin force sometime later this afternoon or evening.”

  Alaria nodded in understanding. “Are we ready, then?” she asked.

  “Where’s Fen?” said Haelan as he clumsily fell into the barge.

  The other looked around. “Where’s the dwarf?” added Coerraine, his voice full of suspicion.

  Neither the druid nor the rogue were in the vicinity of the barge…nor the camp.


  Fen moved swiftly into the woods, spurred onward by the occasional glimpse of the bright blue as the jay flitted from branch to branch, away from camp. His movement through the brush hardly making a sound. Finally, the jay came to land on the thick branch of an oak that stood in the midst of a shadowy glade.

  Unbeknownst to the druid, he was trailed by Duor. The dwarf thief had been the only one to notice the tail end of the druid’s cloak fade away into the green and brown of the woods while the others discussed how the party would be split. Noting the druid had stopped moving, Duor silently dropped behind a large bush and peered cautiously through the leaves to where the druid stood.

  Fen pulled the deep hood of his cloak up over his head, set the end of his spear firmly into the ground and bowed his head.

  To Duor’s amazement, the bird seemd to bow its head in return and fluttered to the forest floor. No sooner had its feet reached the gound then did the bird seem to stretch and change into a pillar of green light, about the size of the druid. When the light subsisded, where the bird and light had been stood another figure, no taller than Fen, similarly garbed in a deep green cloak, its face shrouded in the shadowy depths of the deep hood. The figure also held a spear with a similarly leaf-shaped blade, like Fen’s. Then Duor noted the cresent-moon-within-a-sun clasp holding the figure’s cloak. 

  What followed was a series of the statements in the cryptic tongue of the Ancient Order. Duor strained not to hear the syllables assaulting his brain. Determining he would be unable to either withstand the audible assault or understand any of what was being said, the dwarf decided to preserve his sanity and slunk back as quietly as he could to the rest of the party.

  What follows is a translation of the conversation between Fen and his superior in the druidic tongue:

  “Greetings Fen of Moonglade.” Said the figure. The voice was distinctly feminine.

  “Greeting, sister Sage.” Replied Fen, not raising his head. “What brings the Mouth of Moonglade to the Laklands?”

  “You, of course, my pupil.” Replied the figure. “I bring word from the Lord of Ash. He commends you on negating the troublesome influence upon Dragonbone Isle but warns your mission is far from over.”

  “I suspected as much.” Fen answered. “I have learned there is an army of goblins and other servants of evil making approach to the elf-land of Miralostae.”

  “We know.” Responded the Mouth, nonplussed. “I have been sent to tell you that it is of the utmost concern to the Lord that you continue on this course. The forces of the Chaosbringer are moving to increase their power in a way that can only spell the destruction of the Balance and the realms.”

  “You know what it is they seek?” Fen answered with surprise. He lifted his head and looked at the druidess.

  The Mouth of Moonglade‘s own gaze shot up in a scowl to the neophyte half-elf.

  Fen quickly bowed his head again, forgetting himself.

  “I…My apologies, Sage, I did not mean…” Fen stuttered.

  The emissary of the Ancient Order continued without further comment on Fen’s breach of protocol. “We are near to an answer. But it is clear, the forces of this 'Bulgruch' must not be permitted to enter the lands of Miralostae.”

  “Understood, mentor.” Fen answered humbly. “Can you tell me…” the red-headed half-elf began.

  In another flash of green light, the Mouth of Moonglade was gone. He looked about to see any other creatures around him. He didn’t see any.

  With a sigh, Fen made his way, with equal silence and grace through the woods back to the river.

  As he carefully stepped out from the edge of the forest, he looked upon all of his companions staring at him in inquisition. Duor stood before them all, arm’s folded, with a smirk on his face. Even Erevan’s face seemed disapproving…in his own unemotional way.

  “Care to tell us what that was all about, druid?” said the smug dwarf.


----------



## steeldragons

“My apologies, friends.” Fen smiled his most charming smile.

  “We’re waiting.” Said Coerraine coldly. “I am not prone to trust the dwarf. I am less so for you, heathen. Duor tells us you had a meeting?”

  The Duor looked pleasingly surprised to hear the young paladin actually use his name.

  “Duor is correct.” Fen admitted. “I was contacted by my order. I am sorry that I cannot elaborate but…”

  “Yeah, yeah. ‘The ways of Mistwood are not for the ears of men.’” Braddok interrupted. “Not good enough.”

  The druid met the dark-haired warriors glare. His smile was gone and a stoic severity came over him. “That is correct, warrior. I am bound by my oaths.” The half-elf turned to meet the Redstar Knight’s gaze. “Something _you_ can understand I am sure, Goldshield.”

  Coerraine was taken aback by this deliberate accusation to logic. The young paladin _could_, in fact, understand that. 

  “Suffice it to say,” Fen continued, “we are on the correct path. This army is, indeed, a threat not just to Welford or Miralostae, but the Balance and the whole of the realms.”

  No one had any reply for that.

  “So,” Fen gestured with all elegance towards he barge, “shall we?”

  “Very well.” Answered Alaria. “We make for the break of Imerlis. We will try to avoid contact with the goblin army and make for Welford at all costs. You continue to Welford on foot and meet us at the inn there.” The R’Hathi wizard thought for a moment. “Whatever it might be called. Surely it has to have some kind of accommodation. If you need us, Erevan knows the signal. If we need you, I trust, you will see.” The members of the party, including Fen, nodded their acknowledgement of the dire undertaking they were about to undertake.

  Begrdugingly, the party split into their respective groups. Alaria, Coerraine and Haelan poling the barge out into the river and headed upstream.

  Erevan looked to Fen. The druid simply nodded at the silver-haired elf. He turned to Braddok and Duor. Braddok nodded also and withdrew his sword. 

  As Fen moved off into the woods, the western warrior pulled Erevan close and muttered a simple two words. “Watch him.”

  Erevan looked at the warrior, without emotion, and nodded a reply of his own.  “Give us a hundred count and follow. If I see any trouble, I…one of us…will return.” Then the grey-green clad tracker took off into the woods.

  Braddok scowled after the elf and half-elf, their movements almost immediately lost in the woods before them. He looked at Duor. The dwarf smiled an impossibly broad smile from his dark brown beard.  Braddok shrunk back from the disturbing visage of the smiling thief.

  “Well, fellow treasure-hunter, as ‘Mr. Secrecy’ said….’Shall we?’” Duor answered Braddok’s with a bow and a flourish. “I’ve counted to 100…dwarves are great with numbers.” Duor gave Braddok an evil looking smirk and wink.

  Braddok looked at the barge, edging its way slowly out into the river and moving before them. When they were, what he believed to be beyond bowshot, and nodded. “Alright, let’s go.”

  The warrior trudged ahead of the bowing dwarf. Duor rolled his eyes. “Ugh.” Mumbled Duor, “Ye need a bit of humor, my friend. If we’re to die today, I’d rather do it with a smile.”

  Braddok seemed not to hear, so Duor trotted off behind the wide strides of the swordsman.

  Though the location of the elf and half-elf were lost to them, the human and dwarf stuck close to the river, never venturing further than a few widespread trees into the woods, never losing sight of the barge that held their “employer.”  Braddok trusted that, at least, Erevan was not far from the river either. The druid, whom he had just begun to think of as a member of the group, was on his “suspicion” list again…”I’m getting as bad as bad as the bloody Redstar,” thought the warrior to himself.


  Metal clanged against metal when Braddok’s longsword met the hobgoblin captain’s shield. One goblin soldier from the rear scouting party lay at his feet. Braddok winced from the cut in his upper arm he’d sustained from the hobgoblin’s last attack. He mentally chastised himself for being sloppy in his defense after felling the goblin spearman. His father, Braddok thought, would not have approved. Odd, his mind still reeled as he ducked a powerful swing of the captain’s serated broadsword, haven’t thought of father in month’s. Braddok’s next jab struck deep into the captain’s uncovered yellow-orange thigh.

  “Yeah, let’s go by land.” Shouted Duor as he easily avoided a slash from a goblin short sword. “That was a _great_ idea, son of Barforth!” Duor slashed with his flashing green-lit dagger, similarly dodged by his opponent.

  A ‘fipt’ and a thunk registered before Duor noticed the arrow in his assailant’s temple.

  “Eh! Stick to yer own goblins, point-ear!” called Duor before another ‘fipt’ and thunk caused him to wheel about to see another goblin behind him, hand axe raised for a cleaving blow drop lifeless to his side.

  “As you wish.” Said Erevan plainly, nocking his bow again in a single fluid motion. “Or, perhaps, my subtle dwarf friend,” Erevan’s bow twanged at an approaching goblin, “You should stick to the shadows.” The elf finished as he drew another bolt from his freshly replenished quiver.

  “Oh! Like you would have seen that alarm tripwire!” called the dwarf as he fired off his handcrossbow into the leg of another goblin spearman charging Fen. The goblin faltered from the unexpected pain and Fen finished the creature with a swift stab of his leaf-tipped spear.

  “He_ DID_!” answered Fen, none too thankfully to the dwarf.  

  “Oh right.” Replied Duor, ducking behind Braddok and preparing to stab at the hobgoblin captain. “Like you didn’t put it there. Ye sneaky bird-talker!”

  His boisterous approach noticed, the hobgoblin easy avoided Duor’s attempted “sneak attack.” The captain could not, however avoid Duor’s jab and Braddok’s slashing blade. The larger, stronger goblinoid looked in disbelief at the dark-haired human warrior who had just opened his side. A pointy-toothed snarl formed on his mouth before the creature stumbled backwards and dropped.

  His leader and comrades slain, the final goblin turned and attempted to speed into the thicker underbrush. A ‘fipt’ is all he heard before falling face-first into the bushes.

  Braddok wiped the black goopy blood from his blade. He looked upriver to the barge edging it’s way westward. “Let’s go.” The warrior took off along the riverside. Erevan and Fen followed without question. Duor looked at the fallen soldiers and then to his departing fellows.

  “But…” said the dwarf. He looked at the goblinod bodies and wondered what riches they might possess. He looked after where Braddok at run, his companions were lost in the greenwood. “ugh. ‘Onward to glory.’” Duor mumbled the dwarven warcry under his breath. Then, he too, continued trotting after his companions.


----------



## steeldragons

...and just as a belated "WOW! THANKS!"

Tales of Orea has hit/topped 2,000 readers! Yeah, I'm probably guilty of at least a hundred or so of them...but I'm know there are a few people besides me.

So, THANK YOU very much for your kind attention and interest in my humble little story of the homebrew world noone knows about (unless you've reviewed my sig, anyway. hahaha). 

Hope everyone is having fun, enjoying the spring and happy gaming!!!
--Steel Dragons


----------



## steeldragons

*Welford at last!*

Another day and night passed. Through a combination of Erevan and Fen’s skills of woodcraft, Duor’s skill in stealth, and plain old luck, the "Riverbank band" was able to avoid any further interactions with the rear-guard and foraging groups of the goblin force. When they came to the river that flowed from Lake Enkort to the D’Evand, they had the happy surprise of noting the massive amount of tracks, goblins, hobgoblins, zarx and wagons moving to the southwest. 

  This concerned Fen as his hometown was situated along the lake at the other end of this tributary, but supposed (and hoped) that the army would be making for the ford at Snake’s Cross. It was the easiest passage over/past the river, neither wide nor deep, easily traversed by the water-shy goblins and their supply wagons.

  This boded very well as far as Braddok was concerned as it lent them an additional half-day (at least) to get ahead of the advance forces. “We’ll beat them as far as Welford for sure now.”

  Erevan cast his disc spell and shuttled the companions, 1 by 1, across the wide and deep Enkort river near the D’Evand.

  By midday on the their third day since leaving Silver Falls, including a welcome uneventful passage through the marshlands that extended west from the Enkort outlet, the landbound group came to where the river Imerlis came to the D’Evand. 

  Other than a momentary encounter with an overzealous river snake which was quickly run off by Coerraine’s skillful spear, the “Barge crew” continued without incident. Though at one point Haelan was concerned by some rustling reeds on the river’s north side…nothing came of it and Coerraine supposed it was nothing more than the local wildlife getting a drink. “Wish Fen were here to make sure,” replied the Halfling.

  In the late morning of the formerly chilly night, the river was shrouded in fog which burned off slowly. Braddok and the others watched as the barge with their companions emerged from the mist like something out of legend. The barge came to a slow halt at the muddy opening to the larger river. 

  Alraia was especially happy with the news that the army had veered south to cross the last river and hoped their journey the rest of the way to Welford would pass without incident. “We’re so close.” thought the magess,. She toyed with the small parchment square for a moment which was their only reason for making this accursed journey. She looked again at the arcane markings surrounding Vertior’s seal in the wax. She observed one of the symbols was similar to something she’d seen in the elf mage’s spellbook…something she had not understood before. A shrinking spell, if she wasn’t mistaken. She tucked the parchment back in her waterproof scroll case and the reunited band carried on.

  The terrain this far upriver was hilly without the luxury of the dense woods they had been passing through/by in previous day.  Haelan, particularly, thought the landscape was lovely and did not wonder at all why anyone would choose to live in such countryside. As the afternoon lengthened, the hills became small mountains. Braddok was similarly please in this as it seemed that this would both hinder the army’s movement and increase the chances it might pass Welford without notice. 

  “Regardless,” Coerraine pointed out, “we must alert the people of Welford and help defend them if necessary. As well as carry on to Evandrial to warn Erevan’s people.”

  “And we shall, Goldshield.” Said Alaria. The wizardess had become rather invigorated at the thought of traveling to the elf realm, aside from the fact that she was heartened by Erevan’s assertions that a warband, or even an army of goblins could never pierce the realm of Miralosta. If war were to break out, thought the mage, she would be in a well-fortified area as opposed to some farming village. She had not worked all of these years to explore the outer realms just to fall to a goblin’s spear on some dusty road.

  Exhausted in the late evening, which were getting shorter by the day, the band crested a high hill to look down on a secluded valley full of plowed fields, neatly trimmed orchards, and pastures with sheep and cows being herded back to their respective barns. There was a small collection of buildings, some double-storied, sat at the far end of the vale. The “town” was not far from the shore of a broad and long lake and the whole of the vale was surrounded on its other three sides by high rocky hills...or “small mountains” according to Duor. It seemed the only entry to the community was over the relatively low hill they now crossed. Wisps of white-grey smoke rose from various chimneys across the valley as the chill of the coming night was already clinging to the evening. 

  “Welcome to Welford, my lady,” said Braddok with a bow and flourish. “Your task is near complete,” he added with a smile.      

  “Shouldn’t be difficult to find a green witch.” Duor said.

  “Don’t be silly, Duor. The witch isn’t actually green…I mean, is she Alaria?” 

  Alaria grinned at the innocently gullable Halfling priest. “It can wait til the morrow. And no, Haelan, I do not believe so...but you never know” She added with an uncharacteristic wink. “First, we must find the mayor or whoever is in charge here and give them warning. Then, I think a well earned respite in front of a proper fireplace and some hot meals.”

  This bolstered everyone’s spirits and the group made their way through the winding dirt road to the town at the western side of the valley.


A simple polite inquiry to some curious farmers brought the band to the “Inn at the Lake” at the eastern edge of town.. While Duor and the druid garnered some curious staring, the rest of the group seemed not to draw any attention. Friendly waves and smiles and “Good day to you” were met with similar well-meant responses. 

  They arrived at the inn first. A nondescript two-story building of timbers and stucco separated a bit down the road from the town, proper. Outside the structure hung a simple sign shaped and painted to look like a frothy mug of ale.

  “Yes. This’ll do nicely.” Smiled Duor.

  Unoriginal names aside, the common room and tavern were comfortable looking with two separate fireplaces (neither as large as the grand hearth of the Ruby Scabbard, but filled the room with welcome warmth. Scents of baked goods and grilled meats filled the inn's lower floor.


They acquired rooms for Alaria, the two human men, Fen and Erevan did not object to sharing a room and a final one for the dwarf and halfling to share. To the shorter folk’s delight, the innkeeper was pleased to tell them they had couple of “Stout-folk” rooms available which were not currently in use.

  All of the group was happy to drop their gear and raise their flagons and glasses. The elfvine here, Alaria noted, was of better quality than that in Hawkview.  "The ale's not dwarven." said Duor with mock disappointment. After his second lengthy gulping, he amended, *Hic* "But it'll do."


The rooms on the second floor offered some pleasant views of Lake Imerlis over the lower buildings nearer the lake and below the slope on which the inn sat. The innkeeper was savy enough to make sure the “fancy lady” had one of these rooms, as did the elf and half-elf. The others were positioned directly across the narrow hall, at Coerraine’s insistence.

  After securing their boarding, and some quick refreshment,  Alaria, Coerraine and Braddok went to go see “Constable Bertram” who the innkeeper, a portly man in a heavily smeared and stained apron named Grahm, instructed them would be the man to see about any possible “trouble.”

  The inquiry about "who was responsible for any trouble in town" rose a questioning look from the man who answered, “Are yeh ‘specting trouble, good travelers? The Lake Inn is no place for trouble, just good hearts looking for good cheer.”

  “We hope not.” Answered Alaria with a soothing smile. "We simply wish to share soem news from the road."


  The innkeeper merely nodded and added, “Ah, well that’s a breeze off the lake <a local idiom meaning “good news”>. What with the witch gone missin’, the folk have been a bit on edge these past days.”

  This caused Alaria to stop dead in her exiting tracks. Braddok and Coerraine shared a concerned glance.

  “Did you say, ‘the witch has gone missing’?” questioned Alaria. “You don’t mean the_ Green_ Witch…the Green Witch of Welford?”

  “Indeed. The very same, miss. Not been seen since Arinane <the greater moon> was at her fullest.” Replied Grahm.

  “It’s only been a few days since then,” offered Braddok, attempting to calm what he was sure was Alaria’s saddened heart. He was incorrect…about calming and about her being sad.

  The wizardess from R’Hath turned to the kindly innkeeper, her scowl dark as a stormcloud. “I’ve been traveling through danger and death for over TWO WEEKS to deliver a package to the Green Witch and you’re telling me she’s not even HERE?!?!” the air around Alaria shimmered and sparked with arcane energies.

  Grahm shrunk back, his eyes wide. He raised a small round wooden tray to his mouth, as if the meager “shield” might protect him from an onslaught of magical fury. “I…I know not…” stumbled the poor simple man, “ I know not where she might be. Only that she’s not been seen.”

  Braddok grabbed Alaria by the shoulders and gently edged her towards the door. He smiled an apology to the innkeeper. “Apologies, good ‘keeper.  It has been a trying journey, for my lady. We’ll go see Constable Bertram now.” Then, partly to Alaria, “He might have some information where the Green Witch might be found.”

  The charged air around Alaria subsided and she allowed herself to be “led” from the inn, shaking Braddok’s hands off of her as they returned to the dirt road that continued into town.

  Haelan, Duor and the elf-folk settled into their chairs and enjoyed their respite…which for Duor included twice more ale than the rest and for Haelan included twice the food.

  The humans found Constable Bertram in his office, as Grahm had instructed. He was sitting at a desk in a large open room that seemed to take up the whole of the building's first floor. There was a small barred cell to one side. it was empty.


A “deputy” guardsman was there also at a desk closer to the front door. He asked for the party’s names and business and presumed from their "heaavy arms" that they were there for a "permit."


They were instructed that open carrying or use of weapons, “including the use of magic, magess” was not permissible within the town without a permit and they were wise to come “check in” with the office. Annoyed but uninterested in argument, Alaria paid the fees. "Of course, the good Redstar Knight” was most welcome to lend his skill to the town's guardianship as he saw fit and need not pay the fee. Coerraine bowed and thanked the deputy for this honor. The mention of the Hilltender, Haelan, garnered a chuckle from the deputy. The constable smiled and waived his fee saying, “Sure, the halfling priest is fine. Anything else we can help you with, travelers?”


Braddok opened his mouth but was unable to utter a syllable before Alaria jumped in, “Where is the Green Witch? I have urgent business with her from my master.”

  The deputy looked to Bertram. The constable returned the look then looked to his desk and said softly, “I’m afraid we do not know, my lady.”

  “Well have you investigated? Where does she live? I have urgent business! I must find her!” Alaria said a bit too excitedly.

  Bertram held up his hands to calm the wizard. “I see that, my lady. And would be happy to help. But it is not unheard of for the lady Rhea to go afield at a moment’s notice. Welford is ever in her debt and appreciative of her company and power. But she does not answer to us.”

  “This has happened before?” asked Coerraine, attempting to direct attention away from Alaria, around whom the air was again beginning to shimmer.

  “Indeed.” Returned Bertram. The deputy spoke up then to say, “Her ladyship is a good friend to the Dragonmage and has often lent her counsel and wisdom to his cause. It it likely she passed into Daenfrii. But she always returns after not much time.”

  “Time neither I nor Welford have, I’m afraid.” Said Alaria, glaring at the deputy.

  This led to the explanation of what they had found at Silver Falls, and what little they knew of the goblinoid force making its way, presumably, to the realm of the Miralostae.

  This did not sit well with the constable at all and he asked the members if they would bring their whole band to meet with the mayor the following morning. 

  Alaria agreed after the constable told them where the cottage of the Green Witch was located (on a lonely hill north of the town near the northern mountain). “We will come to your meeting after we have investigated the witch’s cottage ourselves.” She stipulated.


The constable agreed, adding that should any "harmful elements" arise in Welford, they should feel free to utilize any weapons or magic at their disposal. He stopped short of refunding their fees, of course. When Braddok asked about that, Bertram nodded and thought seriously for a moment. "IF what you say is so and you are able to aid in the defense of Welford in any meaningful way, I will be happy to refund your arms' fees."


Figuring this was good enough, the three adventurers returned to the inn.

  The rest of the evening and night was spent trying to life Alaria’s darkened spirits. Disheartened she sought the comfort of her bed early. The rest of the company enjoyed the food and fire and drink and, eventually, attempted to drag the very drunk dwarf to his room.

_*Next time, "We're off to see the Green Witch..."*_


----------



## steeldragons

*We're off to see the Green Witch...*

The following morning, Alaria was the first to rise.  She went downstairs and enjoyed a spiced tea and some fresh bread and honey-butter for her morning meal. It was not the flavor she was used to from R’Hathi spiced tea, but warming and pleasantly aromatic. Coerraine was the next to descend the small staircase and, at Alaria’s instruction, eturned to the second floor to rouse the others. The R’Hathi mage hadn’t even let him order a morning meal first. She was a woman on a mission…and that mission was ending today.  They fought a goblin horde that afternoon, so be it. But she was dropping off her package and ending her “apprenticeship” once and for all that morning.

  Haelan was the next to bound down the stairs, “bright-eyed and bushy-toed” as the daelvar saying went. His armor and shield were gleaming, pinecone-shaped made at his side, a welcome of “Faerantha’s blessing” on his smiling lips as he entered the inn’s lower/tavern level. He joined Alaria at the table she had chosen and promptly, and sickeningly politely, ordered 3 eggs, 2 sausages, toast and some more of “that wonder honeyed butter” which he simply_ had_ to get the recipe for to take back home. Grahm’s daughter, Inya, was busy with the few other patrons having their breakfast, but promised Haelan she would get it for him. She was a lovely dark-curled thing…like Alaria’s color, Haelan noted, but significantly more wavey. She was not much taller than Duor and just beginning to get her “woman’s shape”, probably not more than 13 summers, Haelan supposed offhandedly. 

  Coerraine returned, his face was rather blanched. Alaria noticed but was unconcerned. Haelan also noticed and, naturally, was concerned. 

  “Did you see a ghost, Goldshield? I do hope it wasn’t in this lovely place. It is a glory of a morning…and I’ve not had my breaky yet. “ Haelan joked. His jest became real concern when the paladin did not answer. “Coerraine? No ghosts, right?”

  The paladin nodded and smiled, “Uh, no, Hilltender. No ghosts.” He waved down Inya for a modest repast of toasted bread, a slab of ham and simple flagon of water. 

   Braddok followed. Then Erevan. Then Fen. Erevan’s face was stoic, yet “handsome as ever” thought Alaria. Fen had his charming smile and casually greeted the company, hoping they’d all had restful nights. He made a special point of throwing an arm over Coerraine and wishing him, specifically, a good morning. The Redstar Knight frowned at the overture. “As well as any.” was his curt reply, quickly taking a giant-sized bite from his toast.

  Duor slowly seemed to “climb” down the stairs. He plopped himself into a seat and ordered “Any dwarvish spirit ye got.” To the questioning looks from several of the assembled group he jokingly retorted, “The spirit’s got to bite back.” <a dwarven colloquialism that roughly translates to “I need some hair of the dog”>

  Braddok explained to Alaria. R’Hath was not known for having many dwarves and the R’Hathi magess did not at all understand the comment.

  The company ate quietly and quickly, since Alaria was finished and ready to go find this cottage of the Green Witch. 

  They thanked Inya and waved goodbyes to Grahm in the kitchen, promising to see them for lunch.

  As they moved through town, they caught several stares and none-too-concealed glances from the people of Welford going about their morning business. Travelers were not unknown to Welford, but such an array of mixed races, with arms, was certainly uncommon. Several curious children giggled and ducked from barrel to corner to alley watching the band walk purposefully through town to the path that  turned off in the main road where Constable Bertram had directed them would lead up to the Green Witch’s cottage.

  They journeyed for nearly a league, far above and away from the town’s main street. The woods had gotten thicker here and the northern mountain which shielded the valley loomed high in the none-too-far distance. After a couple of hours, they came to a sloping glade, the far end of which revealed a large (but not very) thatched cottage seemingly built into and around the trunk of a great bronzewood tree. 

  The tree’s leaves were already very golden and Fen mentioned that they would fall within the week. 

  Alaria, unfaltering, led the troupe up to the arched front door of the domicile. The whole of the company stopped and lurched back, drawing weapons, when a booming voice came from a set of lips that formed above the door as Alaria stepped on the thickly woven “Welcome” mat.

  “Leave here! The Green Witch is not home. You may not enter. Come back tomorrow.”

Duor gripped his head, "Gads, not so bloody loud!"


  Alaria, initially startled by the voice stepped up to the door again and said defiantly to the lips, “I am Alaria Staver of R’Hath on errand for my master, Vertior. I have come a very long way and would see the Green Which now!”

  “Vertior, say you?” replied the lips to everyone’s (including Alaria’s) amazement. “You may enter.” And with that the lips disappeared and the door swung open.

  Alaria entered without hesitation, Erevan and Haelan close behind her. Braddok entered and the door swung shut. At this, everyone except Alaria began to panic and Coerraine, in particular, began pounding upon the door.

  Alaria moved to one of the windows next to the door and motioned for those outside to relax and calm down. When everyone had stopped, she took stock of her surroundings.

  The front room of the cottage was much as she expected. A room like any herbalist or apothecary she had ever seen. Countered and tables full of various beakers, bowls, and pots and pans. An array of dried or drying herbs lined the rafters of the ceiling. She recognized most of the plants as being useful for various medicines and potion making. A doorway, with no door, led to another room beyond the one they were in. 

  Haelan made the sign of protection of his goddess when he came across a row of various animal skulls and bones assembled in many different patterns. “Alaria?” the Halfling asked quietly, “I really had thought before, but…this Green Witch of Welford…she’s a _good _witch, isn’t she?”

  Alaria examined some writing on the parchments strewn across one table with a marble mortar and pestle upon it and replied offhandedly, “Of course she is, Haelan. My master would not send me into harm’s way.”

  “Any more than he already has?” asked Braddok. Alaria looked to the warrior without  humor in her eyes.

  “Hello? Rhea? Are you here?” called the wizard.

  Alaria and Erevan noted the charge in the air…magic was afoot.

  Suddenly, before and above their heads green light flashed then swirled and eventually took form. The form settled on that of a lovely woman, with long dark brown hair, straight and thick, like Alaria’s. The visage had large brown eyes with long dark lashes and arching brows. The appearance of an emerald green teardrop sat directly in the center of her brows and the whole of the face was surrounded by a bright green glow.

  “Alaria.” The face said. “Vertior said you would be arriving. Give me a moment.” And the face disappeared.

  Even Alaria was unsure how to proceed. “Don’t touch anything!” she hissed at Haelan who was reaching toward one of the bushels of herbs.

  A few moments later, a figure emerged from (what they presumed to be) the back room of the cottage. It was a, presumably, human woman shrouded in a bright, emerald green, high-collared cloak and gown.  She had a youthful face…looking no older than Alaria, herself.  She wore, most notably, a golden diadem that had at it’s center a teardrop shaped emerald that dangled in the center of her brow.

  “Welcome, my dear. Well met.” She said with the same alto voice that had addressed them moments before. “I trust the road was not too difficult, Alaria Staver of Ablidon. ”

  “Greetings, Rhea of Welford. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance. I must confess, I am a bit surprised. The townsfolk indicated you were not here.” Alaria began. She added, “The road was…a bit inhospitable for my tastes, I must admit.”

  “Well, yes. I know.” She motioned to a kettle on a grate that sat over a pile of kindling. The wood sparked into a fire. “Can I you or your company some tea?”

  “None for me, thanks.” Answered Haelan. Leaning over to Erevan, the halfling added, "Well, she's not green."


"No, she most definitely is not." replied the warrior, somewhat spellbound by the woman's beauty.


  Rhea smiled at the daelvar cleric.

  “Braddok Kar Barforth?” the lovely woman said turning to the warrior.

  “How do you know my name?” answered the swordsman. He had all faith in Alaria and understood that “magic happens” but he was uneasy with this admittedly lovely figure knowing him.

  Rhea chuckled softly but did not answer.. She collected some small wooden cups near the kettle. “I am sorry we couldn’t help as much as we would have liked.”

  “Wha…?” began Braddok before Rhea cut him off.

  “I understand you have a package for me, my dear?” she said looking sidelong to Alaria.

  Snapped into attention by the direct address, “I, uh, yes.” Alaria fumbled for her scroll case and withdrew the small folded parchment. “Master Vertior bade me deliver this to you….Oh!” she reached into the case again, “Along with this message.” Alaria handed over the rolled up scroll and parchment square.

  “My thanks Alaria of Ablidon. You have done your master proud. ” Rhea lifted the top of the kettle and pinched a few fingerfuls of some dried herb into a small metal ball which she then dropped into the kettle. She cauight Alaria's eyes directly, with a knowing look, “And Vertior is rarely proud.” She smiled. “Would your friends outside care for any tea?”

  The door unlatched and swung part of the way open. The remainder of the company stood outside, looking unsure. Alaria waved them to enter and passed on Rhea’s offer of tea.

  All declined as politely as they could. Duor and Coerraine opted to not enter the cottage at all.

  “I assue you, gentlefolk. I have no plans to harm you.” Rhea assured. "Welford is a place of peace and rest. I would not see it otherwise."


  “You still haven’t told us why the townsfolk think you’re ‘missing’.” Braddok asserted.

  Rhea calmly poured four cups of tea as she answered Braddok’s inquiry, “My comings and goings are not the townsfolk’s concern….” She looked sidelong at the swordsman, “which I am sure they told you.”

  She handed a cup to Erevan and Haelan, Alaria, walked passed Braddok, and handed the last cup to Fen. She returned to the kettle and poured herself a cup.

  “It is not my place, lady,” Alaria said, “But I have come a very long way and survived many trials. Might you share what it is I have risked life and limb for to deliver unto you?”

  “And is it something we can use against the goblins?” Haelan added.

  “Goblins?” Rhea said, turning to the halfling in mild surprise.


She looked to the rest of the party and then spoke again, “Ah. I see. I fear not, friend hairfoot.”


Without another word, she broke the seal of the parchment square and unfolded it, letting the contents slide into her palm. It appeared to be a thick ring of smooth grey stone. A moment in her hand and it expanded to the size of a bracelet. Rhea held the stone circle up to her eye and peered through the hole at the party. She smiled.

  “What is it?” asked the ever-inquisitive Alaria. “I’ve never seen such a device.”

  “It is a mode of divination, my dear.” Rhea said as if this were explanation enough. “You must return at Sorilorr’s height and I will show you…and you, master Erevan.”

  With their travails, Alaria had not really been noting the moons’ movements and realized, almost second nature, that the lesser moon, Sorilorr, would be full that evening. 

  “My apologies, lady,” said Erevan, “but do you know me?”

  Rhea smiled again. “My dears, I am the Green Witch of Welford. I know many things.” The cryptic sorceress took a sip of her tea. She continued before any more questions could be made, “You are welcome to Welford, one and all. Now go rest yourself. I know your journey has been long.”

  The party chose to accept this “invitation” to leave. On her way out, Rhea said over Alaria’s shoulder, “You have done well, Magess Alaria.”

  The R’Hathi wizard stopped momentarily in the frame of the doorway and a broad grin formed on her face.

  On the way back to the town, the smile still upon her face, Duor asked why she grinned so. 

  “I am free.” Said Alaria.

  The Green Witch had addressed her as “Magess”, the full acknowledgement of a fully trained magic-user, free of any apprenticeship, a spell-caster in her own right not subject to any other. Alaria felt she might float through the hills on her joy. She was her own wizard to do as she pleased for the first time.

  Her elation would not last long, but for the remainder of that day, Alaria felt as though she were the Archmagus Imerius, himself.


----------



## wolff96

steeldragons said:


> The Green Witch had addressed her as “Magess”, the full acknowledgement of a fully trained magic-user, free of any apprenticeship, a spell-caster in her own right not subject to any other. Alaria felt she might float through the hills on her joy. She was her own wizard to do as she pleased for the first time.
> 
> Her elation would not last long, but for the remainder of that day, Alaria felt as though she were the Archmagus Imerius, himself.




I love those kinds of in-character rewards.  Not necessarily even something big, but an acknowledgement that the character has accomplished something...  especially when it's also important to the PLAYER. 

Really cool.  I'm enjoying Orea.


----------



## steeldragons

*A mage, a paladin and a halfling walk into a bar...*

They checked in with the Constable’s office and met the mayor, Brethel Oakenshield.


Duor found this humorous since the lord of the dwarves on the southern kingdom of Daegun was named "Oakshield." He supposed, quietly to his fellows after the meeting, that the mayor must be an honorable man to have dwarf blood.


The Constable reported that he had doubled the watch and sent scouts to “the lea” which was the way the party had entered the valley. The men of the guard, all 10 of them (the mention of which Braddok and Coerraine shuddered in their armor), were put on alert and other men of the militia were being gathered and armed. The mayor nodded his approval, but, he added, he would like to alleviate any hysteria among "the commonfolk... should the strangers’ claims be false."

  To this, Coerraine stepped up and gave witness, “I have seen their atrocities with my own eyes, Lord Mayor. I have fought one of their foraging parties. They are very much, I am sorry to say, a real threat to all in this area.” The Redstar Knight’s testimony was taken quite seriously and the mayor made the added proclamation that messengers be sent (via boat) to Welford’s “neighboring” towns on the south side of the lake.  The mayor was also greatly relieved to hear the Green Witch was in her cottage. 

  Braddok inquired about the size of a fully rallied force of Welford.

  “We have the Constable, Deputy Skot, the 10 trained men of the guards and the milita…which would number, fully rallied, at 120.” The mayor answered. “More than enough to hold the lea…besides, we have the Green Witch...and yeh lot! Looks like ye could tousle a few goblins, eh?” the mayor guffawed. 

  “Well,” Alaria felt compelled to mention, “we will not be resting long here. In fact we will likely make our way at dawn to carry word to Miralosta.”

  Brethel frowned. “As you will.” He grumbled. “Yeh’ve done us a great service by bring us word. But yer welcome to stay long as yeh like.”

  With that, the meeting was closed and the group went about their day. 

  Haelan was happy to return to the inn for “lunch” though it had been only a couple of hours since their morning meal.

  Alaria suggested he and Coerraine venture to the “Gods Hall” to pay respects and surmise what help, if any, the local clergy might be if a fight came to Welford. 

  Fen excused himself to wander the surrounding lands. He promised to rejoin the group in the evening if Alaria wouldn’t mind him joining her to return to the Green Witch’s cottage (even though he, specifically, had not received an invitation to return). 

  Coerraine grumbled some objection that the druid would “abandon” them in this time of possible need.

  Braddok pointed out to the paladin that there were watches in place and the goblin horde was easily still a day behind them. Coerraine was forced to see the swordsman’s reason.

  Erevan politely asked Alaria’s leave to continue to Evandrial alone and meet them there. Alaria was reticent, but conceded, wishing the elf safe journey and gods’ speed. Erevan thank her with a deep bow and a kiss on the hand. 



_"Felin sa elati, Alaria Arkanis."_ he said to her. <literally translated from High Elvin: 'Dance in your joy, Magus Alaria"> Alaria smiled and blushed, despite herself. She felt herself fall into the elf's violet eyes and thought for a moment she might swoon from the happiness of her newfound freedom...not to mention Erevan's good looks.


He instructed them to the quickest route to Evandrial. She promised they would follow the next day. 


With another quick kiss to her hand, he walked away with Braddok heading  toward where they'd been told by Constable Bertram the weapons- and  blacksmith shop would be found.


Alaria, still floating in the joy of being her own mage, assumed they were safe for the day and invited everyone else to do as they would for the afternoon and regroup at six bells at the inn for dinner before they were to return to Rhea’s abode.

  The party divided up the remnants of the treasure they had from the harpies’ hoard and went their separate ways to shop and explore the hamlet.

  Erevan replenished some arrows before he left, including one claimed to have been enchanted by the Dragonmage, himself. “Fire it at a giant and the creature will fall,” asserted the weaponsmith with a large smile.


Braddok left his swallow-tailed hawk emblazoned shield with the smith to have the dents of their previous encounters knocked out.


The elf and swordsman exhanged glances.


"We'll be there," said Braddok. Erevan nodded, his face dispassionate as ever.



 The two grasped arms and parted ways. "Be careful", Braddok said wuietly to himself when the elf had gone.


The dark-haired westerner turned and went to find deputy Skot to survey the arms being doled out to the militia, figuring he might lend some expertise. 


No one noticed where Duor had wandered off to. He was gone before the party parted ways outside of the meeting hall.




  Coerraine agreed with Alaria’s suggestion but felt it a neglecting of his duty to leave her alone in an “unknown” town. Alaria assented to join the halfling cleric and Redstar Knight to the Gods Hall. Then, she insisted, she be allowed to do some shopping of her own. The paladin had no complaint about this.

  The Gods Hall of Welford was a simple stone building with a high-peaked roof. Engraved in the stones of the arched entryway were the symbols of several deities, including the waves of Tyris, the 8-pointed star on a shield of Celradorn and the budding rose of Gilea, among others.


It was common in communities in the Laklans and Freelands, that had no specific or dominantly popular temple, to erect a "Gods Hall" so that travelers and priests of many faiths might have a place to offer sacrifice. The presence of one in Welford interested Alaria as she assumed such a rural community would be (primarily) devoted to Sylari, goddess of the harvest and weather as well as “nature” in general. 


  When she mentioned this to Haelan who was eagerly trying to name the symbols on the arch, it was Coerraine who answered.

  “As I understand it, milady, the nature priests of Sylari do not worship within any man-made structure. Their rites are all conducted out of doors, on hilltops usually. At least that is how I have been told.” Said the paladin.

  “That is so.” Haelan was happy to chime in. “The worship of Sylari is very similar to Faerantha, though we are not so stubborn as to brave the elements when they are inhospitable.” The halfling smiled.



The magess, Hilltender and Goldshield entered the long narrow structure. Set into each side of the building was a series of alcoves, four to each side. Within each was a small altar and either a statue or other symbolic  representation of an individual deity. Between them, they were able to pick out alcoves for (along the left from the door): Celradorn, the Golden Defender, god of battleskill and guardianship; Manat, the Blue Star, goddess of magic; Jasralne, the Maiden, goddess of Spring and Love; and Tyris. On the right were alcoves dedicated to Gilea, the Merciful Mother, goddess of healing, motherhood and fortitude; Dunric, Smith of the gods, patron of smiths and craftsmen of all types; and Irion, the Crusader, god of the sun and protector of travelers.


An acolyte in simple brown robes was adorning the last alcove on the right in swathes of fabric of bright green and orange. A large copper disc with a green quarter moon enameled within it sat on the small alter. This one Alaria recognized, easily, as being devoted to Sorilorr, the All-knowing, god of knowledge, the mind and the lesser moon. 

  At the far end of the single long room was a small dais and a larger alter. 



An elderly man in robes of harvest gold was instructing another two acolytes, one in a simple forest green tunic and brown breeches and the other in brown robes, in the adornment of the altar area. A large bard’s harp sat behind the alter on a long table and branches full of golden bronzewood leaves and dark violet leaves of the silverleaf trees were being arranged around the dais. Several sprigs of oak with acorns still attached were piled on the floor, yet to be placed. 



      Noting the gaze of his helpers, the hunched old man in gold robes turned to see the three adventurers. The man was almost totally bald with a beard of wiry grey, not the flowing silver white of Tidemaster Kama, but trimmed to chest level.  A simple disc of bronzewood inscribed with the gold aspen leaf of Sylari hung around his neck, dipping just below his beard. On his belt hung a large ring with a number of keys. He leaned upon a staff of lacquered bronzewood that seemed to give off a golden glow in the sun that streamed through the large round window above the dais.

  “Hail and well met, travelers. How may we serve you this day?” he said with a smile. “If you are come for the festival of Bysdan, I’m afraid you are a tad early.” He added.

  “Not at all, Father.” Offered Coerraine. “We are simply new to your charming hamlet and wanted to pay our respects to the Eternals.”

  “Ah yes, well met, Redstar.” The man returned. “It has been long since this hall welcomed one of Celradorn’s chosen.” He looked the other two over. His eyes rested on Haelan for a bit. “And longer still since a Hilltender of the hairfoot-folk, as I recall.” He smiled a good-natured smile to the halfling. “You are most welcome here, gentle sir.”

  Haelan returned the smile with a deep bow. “Thank you, ehm, Father…?”

  “It’s ‘Prior’, actually. Prior Korin, at your service. Priest of Sylari and administrator of Welford’s Gods Hall.” He paused a moment, “And you, my lady, may be the longest absent of all. A mage of R’Hath is a rare sight indeed in Welford. You are searching for our Green Witch, no doubt? I here she’s flown away again.”

  “Thank you, Prior Korin.” Alaria answered. “We have already met with her. I am Alaria Staver of Ablidon. This is Hilltender Haelan Spurthistle and Goldshield Coerraine.” Alaria paused for a moment realizing she could not recall Coerraine’s surname. Something for later, she thought.


“We are simply passing through. We have been on a long journey. I had not even considered that the festival of Bysdan would be so close.” she said.


  “Ah yes, my dear.” Prior Korin answered. “Only two days time and so much to do. If there is not anything specific I can help you with, I invite you to use whatever altars you require. Each has a bowl for offerings and donations as you, good folk, see fit.” He smiled kindly. “I should get back to instructing my young hands, here.”

  “If I may, Prior,” Haelan jumped in politely, “I thought the priests of Sylari did not worship indoors?”

  The old man chuckled and nodded, “And you would be correct, friend Hilltender. I do not conduct rituals here, but as the senior priest and administrator of the Hall, it is one of my thankful duties to see it made ready for those who will.” Korin leaned towards Haelan and added a hushed aside, “We are not forbidden to _be_ indoors, merely to practice our rites.” He gave the starry-eyed halfling a wink.  

  “Prior Korin,” Coerraine now injected, “I am sorry to keep you, but how many priests do you oversee?” The paladin wished to make no insult but was very much hoping there was more than the old man and three youths in town.

  Korin thought for a moment before responding. “Well, that’s an odd question. You can see there is myself.  Bern and Shek, ” he gestured to the to young men in brown robes, “aid me in the service of Sylari though they are not near priests yet, themselves.” He raised his staff toward the young man in the green tunic, “Tortham, here, is a devotee of the Minstrel. His mentor is the ranking priest of Bysdan in these parts, Harper Cressden. It is he who shall host the festival and necessary rites.” The old man stopped again and thought. “There’s Brother Berk of Sorilorr, Protectress Kaylie, their attendants…others come and go as their gods see fit...I suppose we are twelve of us, all told. Though only we four seniors are initiated for rites. Why do you ask?”

  Coerraine seemed unsure how to answer, “How many of you are of spellcasting rank?” he said bluntly.

  The Prior seemed taken aback by this inquiry. Alaria quickly interjected, “If we may, Prior, might we have a private word?”

  The Prior’s face turned grave, but he nodded and with a few instructions to the young men to continue their work led the three party members through a door to the side of the dais which led to a small room.


It held a table and some shelves filled with candlesticks, incense burners and various other items that could be used in religious rites. Haelan was particularly enamored of a rack on which hung an array of robes, mantles, cowls and cloaks. They were, to Haelan’s mind, all of the colors of the rainbow, aligned in descending order, reds to oranges to yellows and so on.

  Alaria explained the possible impending situation. Prior Korin listened, little shock was bretrayed on his face. He stroked his beard nervously as they finished their tale.

  “Hmm. Grave news indeed. I am certain Brethel would be sending me word of this shortly.” The prior frowned a bit then continued, “To answer your question, Goldshield, it sounds as though only myself, Harper Cressden and Protectress Kaylie might be of use. Kaylie’s attendants might prove useful for healing,” he raised a hand, palm outward, fingers outstretched, and placed it to his forehead, “gods forbid it be necessary.” He lowered his hand back to grasp his staff. “But as you well know, the Daughters of Gilea will not fight. Only their chosen Protectresses are permitted to bare arms or do harm to others.”

  Coerraine nodded his knowing agreement. The Daughters of Gilea were prevalent in his homeland of Mostrial. The skills of the Daughters’ healing, both natural and magical, were well known to him. He was also familiar with the ferocity and devotion of Gilea’s chosen ones for the sacred position of ‘Protectress.’ He thought back to his youth and the Protectress who had tutored him in various forms of non-lethal battle at his father’s keep. It was before he had felt the calling of Celradorn, but she had been an amazingly skilled instructor.

  “And what of Brother…Berk, was it?” Haelan asked.

  “Ah, well. Berk is a skilled scribe and wise priest. Very knowledgeable, as the servants of Sorilorr are want to be. He and the Green Witch are good friends, actually, and often philosophize for hours. Oh my yes.” The prior chuckled a bit before recalling what he had originally been starting to say. “But I fear his spellcraft would not serve our cause if war were to come to Welford.

   “And I confess, I am a bit old to be very useful, myself. ” the Prior voice trailed off, “The stag only rules til the next, after all.” <Sylarian proverb, basically meaning he was past his prime. The younger more vigorous males replace the old or feeble.>

  Alaria thought on this for a moment. “Prior, where might we find Brother Berk at this time?”

  “I suppose he is back at the rectory. Right behind us here, across the park. He spends almost all of his time in the library there in his writing and study.” Prior Korin answered.

  “Our thanks, Prior. Let us hope that none need use their divine power in the coming days for anything but fun and frolic as the Minstrel of Autumn would wish. We’ll keep you no longer from your tasks.” Alaria answered.

  “The Golden Leaf bless us you are right, my dear.” The Prior replied. “My tasks now include meeting with the other senior priests and informing them of this news.” He bade them good day and showed them back to the main hall and went back to his decorating.


“No, no, Shek. The acorn boughs should be used to strew the chandeliers. Bring them down, and replace the candles while we’re at it. Tortham! Should I tell Harper Cressden that he need be here to ensure your participation?”

  The young man in the green tunic leapt up from where he had been lounging, absently plucking notes on his harp to help the brown-robed Shek lower the large chandeliers.

  The three adventurers returned through the Gods Hall. Coerraine stopped for some prayer in Celradorn’s alcove. Alaria, to Haelan’s surprise, entered the alcove of Manat, threw a few coins into the charity dish and bowed her head.


The magess, Alaria, said a silent prayer of thanks to the goddess of magic for the safe completion of her errand, the completion of her apprenticeship and the fulfillment of becoming her own woman.

  Haelan watched as the acolytes continued about their decorating, smiling to himself. When the paladin and wizard returned from their alcoves, the three went around the back of the Gods Hall and across a rectangular nicely manicured lawn lined with silverleaf trees, now plumed in violet leaves, some beginning to fall and scatter across the grass.

  Across the lawn stood another stone building, this one two stories, long and narrow with narrow tall windows on both levels. The shale tiling on the roof a mixture of cool greys and blues.  An arched double doorway of reddish wood with black iron fittings faced “the park.”   

  Alaria headed for the rectory with Coerraine and Haelan in questioning tow.


_*Next up, "Brothers, Baubles and Black Skies"*_


----------



## steeldragons

*"Oh Brother."*

Braddok made his way through town to where the deputy, Skot, had informed him the hamlet’s store of arms were kept. He made good natured conversation with the guards there and Skot arrived shortly after him to fill-in and begin some instruction with a few militiamen who had answered their summons.

  The weapons in the armory were not of the best quality, Braddok noted, but not terrible either. He noted, in particular a few maces and spiked morningstars. Recalling his blades ineffectual attacks on the crab-demons, Braddok asked Skot if he would part with one of the morningstars in better condition.

  A short bargaining ensued and Braddok happily agreed to do some simple sword instruction for the non-warrior militia. Braddok enjoyed training with the men, recalling his own vigorous training in the keep of his father, lost in his youth.

  He was also pleased with his newly acquired morningstar. Skot seemed an amicable young man, not unskilled with his own blade and Braddok enjoyed sparring with the deputy to instruct the very serious- (and scared)looking few who had arrived to collect their arms, some barely passed the age of majority.

  Most of the men who would make up the militia were busy in their fields, vineyards and orchards completing their harvests for the season. Skot was sure to impress on the farmers the importance of the men of weapon-bearing age coming that evening or, at latest, the following day.

  Along with the instructive sparring, Braddok aided Skot and the other guardsmen in marking down who was given what weapons, which were presumed to be returned following any battles in the hamlet.

  By mid-day, Skot dismissed the men who had turned up, instructing the armory guards to log anyone new arriving for a weapon and got Braddok to agree to return that evening for another “class” of instruction. The dark haired swordsman from the west added he would endeavor to bring Coerraine with him for some instruction in spear-fighting. The mention of instruction by a Redstar Knight seemed to impress several of the assembled men, as well as the official guardsmen.

  Satisfied with his morning’s work, Braddok made his way back to the Inn at the Lake for, what he hoped was a filling hot home-cooked meal. About halfway back to the inn, a young man ran up to him, addressing the swordsman as ’Master Braddok, sir’, and delivered a note from the Constable. Braddok smiled at the youth and immediately read the note. 


Seemed his lunch would have to wait. 

  He looked at brown-haired boy in simple clothes and said, very seriously, “Mark my words, boy, never travel with a dwarf.”


The boy answered “Uh, yessir.” as the swordsman trudged back the way he came, to the Constable’s office.   

  Alaria, Coerraine and Haelan entered the rectory into a room with a large table and many chairs. A few acolytes were setting the one long table within with modest tin plates and wooden cups.


The young woman who had answered the door wore white robes trimmed in red with a pattern of entwined thorns around the hems. The silver medallions sporting the budding rose marked her unquestioningly as a Daughter of Gilea, the goddess of healing, fortitude and motherhood.

  She nodded a silent assent to their request to see Brother Berk and bade them wait in the entryway.  A few moments later, the neophyte priestess returned and gestured them to follow her through the dining hall and down a hallway to a door that led to a modest sized library and scribing hall. Two orange-robed young men with shaved heads sat at desks, dutifully writing. Each bore a green waning crescent moon <resembling a “C”> on their foreheads. They barely looked up to notice the new arrivals.

  The room was musty and smelled of dust and old paper. Alaria breathed in deeply and smiled slightly, her mind sent back to the libraries of her homeland in which she'd spent so much time.

  At a writing table at the far end of the chamber, lined with rows of shelves containing books and scrolls, sat a middle-aged man, also garbed in orange with the green crescent marking on his forehead.  His head was not shaved, but his hair receded a bit. A set of spectacles sat poised on the brim of his nose…Alaria thought of the kindly guildmaster, Magister Kurklani, in Hawkview.  

  The party stood in silence as the scribe-brother finished writing…whatever it was he was writing. He gently placed the plume in it’s holder and looked up.

  “Yes?” the man questioned, some annoyance in his tone. “What can I do for a mage, a paladin of Celradorn and…” Brother Berk paused as he looked over his high desk down upon Haelan, “…a hill-priest? …Interesting.”

  Alaria stated their news and asked if the Brother would be willing to conduct some augury for them to surmise if the goblin horde would come to Welford. The Brother listened to her, comlpetely dispassionate.

  “The gifts of the All-Knowing are not lightly entered into.” He said, apparently unconcerned by the news. “Besides, since it seems to be precognition you seek, the lady Rhea is a significantly more experienced seer than I.” With this he took up his quill and dunked it into the inkwell.

  Alaria, unsure how to answer, stood mouth agape.

  “Is that all?” he said, looking over his precariously perched glasses.

  “Um, well, there is also this,” Alaria added. She pulled the crystal orb from her pouch.

  Seeing the orb, the brother-scribe’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. He lowered the glasses further down his nose til they sat just at the tip. His gaze intent on the crystal, he muttered, “Interesting.”

  “We believe…” began Alaria, “We believe it is somehow important to the purpose of this encroaching army. Do you think you can discern what it is? I, myself, have been unable to divine its power…other than it is definitely magical.”

  “And not evil in nature.” Added Coerraine.

  “No, obviously not.” Said Brother Berk, a bit of irritation in his voice at the paladin’s apparently ‘mundane’ assessment. 

  “But should it fall into the wrong hands…and we actually got it from some very ‘wrong hands’” Haelan interjected, “might it be something dangerous?”

  Brother Berk held out his hand. Alaria gently placed it in the Sorilorr priest’s palm. A breeze passed through the room, papers rustled and all present looked to the windows. All of them were shut.

  “Interesting.” Said Brother Berk.


“Leave it with me.” Before anyone could object, “I will see what I can find in my tomes. Come back tomorrow.” He said pointedly.

  “Due respect, Brother,” Alaria now said, having had just about enough of the man’s rude manner, “but we are to leave on the morrow. We have an audience with the Green Witch tonight. I will return for it after evening prayers to reclaim it.”

  Brother Berk looked at the magess in surprise, the first real expression he’d betrayed.

  “ Tell us what you can by then.” Bluntly finished Alaria.

  At this the Brother’s expression softened and a thin smile actually formed on his lips. “Indeed, magess. As you wish.”

  The trio nodded their thanks and left the rectory.

  Haelan stopped a moment, behind the others, as they crossed the park/lawn on their way back to the main road through town. A rustle in the trimmed hedgerow caught his attention. From his vantage point, nearer the ground than his companions, haelan thought he’d caught sa glimpse of brownish black fur. It was bushy, like a fox’s tail, Haelan thought.

  Alaria dismissed the halfling’s inquiries, supposing there probably were foxes in the area.

  “What about wolves?” the hilltender asked woefully.

  “Yes, Haelan, I would suppose there are wolves in the surrounding hills, too. I doubt any of them were seeking Brother Berk’s effervescent advice.” She retorted in annoyance and made her way back into town where the majority of the shops she’d seen had been. 

  “I…ok, well, I think I’ll head back to the inn for some lunch. Are you hungry?” Haelan offered.

  Coerraine simply turned and shook his head with a shrug and followed Alaria, as was his duty.


----------



## Tamlyn

Ok, you've had enough of a break. Get back to writing!

Seriously, I've been enjoying this SH and was missing it. If you're still interested in writing it, I am definitely still interested in reading it.


----------



## wolff96

Same here.


----------



## steeldragons

Tamlyn said:


> Ok, you've had enough of a break. Get back to writing!
> 
> Seriously, I've been enjoying this SH and was missing it. If you're still interested in writing it, I am definitely still interested in reading it.




lol. Fair enough. Ya got me.

I have a few other projects in the fire at the moment, but I will get back to our friends in Orea shortly.

Thanks, as always for the interest and encouragement.
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

I was hoping to get further along than this for the next post...but since it's done and you're jonesing  hahaha.


More to come soon.
--SD
-----------------------------------

Alaria paused outside a shop to peruse the dresses set on a rack outside of the dressmaker’s shop. One of bright green caught her eye. It was embroidered with vines and leaves in the golden trim. Very nice work, Alaria thought. It was “off the shoulder” as most of the women in the area wore from what she had seen. The sleeves were close to the arm until the lower arm when they widened a bit. 

  “Very lovely.” Alaria smiled to the woman standing before the shop.

  “Thank you, lady.” Answered the woman. “Would you like to try it on. It would look lovely on you, lady… Might be a bit short though.”she added apparently sizing up the statuesque R’Hathi woman.

  Alaria smiled. “I think not. But do you have something similar in violet?”

  “I might have just the thing, m’lady.” The woman said enthusiastically and ducked into the shop’s door.

  She returned shortly with another gown, this one was a plum color, with similar golden trim though no design was embroidered.  It also was worn over the shoulder, with a slight collar. “This was designed in the style of one I made for the Green Witch.” The shopkeeper offered.

  Alaria felt the smooth fabric, not silk or velvet, but soft to the touch. Alaria looked at it a moment and said “I love it. How much?”

  The dressmaker looked at the handsome blond knight behind her who distractedly looked down the avenue, then to the mage. “Would 5 gold be too much?” she answered. 

  Alaria raised an eyebrow and followed the shop-maid’s gaze. “I think it would.” She said. “My thanks, but I really don’t need another dress so fine for the traveling we would be doing.”

  “Oh! It is most durable, m’lady. And comfortable….3 gold?” the woman offered.

  Alaria thought a moment. “Do you like it, Coerraine?”

  The young paladin snapped to his employer’s attention, “It is very fine, milady. I’m sure it would be, uh, most fetching.” Alaria noted the momentary blush in the Goldshield’s cheeks.

  “Of course, this dress will travel to many realms, in the service of the gods.” Alaria noted, giving a nod toward Coerraine. “I would be happy to share the name of the maker who wove it.”

  At this, it was the shopkeeper who blushed. “M’lady, travelers are not known for finding Welford for a simple dress.” She looked at the handsome knight again and leaned in toward Alaria to say in a hushed tone, “2 gold and 5 <meaning 5 silver>. Methinks the gentleman would enjoy it greatly and as the maker, I could not ask for a more lovely form on which to show off my wares.”

  “2 gold and 2.” Said Alaria flatly and began to withdraw coins from her purse.

  “As m’lady wishes. 2 gold and 2.” The dressmaker happily agreed. “Gods blessings, m’lady. Shall I wrap it for you?”

  “I think not.” Alaria said, “I’ll change here.”

  “Of course, m’lady.” The woman took a moment to receive the coins and extended an arm for Alaria to enter the shop, “Right this way, m’lady.”

  “I’ll wait here.” Said Coerraine. A few minutes later, Alaria returned in the new plum gown, her travel-worn golden robe in a bundle under her arm. Coerraine was struck dumb at the sight of the magess.

  “What do you think, Coerraine?” Alaria smiled.

  “It is…fetching…as I knew it would be, milady.” The paladin stumbled.

  Alaria smiled to the dressmaker and thanked her. The shopkeeper bowed and smiled and thanked Alaria profusely. The wizard asked if there were any “magic shops” in town.

  “Ehm…’magic shops’, m’lady? No. But Master Devrim the Apothecary has some oddities at his shop that a simple dressmaker, such as myself, do not understand. Master Devrim had some experiences in the realms beyond our fair valley before he returned here and opened his shop. Perhaps he could help you?” The dressmaker gave the magess directions to Devrim’s shop and thanked her again, eagerly pinching Alaria’s coins from one hand to the other.

  Coerraine followed Alaria down the main avenue of Welford Town. He caught himself staring more than once at the wizard’s lovely figure. This was followed by a mental chastising for his lewd thoughts. The Redstar Knights were, by no means, sworn to chastity, but they did have rather stringent rules about “involvement” with their assigned duties and/or charges they were to protect.

  Alaria, freed of her apprenticeship that morning and donning a fresh new gown, felt like a million gold pieces and did not notice the paladin’s glances. Many of the shops were notably closed for the midday meal. She hoped that Master Devrim’s would not be. 

  She was thankful to find it was not and boldly entered. Coerraine a few steps behind her.

  The shop “stank” as far as Coerraine was concerned. Various herbs and rows of multi-colored bottles and vials, pots of salves, even a few candles of various hues all conspired against the paladin’s nose. A moment of concentration to look through his golden gifted sight noted nothing “evil” in the shop, including the slight-framed man with black hair and blue robes behind the counter.

  Alaria shared a brief conversation with Devrim of various arcane topics, most of which Coerraine did not understand. Alaria purchased a few pouches of various materials, including a “potion” that Devrim said would “soothe the travel-weary joints in a bath.” 

  The two left the herbalist’s shop and intended to return to the inn for a meal and some drink when Braddok came jogging up the road to meet them.

  “We have a…” the swordsman began before interrupting himself, “By the gods, you look the vision, Alaria.”

  Alaria smiled. “Thank you, Braddok. I’m glad you like it. What do we have?”

  “Oh!” snapped the warrior. “We have a problem. Come with me, please. It seems Duor…” Braddok filled in the wizardess and paladin, whose frown dipped lower and lower as Braddok explained until it seems his mouth might fall off of his very face.

  Braddok, Alaria and Coerraine entered the Constable’s office building. Duor sat, relaxed, on the banch/bed in the iron barred jail.

  “S’bout bloody time.” The dwarf smiled. “Get me outta here! It’s all lies.” He looked with disdain toward the very large black-bearded man standing before the Constable’s desk.

   The mountain of a man, nearly a hand taller than Braddok and twice as wide and round, wore a flour dusted apron. He glared at the trio as they entered.

  “My lady, it seems your associate here has committed a crime.” Constable Bertram began. “We do not take kindly to thievery in Welford.”

  “What happened?” Alaria asked innocently, ignoring Duor’s claims of innocence.

  “It seems, this dwarf…”the Constable started before the huge man burst in.

  “Stole a fritter from my shop!” said the black-bearded man.

    Constable Bertram let out a sigh and pinched the top of his nose. “My lady, Alaria Staver, this is Ortrus Baker…”

  “Finest baker in the Laklans!” added the irate man.

  “Yes, noone’s dismissing that Ostrus.” The Constable continued. “Seems your dwarf, here, pinched a few items from Ostrus’ shop without paying.”

  “I pinched nothing! Who’d want that ogre’s day-old pastries anyway!” added Duor, severely not helping his situation.

  Alaria glared at Duor and composed herself before turning back to the constable. The finer points of law in the outer realms were beyond Alaria’s knowledge…she stood for a moment looking from the constable to the baker and back again. Thankfully, Coerraine stepped forward.

  “Gentlemen, on my honor, I am not prone to trust this dwarf,” started the paladin.

  “HEY!” shouted Duor.

  Coerraine continued undeterred, “ …but the laws of gods and men must be observed. What proof have we of this accusation?”

  The baker burst again, “He took me fritters! No good thievin’ dwarfs.”

  “HEY!” shouted Duor again. “Let me outta this cage and I’ll show you thievin’ troll-born. I’ll steal yer ugly hide!”

  Constable Bertram again sighed audibly. “There were the crumbs in his beard when I arrived earlier.”

  “HEY!” yelled Duor again.


  To which Alaria turned and with a single murmured syllable and forceful motion of her hand, the blanket on the cell’s cot leapt up from the mat of its own accord and thoroughly wrapped itself around the dwarf, particularly his head and mouth. Muffled objections ensued before the entangled rogue toppled over himself onto the floor.

  Alaria turned to Ortrus and the Constable with a smile. “Now, my good gentlefolk, what can we do here to handle this in a reasonable manner.” Her dark eyes lingered on the mammoth baker who still watched the ensorceled dwarf trying to tug the blanket off his face. When his gaze returned to Alaria, he smiled a nervous smile.

  Constable Bertram’s face was again beneath his palm.


_*Next time: By the light of the Sorilorr-y Moon*_


----------



## Tamlyn

steeldragons said:


> I was hoping to get further along than this for the next post...but since it's done and you're jonesing  hahaha.




Thank you very much.



steeldragons said:


> More to come soon.




Excellent!


----------



## steeldragons

*Oh What a Night...Part I*

Haelan washed down the last of his pastry wrapped meat pie with the last of his honey mead and eased back into his seat with a very satisfied sigh. He lazily looked about the inn’s tavern.


Most of the crowd who had been there for their lunch had returned to their fields and shops. A few obvious regulars still sat at the bar trading loud guffaws and whispered tales with Grahm while Inya cleared plates and mugs from the abandoned tables. The girl looked over to meet Haelan’s gaze and gave the halfling a quaint smile and a wink. Haelan, naturally returned the smile.

  His gaze passed over a trio of cloaked figured in the corner table near the bar and fireplace, across the room from the halfling priest. He couldn’t tell very much about them, one was rather spindly looking, one’s back was to him and the third short and plump, not much taller than Duor. The short one was the only man whose face Haelan to see beneath their cloaks. It was rather round and unappealing with pronounced bucked teeth. Not wanting to appear rude, Haelan’s gaze continued to travel around the room, eventually resting on the paned windows that looked out the side of the building. 

  Haelan’s relaxation was shattered when he saw, what appeared to be a lump of light brown fur rise up into view outside of the window and disappear just as quickly. Inya came by his table shortly thereafter with another mug of mead “on the house.” Haelan asked if there was a dog that hung around the inn. Inya shrugged with a grin. “Not any one in particular. There are a few around town though. Scraps are scraps after all. But most people out on the farms are good to their animals. Why?”

  Haelan smiled a nervous smile, “Oh, no reason. Just wondering.” He thanked Inya for the mead and turned his attention back to the window, but he saw no other glimpses of any furry creatures. 

  He was thankful to see his companions return from their errands.

  “My word, Alaria, that is a lovely new robe.” Said the halfling priest. He received no response. Alaria simply stalked through the tavern to the stairs and went up to her room.

  Haelan noted the various grimaces and scowls on just about all of their faces. Coerraine was kind enough to give Haelan the run down on their midday activity as he ordered one of the pastry meat pies and some fresh water.  Braddok and Duor also ordered some food and ale. Haelan turned to Duor with a “tsk tsk” shake of his finger. 

  “So now I am responsible for this miscreant’s activities.” Coerraine comcluded.

  “Not like I asked fer it, Goldilocks.” Duor retorted. “Besides, it’s not like yeh’ve lost anything.” Duor sulked.

  Braddok informed Haelan that Alaria had paid for the damages and Duor’s “bail” from Duor’s own purse, which oddly was full of gems the party had not seen before. Alaria confiscated the remainder of the gems, leaving Duor with what few coins remained. She also was quite clear, that Coerraine was to “keep an eye” on Duor and if he stepped out of line, Alaria had threatened to turn him into a mole.

  Haelan’s eyes went wide throughout the tale. “All for some cakes? Duor, really? Glad I came back here.”

  “Weren’t about the cakes, yeh hairfoot fool. I needed to stretch my muscles. Test my skills. Stay sharp. Yeh understand?” Duor replied.

  “Well sounds like you need more practice.” Haelan replied in all seriousness and took a long draught from his mug. He did not notice Duor's angry glare.


  The remaining afternoon and evening went without incident. Most of the group had a few more drinks, many more for Duor until he realized he was out of coin.


Fen returned late-afternoon telling them tales of his day in the countryside, including rumors of wicked goings-on at the cemetery in “the Downs.” 



Haelan did not like the sound of that at all, but everyone was very clear that they should be moving on to Miralosta the next day and with their altercation with “the law” from earlier in the day, even Coerraine wanted to “get the dwarf out of Welford” as soon as possible.

  Soon after, Alaria descended from her rest looking significantly less angry. Then it was time to go about their respective evenings. 

  Braddok asked Alaria’s leave to bring Coerraine with him to the evening training session with Deputy Skot. Alaria thought it a good idea and even better that Duor should accompany the warriors. Duor did not like the idea but kept his mouth shut, daring not tempt the wizard’s wrath.

  Haelan and Fen would accompany Alaria back to the rectory and Brother Berk to retrieve the crystal orb. 

  They would meet at the path that led up to Rhea’s cottage when they were all finished and see what the purpose of this stone ring was they had traveled all of this time to bring her.

  The bell chimed for evening prayer from the tower adjoining the rectory as the magess, hilltender and druid neared the Gods’ Hall and the small park that led to the living quarters of the town’s religious few.

  Again, as they crossed the lawn, there was a rustle in the bushes that caused Haelan to jump. In the late evening shadows he couldn’t make out anything specific at the distance, but he didn’t like it. The halfling tugged on the druid’s cloak to get his attention and pointed toward the hedge rows.

  The half-elf looked where Haelan indicated and seemed to squint a bit. Then he looked at Haelan and shrugged. “I see nothing unusual, friend Haelan.”

  Haelan breathed a sigh of relief but still stuck close to the druid and mage.

  As they neared the door to the rectory, a they heard a woman’s shriek followed by a dark-cloaked figure exited the building and darted away quickly lost in the shadows.

  Fen looked at Alaria, who looked at Fen, and the three sprinted for the building. Coming to the door, they were nearly bowled over by two more cloaked figures coming out at a fast pace. One was tall and spindly and one was short and round. Both held short swords in gloved hands. 

  Haelan immediately recognized the buck-toothed man and his friend from the tavern that afternoon. The tall spindly one was rather ugly, himself, with a long narrow nose with a few lengthy hairs forming a sparse moustache.

  Alaria, not about to take on two armed men immediately went for her pouch of pink sand. 

  Fen rushed in front of the wizardess and leveled his spear. Haelan, being Haelan, called out “In the name of the Hillmother, hold where you are!” in his most intimidating voice.

  The two cloaked men seemed to sneer, the shorter one even chuckled aloud, before they darted in the opposite direction of the first figure the companions had witnessed. 

  Before they got too far, Alaria flung her sand in their direction and confidently shouted, “_Contro es amberall buul.” <mage spell: Sleep>._  As she cast, part of her mind heard Haelan invoking one of his goddess’ prayers.

  The men stopped momentarily in their tracks and shook their heads before turning toward the magess bearing teeth and hissing…like animals.

  Alaria took a step back, shocked not only at the failure of her spell but the reaction it elicited.

  “FAAAAAERRRRRATHAAAA!” cried Haelan as he charged the thieves. His the pinecone-shaped head of his mace pulsing with a golden glow.

  Haelan's swing caught the portly thief in the shin. A bit of golden light seemed to stick to man for a moment and then the cloaked figure began to hiss and…squeal?


As Haelan swung around from his charge to face the thief, he nearly dropped his mace as he backed away in horror to watch the man’s features stretch and twist.


The puggish nose stretched like dough from his face, rounded flabby cheeks sprouted grey-brown fur at an alarming rate and his buck-teeth elongated and sharped.


Finally, in what seemed like slow motion to Haelan but really only took moments, large round glassy black eyes looked at the halfling priest from the face of a monstrous rat atop this round short human body.

  “AAAAAHHHHHHHH!” cried Haelan and bolted back toward Fen and Alaria, avoiding a half-hearted swipe of a short sword as he fled.

  Alaria gasped when the rat-man turned to face them. “Lycanthropy!?”

  “By the Grove!” shouted Fen similarly surprised. “Wererats! Their cursed disease is an afront to the Balance. They must be stopped.” 

  The spindly man continued to try make his escape, long thin legs moved him swiftly towards the Gods’ Hall and the corner of the rectory behind which was nothing but woods sloping up toward the mountain.


The wererat who had been revealed followed his leggy friend nearly running into his back as the taller man stopped short in his tracks.

  From around the corner of the rectory came a large rodent-like face, this one a weasel and as tall as the shorter of the men. It had very pale yellowish-brown fur over most of its body with a darker, almost black, mask pattern over its eyes and ending its short legs and clawed feet.


The giant beast opened its mouth wide, showing very thin pointed teeth, and hissed loudly.

  The two thieves nearly fell over each other in their retreat from the creature, squealing like…well, like scared rats. They attempted to sprint across the lawn, between the weasel and the companions.

  Alaria felt a humming in the air and a tingle up her spine. She realized Fen was murmuring near her and while her ears were not being assaulted by the secret language of the Ancient Order, the working of their magic did, indeed, “feel” different to Alaria’s own.


When the half-elf had completed his spell, he slammed the butt of his spear into the ground and a flare of green light shot across the lawn toward the wererats. No sooner had the light disappeared beneath their location than vines shot up from the ground, the blades of grass grew and twined around the creatures’ limbs. 

  They made a couple of futile swipes with their blades before the congestion of tangling growth had them completely incapacitated.

  “Nicely done!” came an unfamiliar voice from the direction of the weasel. Alaria wondered for a moment if the animal itself had spoken. Enchanted speaking beasts were not unheard of in the Mage Lands but she was unaware that any existed in the outer realms.

  “Walking rats and talking weasels?” Haelan questioned. 


  A hearty chuckle came from the direction of the animal again as a figure, not much taller than Haelan himself stepped out from behind the weasel-thing.


Large bright blue eyes sparkled like gems above a large bulbous nose. He had a short curled beard of steely grey and wore a hooded cowl and cloak of bright red. The tip of the hood looked like a forked twig or branch with two leaves of violet sticking off the top. A jerkin of bright yellow stretched across a pot belly gave way to green stockings and bright red gloves and soft leather shoes with ends that curled up and back toward the little man. A slender dagger hung in a decorative sheathe from his belt and a gnome-sized flgaon hung on his other hip. He seemed otherwise unarmed.

  “Yeer very funny, daely-var. Buttercream cain’t talk…well, cain’t talk to you folk anyhoo.” said the little man as he patted and stroked the head of the giant ferret.


  “A gnome?” Alaria wondered out loud before catching herself.

  “Aye a gnome, lady. Wut yeer take me for?” the gnome answered. “Gnobertilum the Great, at yeer service.” He bowed to the magess with a flourish. “Oh, and Buttercreamshadowfeet.”

  Alaria and Fen each arched single eyebrow and Haelan’s head cocked to the side.

  “I put the ‘shadow’ in theer t’make her sound more fierce.” Gnobertilum explained. “Gives her that spooookyyyy edge. Don'ye think?” The gnome smiled broadly at his cleverness.

  “Um, yes, well Master gnome,...” Fen began.

  “Gnobby. Me friends call me Gnobby,” the gnome interjected, “….or Gnobs…or Gnobert…or Berty…or..” 

  “Uh, yes. Well ‘Gnobby’, we have to take care of these unnatural creatures before my magic gives out, so if you’ll excuse me.” Fen marched to the wererats’ position (the tall spindley one had transformed at this point attempting to use its preternatural strength to break free) spear in hand. 

  While Alaria made introductions and asked the gnome if he had any knowledge of these wererats and their purpose. Fen attempted to interrogate the bound creatures. They simply sneered at the druid, hissing that they “could not be stopped by some plants.”

  “It seems, you can.” Haelan offered. “I wonder if Prior Korin can remove the curse from them.” Then Haelan recalled the scream they had heard moments before and raced for the rectory.

  “There is only one release from such a curse,” Fen said and pressed his spear against the chest of the shorter rat-man.

  “If yeer kill ‘em, yeer ne’er find out what’s theer plans.” Gnobert called to the druid.

  “He’s right, Fen.” Alaria soothed as she came to stand before the creatures. “Of course, in R’Hath we know a thing or two about curses.”


She leveled her gaze into the shorter wererat’s eyes, the air around the magess began to swirl and spark, “Tell me what you were doing here. What is your purpose?” 

  The wererat tried to draw back from the mage, but the vines still held him tight.

  “TELL ME!” shouted Alaria, as she did, her eyes seemed to flash into discs of violet flames licking from her sockets.

  At this the taller wererat also tried the scamper back. Both were squealing and whimpering at the visage of the wizardess from R’Hath.

  The wind around Alaria was whipping into a frenzy, rustling the leaves and grass, violet flames in her eyes and blue-white sparks danced around her figure…then, a loud crash of thunder sound. “Last…chance,” She said.

  “The orb! He sent us for the orb. We knew the old scribe had it, but that damned ferret was on our tails all day.”

  “The orb? Where is it?!” Alaria commanded.

  “I…I have it here…in a pouch beneath my cloak.” Thunder rumbled again. “Please don’t curse me wizard. Lovely wizard.  We can help you. We’ll do much better for you than for him. You can have the orb!”

  “Him who? Who are you working for?”  Alaria asked.

  At this the shorter wererat whimpered a bit. Alaria turned to the taller one and used her cantrip for a final flare of violet flames from her eyes, “WHO?”

  “T-T-Tres-Tresahd! He sent us to get the orb. Told us where to find you. It was Tresahd.” The tall one blurted.

  In an instant, the rustling and thunder stopped, the flames left her eyes, the air was still as it had been before. She seemed not at all imposing. “Thank you.” 

  Just then, Haelan returned from the rectory with Protectress Kaylie in tow the armored priestess carried a large coil of rope. She looked questioningly at the gnome with the giant ferret but figured it could wait. 

  “Lycanthropes in Welford,” said the stern-faced woman, “Goddess grant they are the only ones.” Her blond hair was bound in a tight braid at the back of her head. Her yellow tabbard flowed over a shirt of chainmail and the rosehead mace of her station hung from her belt. “Your Hilltender told me what happened. I am sorry I missed the fight.” Kaylie leaned in toward the taller rat-man, “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I had been here.”

  When she and Fen were binding the wererats,  Alaria retrieved her crystal orb then understanding fell upon her as it often did. “Brother Berk?” she said the the Protectress. “Is Brother Berk alright? I left this with him and it is what they came for.”

  Kaylie nodded. “He’s fine. He was at prayers. Seems the creatures snuck in to his study and got it. One of the Daughters caught sight of them as they tried to escape and was given quite a fright.” At this, Kaylie leaned in toward the shorter rat-man, “Another reason you and my mace will be having a chat. I’ll take them to Bertram.”

  Protectress Kaylie took the ends of the ropes binding the defeated wererats in one hand and hefted her sacred weapon with the other. The head of the mace was shaped like a rosebud. It flickered and sparked with white holy light. With shocking speed, the priestess smacked the two lycanthropes over their heads and their bodies slumped forward.  Shortly thereafter, two of the acolytes Alaria had seen early came out and they helped Protectress Kaylie lug the creatures to Constable Bertram’s office.

  Alaria thanked Gnobert for his assistance.

   “Please, me lovely, call me Gnobby. We’re all friends here. N’ Buttercream too. She helped.” The gnome amended.

  “Yes, of course.” Alaria smiled. “Buttercream too. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some business with Brother Berk.”

  “Ne’er a worry, lovely. We can wait here. Beautious e’ening fer it, huh Buttercream?” said Gnobert offhandedly.

  “Oh, er, yes. Of course.” Alaria stumbled. “See you in a bit, then.” She shrugged at Fen.

  The half-elf smiled broadly. “It is a ‘beautious evening’. I’ll wait out here too, in case our third thief decides to return to the scene…I think it’s safe to say he’s probably a wererat too.”


“As you wish.” Said Alaria.

  She and Haelan returned to the rectory to see what information the scribe brother had turned up.

  “Quite an eventful evening, huh Alaria.” Haelan said. “Whew I’m glad that’s over. I’ve never seen a were-thing before.” The halfling shook off an exaggerated shudder. “They might be worse than undead…not that I’ve ever seen any undead before either…Hillmother willing, I never will. But I’m glad it’s over.”

  If only the poor naive little Hilltender noticed...the night was just _beginning._


_*Next time: Oh What a Night...Part II*
_


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Another one added to your list of admirers, Steeldragons. Great story.


----------



## steeldragons

*Oh What a Night, Part II*

Apologies for the lag time, but am on vacation through the Greek isles at the moment. Internet access (and specifically EnWorld access) has been spotty and the excursions and schedules haven't allowed much "downtime" for writing. 

BUT, I have it now (this afternoon) and will be taking full advantage of it. 

Never fear, I will be returning to the states in 5 days and should then by back to a more "relaxed" (and computer-heavy) lifestyle. 

Thanks to all for your interest and hope you're enjoying it.

For now, back to our intrepid band in Orea...
--SD
---------------------------

 In the rectory, the Gilean priestess they had met that afternoon was consoling the other healing goddess’ annointed Daughter who had suffered a bit of a scare from the thieves in their living quarters.

She told Alaria and Haelan they were welcome to go to the study and await Brother Berk there. “His meditations should conclude shortly,” supposed the young woman.

“Do you need consoling, Haelan?” Alaria quipped as they made their way down the short hallway to the library study of the priest of Sorilorr.

Haelan exhaled deeply, “Thank you Alaria. I think I am alright now.” Said the hilltender in all seriousness. “They are quite a frightful sight, aren’t they?  I will admit that.”

Alaria rolled her eyes at Haelan apparent (and usual) lack of understanding in the ways of sarcastic wit.

The two waited patiently for the brother’s return. Alaria perused some of the rows of scrolls and manuscripts on the shelves. Most of them were of little interest to her. Various local lore, histories of Welford,  civil records of births and marriages and the like. She did note a small section of books that seemed to deal with more esoteric and philosophical topics, including one tome that dealt with recording the rites of Sylari worship and another on the “historic” account of the Daughters of Gilea and the “Sainted Daughter, Phsyha of the Flaming Hair” who is said to be the order’s first “Protectress” who saved the order of Gilea from extinction in the last age (“Should be ‘the mythological account’” to Alaria’s thinking).

Brother Berk entered quietly and went straight to his desk. “I’ve been told of the the evening’s events. Most extraordinary.” He dipped his quill in the inkpot and began writing furiously. He continued, without looking up, “Interesting, indeed, that one day a mage from R’Hath comes to Welford. The very next, my study is compromised by creatures cursed by unnatural disease.”

Alaria said nothing. Haelan’s gaze, however, turned uncharacteristically stern. “You don’t mean to insinuate that Alaria had anything to do with those godless monsters?”

At this, Berk’s eyes looked out over his spectacles and his quill stilled for a moment.

“Certainly not Hilltender. They were only here to steal the very item that was left in my care. I’m sure there is no connection between your presense and theirs what so ever.” He looked back to his parchment and again began writing.

Haelan was rather flummoxed but said nothing further.

Alaria stepped forward. “Just so, Brother Berk. So perhaps you’d care to tell us what it was about that item the creatures wanted? We have already discerned that they were under the instruction of the evil mage from whom  we claimed the orb where it was most definitely being put to some sinsiter purpose. But we cleansed the item with holy water of the goddess Tyris and as you noted earlier, the orb does not seem to have any inherently destructive properties.”

The wizardess had had more than her share of dealings with sages and students of various magical practice. Brother Berk struck her as one of these men, and despite her irritation at his less than friendly manner, she was hoping such an academic sort of discussion would get his attention.

Brother Berk continued writing, as he had been the whole time Alaria had spoken. When it seemed he would not respond, he again looked up over his spectacles and sighed.

“I see this will have to wait.” He set down the quill and clasped his hands together, looking at the mage and halfling with what might been taken as anticipation. When they said nothing further, he began to share his findings.

“Well, I can tell you nothing about any evil mages or their servants. But you are correct in your assumption about the orb. There is nothing inherently evil, about it. Neither is there anything inherently good.”

“Uh-oh. That can’t be good.” Haelan mumbled. The pun of his comment completely eluding him.

Berk ignored the interruption and continued, “ It seems, from what limited time I had with the object, to be elemental in nature. Specifically, the element of Air if I had my guess.

“As you well know, lady of R’Hath, there are many items of magical nature which are tied to one elemental plane or the other to fuel its power. The Histories of Orea are full of tales with swords that burst into flame or freezing ice, rings that allow the wearer to fly, breathe underwater...”

At this Haelan burst in “Potions that do that too! We have some of those!”

Berk looked with open disdain at the halfling, “Quite…May I continue?”

Haelan looked at his bushy blond hairs atop his feet.  Despite his goddess’ tenets of respect for other faiths, the daelvar was finding it more and more difficult to “like” this priest of the All-Knowing. 

“ The process is not completely unknown to me, but requires a great deal of time and energy to bring about. I am not one for the crafting of such items, nor are there any within the Laklans that I can think of who would be engaged in such practices. The Green Witch would be capable, I suppose, but she is more interested in her herbs and potion-making.”

Now it was Alaria that seemed annoyed. She knew the orb was not Rhea’s nor was she very much concerned with who made it. She just wanted to know what it did and how to use it. Noting her folded arms, Berk began again.

“Though the disctinction between enchantments applied by divine methods and arcane ones have their subtle but notable differences, I could not specify the properties of this crystal. Nor could I discern the specific nature of its powers.”

Alaria looked confused, as did Haelan.

“In other words,” Berk continued with apparent exasperation, “that orb is not strictly arcane in nature, nor divine. I would warrant the guess that it possesses properties of both kinds…or at least applied with both practices.”

“So,” Alaria summed up, “it is elemental in nature, you think specifically Air ), and is an item of both arcane and divine origin?” Though very little information, Alaria was forced to admit to herself that what the scribe-brother said made sense based on what she had witnessed

“Quite.” Brother Berk replied. With that, he took up his quill again and began to wrtie. As he did so, he concluded, “That is all I can tell you. Perhaps Rhea might tell you more. If I had more time, I might be able to glean more from it, through the grace of the All-Knowing. But given this evening’s event, I would thank you to get it out of Welford at your earliest convenience.”

Alaria, completely unsatisfied with Berk’s services, simply nodded and forced a civil “Thank you for your time, Brother. We intend to do just that. Come Haelan.”

Haelan blurted a brief, “Oh, ok. Good evening to you, Brother.” Then under his breath to Alaria in the hallway, “May Faerantha grant your soul a fragment of her warmth.”   

Alaria found this to be rather amusing but was surprised to see an actual scowl on the halfling’s face as they exited the rectory and met up with Fen, the gnome and the giant ferret waiting for them in the lawn.

Haelan’s mood improved somewhat as he acquainted himself with the gnome, Gnobert, and was quite taken by the immense but very affectionate “Buttercreamshadowfeet.” The halfling had heard many tales about gnomes in his days, but had never actually met one. The two gabbered most of the way down the road to the pathway that broke off to climb the wooded slope to Rhea’s cottage. 

The gnome and giant ferret gathered quite a bit of attention from the townsfolk, but since they were in the company of the R’Hathi magess (whom they had all heard about by now) and one of her attending men. 

There had been quite a bit of gossip about the elegant magess from the “far away” land and her “stable of males.” The goodwives and shop-women tittered among themselves about whether the dark-haired swordsman or the golden-tressed Redstar Knight or the "carrot-topped druid" were the more handsome. One tale included the steely-haired elf but since he had disappeared earlier that day, some women refused to believe the magess had an elf in her entourage. Rumor also claimed that with the ruckus earlier that day in the constable’s office, that the wizard-woman had ensorcelled that “crass boor of a baker.” The charming druid had made quite an impression on several of the younger maids outside of town, though none were so daring as to approach him. None of Welford’s women wished to get on the bad side of a R’Hathi mage.

Alaria, Fen, Haelan, Gnobert and the giant ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet (“I calls her ‘BC’ fer short,” Gnobby offered.) awaited their companions at the pathway that led up through the wooded slope to the cottage of Rhea, the Green Witch.

As the shadows of evening overtook the secluded vale, the paladin, dwarf and swordsman came racing up the road to meet them.

Duor rubbed his shoulder where, it was later told, one of the militiamen at the training session had gotten in “a lucky shot” with a quarter staff. But the dwarven rogue refused Haelan’s offer of healing, claiming it would be fine.  Coerraine smirked a rare grin when Duor told the story, believing it to be a clear indicator of cosmic justice and penance for the dwarf’s transgression earlier in the day. 

Braddok began, with some urgency, “You won’t believe what’s happened…”

Fen answered deadpan, “Yes. Wererats. We know.”

Braddok was a bit befuddled. “What?! Were-…Huh? No!...WOAH! What’s that?!” Braddok’s hand went immediately to his sword as the large masked ferret face poked out from behind Fen.

Alaria attempted to get things back on track. “It’s fine Braddok. Some new ‘friends’. What’s happened?”

His hand left his sword but he continued staring at the six foot long furry creature and its three-and-a-half foot tall smiling curly-bearded handler…whose clothing seemed to change from red and yellow to shades of  blue and dark purple as he watched.

“Well, boats have begun arriving from South Imer and Lakesdown <_the two villages on the south side of Lake Imerlis, whereas Welford sat along the north-northwestern coast _> with refugees from there. South Imer has already been overrun by the goblin army. Look. You can see there.” The swordsman pointed to the southeast.

From their location higher up the moutain slope, overlooking the town and harbor, an orange glow in the darkening evening was perceivable on the clouds where, according to Braddok, South Imer was supposed to be.

The news did not sit well with any of the companions. Alaria’s brows lowered. This did not bode well for the hamlet…though its rim of low mountains seemed naturally defensible…and if the goal of the goblin army was, indeed, the elf nation of Miralosta, they would have no cause to assail Welford on their was to the great forest realm.

“That is, indeed, ill news, Braddok.” Alaria began. “We will go see Rhea, as appointed. Then we will discuss our next move. Perhaps it would be best for us to follow Erevan sooner rather than later.” With that, the magess began the climb thrugh the wooded slop to Rhea’s cottage.

The others of the group, including the curious (and uninvited) Gnobert the gnome and his giant ferret, fell into pace behind her. 

*Next: OWaN Part III*


----------



## steeldragons

*Oh What a Night, Part III*

Oh What a Night: Part III

  The band ascended the wooded slope. Evening turned to early night. The rising lesser moon, Sorilorr, shred beams of eerie green light through the still leafy boughs. The green was muted somewhat by the mostly waned greater moon’s silver light. The dancing of the moons’ glow and shadows through the trees and underbrush was both unsettling and mesmerizing.

  Haelan murmured the simple prayer to Faerantha and the head of his mace illuminated with a soft golden glow to light the path.


Gnobert thought this was quite the handy trick and with a syllable and simple flick of his nimble fingers, the pointed branchlike top of his hood “popped” and was surrounded by a puffball of blue-white light, offering more light for his new friends who couldn’t see in the speckled moonlight as well as the smaller folk.

  Great, it’s true, thought Braddok. A gnome with magic. Braddok had no dealings with gnomes, but it was common knowledge across his homeland of Denil that they were not to be trusted and had a knack for trickery.


It was alleged among humans that all gnomes were capable of magic, specifically for the purposes of tricks and dishonest dealings. I’ll let Coerraine worry about Duor, the swordsman reasoned. I’ll have my eyes full between the gnome and the druid.

  They passed most of the walk in silence. As the band neared the cottage, Rhea appeared in the cottage’s doorway. Her billowing high-collared green cloak practically shone in the green moonlight bathing the glade in which she lived. The emerald teardrop that hung between her eyebrows glinted brightly. It was no wonder, several members of the party thought, she was known as the ‘Green Witch’.

  “My, my. This is quite an audience.” Rhea said by way of a welcome as they entered the glade. She looked to Gnobert and Buttercream with a smile. “And rather a different one than I recall from earlier.” 

  “I am afraid, Lady Rhea, we have some unsettling news since we last spoke. Even…” Alaria began.

  “More questions than you began with…I see.” Rhea responded. 

  “Yes.” Answered Alaria.  Rhea had plucked the very words from Alaria’s mind with apparent (and alarming to Alaria) ease. The R’Hathi mage relayed the events of the evening, the wererats, the information about the orb, the new refugee situation to the Emerald Tear initiate though, Alaria fully realized, she didn’t have to.

  “Indeed.” Rhea replied with little surprise at any of it.


“I see your concern, Alaria. Some of it sounds well founded. Though you needed worry about Welford. I have glimpsed the future with my Sight and have seen the goblin army pass Welford by. They appear to have a singular purpose and their leader….this Bulgruch…is a powerful creature though not possessed of a powerful mind to such as I…or you, Alaria.” Rhea finished with a smile.


  This compliment meant quite a lot to the young magess. 

  “As to the wererats and this orb. I am afraid I know not. Nor am I aware of a wizard named Tresahd. Though," Rhea chuckled lightly, “even_ I_ do not profess to know all wizards, everywhere. May I see the orb?”

  Alaria handed her the mysterious clear crystal. The green cloaked seeress held it in her hand for a moment and stared at it intently.


The party watched in collective awe as the emerald teardrop of Rhea’s diadem sparkled and flared from some inner light. After a few moments of this, the green gemstone on her brow flared.


Rhea’s head snapped up from the orb and looked past the party to a shadowed corner of the glade. Her brow furrowed in obvious anger. 

  “We are being watched!” Rhea said with absolute assurance. “Make ready.”

  The band wheeled around to where Rhea’s eyes rested. In an almost single fluid motion, all weapons were pointed and drawn, but they saw nothing but the green-bathed woods and shadows. No apparent movement. No foes to be seen. 

  “_Arcanivis!”_ shouted Alaria.<_mage spell: Detect Magic_> The sphere of violet light surrounded her outstretched hand and to Alaria’s eyes, a bunched up ball…no…the shape of a coil of rope seemed to glow to her eyes. Within the coil Alaria was able to discern a set of red glowing eyes looking at her. 

  “There! In the bushes where Rhea’s looking.” Alaria said forgetting that her magical sight was not available to her companions.

  Golden light shown in Coerraine’s eyes, but even the paladin’s gifted sight could not make out any discernible image. “Where, Alaria? Whatever it is, I see no evil.”

  “Yeah, I don’t see anything.” Duor chimed in. His hand crossbow was nocked. Not one to question two wizardly types, Duor leveled his weapon and fired. The bolt was heard to crash through the undergrowth but nothing seemed to stir.

  “Fen,” Rhea said, “your order has taught you to see beyond visible sight? To find the *fayekin* <_Orean term used for sprites, pixies and other assorted faerie folk_> and others cloaked by magical means?”

  The red-haired half-elf nodded and called to mind the simple invocation Rhea spoke of. His lips moved as he whispered the cryptic druidic syllables. 



He made a wide sweeping motion with his spear in the direction all were looking. Haelan and Duor jumped as a swathe of light blue flames arched out from the tip of the spear.

  The fire harmlessly passed over (or was it through, thought Braddok) the warrior and dwarf. It washed through the undergrowth and tree trunks. Nothing burned but where Alaria saw the coil with her enchanted vision, the flames seemed to “stick” to the form she saw.


The black shape uncoiled and burst forth from its place and streaked into the air.

  Now surrounded in flickering soft blue flames by the druid’s “_Faerie fire_”, all of the companions jerked back to watch two forms of black shadow wind and dive and circle their way into the glade. They moved like eels or serpents through water, long slender forms, perhaps four feet long each with serpent-like heads that shown with glowing red eyes.

  Duor fired off another bolt as Coerraine moved to stand before Alaria and Rhea. The dart hit unerringly, and flew right through the darkness of the creature to land in the middle of the glade.

  “What are they?!” Haelan called and stepped back as he raised his enchanted shield before him.

  “Magic, for sure.” The dwarf said disappointed.

  “Shadow snakes.” Rhea said plainly. “Only enchanted weapons will harm them. But harm them you must.”

  Haelan immediately mustered his faith and courage to invoke Faerantha’s blessing on their weapons. 




_“Deisa Faerantha, dicteus beneficia spiritos y tiem paras_.”<_cleric spell: Bless, “Holy Faerantha, bless your loyal followers in this time of need.”_>


  His pinecone headed mace and Braddok’s sword immediately flared with a honey-colored glow as the Hilltender’s prayer was answered.

  Alaria stepped nearer to Rhea. She had heard of the creatures butwas unable to recall anything specific about them, other than they were creatures conjured from shadow to do a summoner’s bidding.

  “These are the least of the their kind,” Rhea answered to Alaria’s unspoken question. “They are used for observational purposes...spying. It is unlikely they will attack you, there are other larger varieties for that. These simply relay information to the conjurer who brought them to this world.”

  “Tresahd?” Alaria said.

  The emerald teardrop again flared and sparkled. “I cannot say for sure.” Rhea said with obvious apology. “The mind of the caster behind the creatures is faint. Whoever it is, they must be some distance from here.”

  Alaria did not like this tidbit of information at all. But she had no doubt, this is how the dark wizard was following them. The wererats had said they had been told where to find her and the orb.

  Braddok was able to land a blow on one of the shadow snakes, the golden glow from Haelan’s bless spell seem to melt the creature in two and with a whisper of a hiss, the shadowy form dissipated into the green night of Sorilorr's moon.

  The second swirling shadowy form ebbed and curled its way into the air beyond Haelan’s reach.


This did not keep the daelvar priest from swinging vigorously in the thing’s direction. At one point, the shadow snake swooped directly at the Hilltender and in a panicked swing, Haelan toppled over backwards as his elfin helmet fell into his eyes.

  Buttercreamshadowfeet, had no liking for serpents of any kind. The lengthy cream-colored ferret leaped up and took a purposeful bite at the shadow snake. Of course, the poor ferret's jaws simply snapped as if on nothing and she flopped back to the ground. 

  “Aight. Here’s wheer yeer meetin’ yeer end, snakey!” yelled the gnome at the swirling shadow.


The gnome’s hands and arms began making swirling motions…as if he were miming a juggling act.

  “_Imberil nossos…”_ <_mage/illusionist spell: Chromatic Orb_> As Gnobert incanted, one puffballs of light appeared, then two, then four. Each was a different vibrant color…“_BEX!_”

  On the last syllable, all of the balls turned icy blue and combined into a single sphere that Gnobert seemed to “push” at the shadow snake. The Icy blue sphere streaked to the shadow creature and struck with a flash of blue light. Again there was a whispery hiss as the snake-form faded away along with Fen’s bluish flames. A few snowflakes fluttered to the ground.

  Gnobert swiped his hands together. “E’en that’s that, me friends.”

  “_That_ was impressive, master gnome.” Fen smiled as he patted Gnobert on the shoulder.

  “Rhea?” Alaria asked.

  The Green Witch’s emerald teardrop diadem again flickered for a moment. When the light subsided she nodded to Alaria and smiled.


“We are alone. Well done, friends.  But conjuring even the least of these creatures is no small feat. There are few wizards who use such means. It is most common among priests of dark powers. If this Tresahd was the originator, he may be more worrysome than I thought.”

  “Bollux.” Duor and Braddok said in unison. Braddok covered his mouth with his hand in surprise and apologized to Rhea for his vulgarity.

  “Hmph. Quite the compliment, Rhea,” Alaria prodded in jest. “He doesn’t apologize for such language to me.” She smirked at the now blushing warrior.


  Rhea simply smiled.  “Now, shall we see to this orb?”

  “And that stone hoop.” Haelan added. “What’s that do?”

  Rhea chuckled softly again. “Indeed, Haelan Hilltender, and the ‘stone hoop’ too. Come.” The Green Witch led the party further up the slope beyond her cottage. She moved with almost elf-like elegance, her bright green cloak flowing around her giving the appearance that she floated over the increasingly steep terrain.

  Haelan, leaned over to their new gnome companion and commented, again, in sincere relief, “Thank Faerantha, that’s over. You shouldn’t be discouraged. We don’t normally have such troubles in our travels.”

  “Ye don’ say?” Gnobert replied. “Theer’s a pity. Seems quite a bitta fun.”

  “Well, I did get kidnapped by a harpy one time…” Haelan began and regaled the gnome with his abduction on Dragonbone Isle to the amusement of Rhea and some of the other companions.


_*Next: Oh What a Night: Part IV...? *_


----------



## steeldragons

“…and that’s when we found the big harpy’s nest and fought a crab-demon-man. But that’s a tale for another time.” Haelan concluded as the group broke through the trees to a wide broad, almost perfectly circle flat plain.

  On the far side, the sheer rock of the mountainside formed a wall on two sides. The rock tapered off to the north and formed a small rim to the glade. Toward the center of the opening, a rectangular flat-topped jut of natural rock broke the level plain, like a table or an altar. 

  Looking over the edge, the party could see lights from the tops of some of Welford town. There were also several lights from boats crossing the lake that shimmered green and white in the dueling moonlight.

  “We are here.” Rhea said. The seeress neared the risen stone and moved around it, to stand facing the party. Out in the open, Rhea’s cloak and robe and jeweled diadem sparkled and shone in the emerald light of Sorilorr. Her eyes rose to meet Braddok’s with a smirk on her face. 

  Braddok’s eyes widened and the warrior turned back toward the view downslope, blushing.


Alaria could only guess what the Green Witch had “heard” in the dark-haired swordsman’s mind.


Men, she thought.

_*They are good for some things, you know, magess.*_ Rhea’s voice sounded quietly to her thoughts. Now it was Alaria’s turn to look surprised and blush.

  “Come closer, magess.” Rhea said. “And any of you who would wish to see, before we begin.”

  Gnobert was not at all shy about bounding up to the rock. He stood on the tips of his curly-toed shoes to peek over the edge of the rock table. Haelan did the same on his bushy-haired feet. Fen stood near enough to see over the small folk.  Coerraine, ever watchful should anything sudden occur that might put Alaria in jeopardy, stayed within arm’s reach of his charge and viewed the flat rock with cautious curiosity. Duor and Braddok watched from a distance.

  Fen remarked on the apparent “power” the site that he felt. Alaria also sensed the tingle of magic in the air all around the flat opening. The tingle became consistent hum to her arcane senses the closer she got to the stone slab.

  Rhea passed an arm over the top of the rock and in the wake of her gloved hand an image appeared etched in the rock. When she had waved her arm over the whole of the slab, it was clear the carving was an image of a map of the whole of Orea. The outline of the coast, the Daegun mountains to the south that abut Coerraine’s homeland of Mostrial, the great southern forest of Mistwood (birthplace of Fen’s “Ancient Holy Order”), the ancient elvinhold of ShiStaliir (much larger than Alaria had seen it on more recent maps), the Worldcrest range at the frozen top of the world, the Gorunduu plains, just about every geographical feature of significance.

  A moment after the physical features of the map appeared, more etchings in the stone showed themselves. It was writing of some kind. The language was unknown to most of the companions, but Haelan and Alaria readily identified it as the tongue of the ancient Selurian Empire…the same tongue in which priestly rites and magics were conducted to this very day and many ancient tomes of magic were scribed.

  Some of the names that appeared confused Haelan, but Alaria easily recognized the names of several ancient sites and cities of legend, names of provinces and geographical features tht had not existed since before the empire’s fall, before the Godswar.

  Most notable, to Alaria, was the lack of the Zarchan Mountains (which separate R’Hath from the Orean mainland which were not raised until the formation of R’Hath, long after the Godswar) and the area where R’Hath now sat was labeled as “Vot.” Alaria explained for the others that Vot was the name of the province in the Empire’s day. It would, centuries later, be claimed by the “Founding Five” Archmagi to form the realm of R’Hath.

  Below the southern coastline of the map sat a small indented circle. Rhea pulled out the stone ring from some hidden pouch and place the bracelet sized hoop in the depression. It fit perfectly.

  “This,” Rhea explained, “as you can see, is a map of ancient Orea. It is *tolariam *_<Old Selurian: “Telling Stone”>._ It is a device some of the learned through the ages have come to call an ‘identifier.’ The Selurians, as you well know, were very advanced in the practice of magic and these maps were placed throughout locales in the Empire for the purposes of tracking locations and identifying items of enchantment, and thus the persons in possession of them, across their realms. How many survive to this day is unknown and the location of this one is a guarded secret so I will thank you all to keep it so.”

  “And it still works?” Haelan asked innocently. “I thought the Selurians were gone and eaten up by their demonlords in the Godswar.” The daelvar priest looked to Coerraine, “This thing isn’t evil is it? Powered by some infernal source?”

  Rhea laughed openly. Alaria smiled an apologetic smile to the Green Witch. “My, but you are a wonder are you not, little one. Though it is true, the histories have not been so kind to the Selurians. But, no my hairfooted friend, they were not demon worshippers. Though many were dangerously powerful wizards. So they developed divining devices, like this one, to keep an eye on their empire. ”

  “Can this…’identifier’…tell us the properties of the orb?” Alaria asked. The hope in her tone was palpable.

  “It can, indeed, and much more. But it would not be able to do anything without its key.” She lifted the stone hoop from the depression and placed it back again. It is my great pleasure to reward you and your companions, as a tribute of thanks to Vertior, for finding it and returning it to me. But first…”

   Rhea placed her hands upon the edge of the stone and began an incantation Alaria did not recognize, though the lilt and timbre of the syllables were reminiscent to her ear of elvish. Her emerald teardrop again began to pulse and sparkle with its inner light. Rhea spoke the same phrase three times and at the end of the third time said, in the common tongue “the Fire Staff of Nator”.

  As she finished, the stone hoop rose out of the depression and skitted around the map making broad circles at first and then subsequent smaller circles. The circles continued to get smaller and as they did, it seemed the hoop itself shrunk as the device became more and more specific in its locating. Finally, it came to rest toward the western part of the continent, not far from someplace labeled “Nane Tarum.” The hoop was again no larger than the ring it had appeared in the packet. The hole in the center of it glowed red.

  Rhea frowned slightly.

  “What’s wrong, Rhea?” Haelan asked quickly.

  Alaria also was concerned by the seeress’ reaction. “The Fire Staff of Nator, Rhea? It truly exists?”

  The Staves of Nator were legendary items reputed to possess immense powers over the elements. As legend told, the greatest Archmage of the Founding Five and R’Hath’s first Archmagus Imperius, Nator, was the most powerful and crafted a magic staff for each of his fellow founding mages.

  There was one for each of the four cardinal elements: Air, Earth, Fire and Water. Each was rumored to grant nearly god-like sway over its element. The fifth staff was Nator’s own and was told to hold power of all of the elements, that none of the other founding mages might usurp Nator’s power and throne.
   The R’Hathi magess thought all of the Staves of Nator had been lost to the ages long ago. If they truly existed, Alaria thought, a wizard in possession of even _one _Staff of Nator, would be nearly unstoppable.

  “It does indeed, magess…I am sorry to say.” Rhea responded. “But it is not of any dire concern. I now know its location, and if I do not miss my guess, I am well acquainted with its wielder.” Alaria noted a slight furrow to Rhea’s brow. “I shall convene with some of my more…accomplished friends and see what is to be done about it.

  “Now,” Rhea seemed to relax a bit, “let us see to your orb.” She took the stone ring and replaced it in its depression. Then she placed the crystal sphere on top of it. Again, she recited a verse in that same elf-like tongue. The orb began to glow a soft white light that then seemed to shatter, as if light passing through a prism and cast beams of various colors that rose about a foot above it. At the same time a pinpoint of white light shone on the map, not far to the east and north of their current location.

  “By the Emerald Tear.” Rhea said, obviously impressed. “This is quite a bit of magic you have found yourself, Magess Alaria. No wonder this Tresahd person wants it back to badly.”

  “What is it? What do these lights mean? Is that where it is from?” Alaria’s ever-questioning nature all but burst from here, as if she were a first year apprentice again. Alaria mentally chastised herself for the obvious lack of composure and control, ingrained during her years of training as the utmost importance in the working of magic.  

  “Quite correct. Very good.” Rhea smiled in reply. “This point,” she indicated the light on the map face, “is where the crystal originated. Hmmm.” Rhea thought a moment.

  “If I am not incorrect, that would be in the lower Zarchan mountains these days. Doesn’t look too far…perhaps a couple of weeks. Of course, travel through mountains is so slow going…”Rhea halted herself from digressing further.

  The Green Witch examined the colored rays shining off of the orb, itself. “This blue light indicates the orb possesses elemental magic, transmutational in nature most likely. Come here, Alaria.” She moved Alaria into position and Alaria could see, at the flat face of the termination of the beam a character was inscribed. “Do you know what that means?”

  Alaria took a long look. It seemed familiar. Never wanting to be wrong, she finally made her best guess, “It looks similar to the character for Air in the elvish writing.”

  “Quite so.” Rhea said with a smile. “The Selurians learned their tongue and writing, specifically in the working of their magic, mind you, from the ancient elves. It is not so strange that their arcane sigils would not be far from it. It possesses transmutating magic specifcally related to the element of Air. And this beam,” she indicated the beam soft pink, “the color marks as having illusionary powers”

  Alaria looked at the end of the pink beam to see a marking she thought loosely translated at “mist” or “cloud”. Rhea concurred.

  “Eer, I wanna see.” Piped in Gnobert. “Here Pally, gives us a lift.” The gnome indignantly waved Coerraine over to him. The paladin reluctantly complied and lifted the gnome high enough to look down on the colored beams.

  “Oooooo. This is a good one.” The gnome said pointing to the shaft of white light. 

  “You know what it says?” Alaria said in surprise.

  “Well, not exacataly. But if ye look at it juuuust so,” the gnome twisted his head to the side until it looked like it would pop off his shoulders, “t’looks like the gnomish character fer invisibility.” Gnobert stuck his finger out just far enough to touch the orb and said, “_Repleesh!_”

  Sure enough, the gnome being held up by Coerraine vanished from sight. The Redstar Knight confirmed that he was, indeed, still holding the gnome but was also amazed at the trick. Coerraine jerked the gnome away from the stone and when his touch was broken, Gnobert quickly reappeared.

  “HohoHeeHeeee. I gotsta get me one o’ these!” Gnobert laughed in glee.

  The following couple of hours were used to fully detail the powers of the crystal orb, which the tolariam named _Ihs Repahl <Old Selurian: “The Windsoul” or “Soul of Wind”>_. In addition to controlling winds to the wielder’s whims, the orb was also able to endow the wielder with _Levitation, Invisiblity_, create an obsucuring fog and its greatest power, transform up to six individuals into cloud-like form (duplicating the _Wind Walk_ spell)

  Next was Haelan’s shield, which the tolariam dubbed “_Hohd Brin Gibahk_” <_dwarvish: “Shield of the Lord Brin”_>. 

  “Heh. Told yeh it was a dwarf made.” Duor added unimpressed.

  The shield was imbued with the enchantment of _Defense <+2 to AC>_ and _Returning_.

  The latter seemed to confuse Haelan. “Where does it return from?” the halfling asked.

  “Give it here, hairfoot.” Duor offered. Haelan passed the shield to the dwarf rogue and Duor flung the shield, side-arm, at the rockface of the mountain at the far end of the clearing. The shield clanged loudly against the stone and flew with great speed back to Duor’s awaiting hand.

  “An’ that is a returning enchantment.” Duor said matter-of-factly as he handed the shield back to the daelvar priest whose mouth hung agape.

  Then Duor pulled out his glowing green dagger and placed it on the identifier. “My turn.” He said.

  The dagger didn’t seem to have a name of its own. But the enchantments upon it seemed potent. The weapon was imbued with the _Striking _spell _<+1 to hit and damage>_ and a special additional magic for disrupting otherworldly material that Rhea called _“Etherealness”_ _<+3 damage to intangible creatures>_. The green glow was the result of this second enchantment, according to Rhea. She said it was the blade’s connection to this “Ethereal plane” that allowed the weapon to strike those unable to be struck by mortal means. She further explained, some of the energy from that other plane seeped into their world surrounding the blade, which formed the pale green light.

  “So, yer sayin’ my dagger is oozing this ether stuff into our world?” Duor said somewhat disbelieving.

  Rhea smiled and nodded.

  “Cooooool.” Duor said.

  Alaria’s ring was, indeed, a ring of protection _<+1 to AC and all saving throws>_ as well as addition enchantments _<+3 protection instead of +1>_ against creatures of the elemental plane of earth.

  Their evening concluded, Rhea removed the "key" from the tolariam and with a wave of her hand, the face of the stone slab again faded to appear nothing more than flat natural rock.


The band descended the slope from the secret magical stone and returned to Rhea’s cottage. The seeress said she would do what she could to learn more about "this Tresahd person and his purpose." But did caution the party to be wary and alert, siting that if he could conjure shadow snakes once, he might do so again. 

  Many thanks were given and the companions made their return to the Inn at the Lake with the intentions for some solid rest and an early start to continue on their way after Erevan to Miralosta, the nation of the “Watchers of the Moon.” 



_*Next time: "You Take the High Elf Road and I'll take the Low..."*_


----------



## wolff96

The identification -- the split beams of light and glyphs -- is quite possibly the coolest thing I've read in quite some time.  I really like that idea and will have to remember it.  

Still loving the story hour, steeldragons!


----------



## steeldragons

Just a bump.

Sorry for the delays. Apparently my definition of "vacation" and reality have something of a disagreement.

But new installments coming very soon.

Thanks, as always for your continued support and interest (and patience).
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

_“ALLHANKOWSH!”_ Alaria called out. The mighty mystic phrase thundered over the noise of the battlefield and howling winds that held Alaria aloft.

  Around the tip of the ever so slender and delicate looking white wand, the air crackled and sparked before a devastating bolt of lightning streaked through the melee. The wand itself crackled and snapped. Alaria watched as veins of light appeared along the wand’s length. With a final snap and static discharge, the wand splintered into a thousand shards and fell from the mage’s hand. 

  The final use of her mentor’s gift was far from in vain. Goblins and zarx that did not simply fall in blackened charred lumps flew in various directions. Some were lifted and thrown farther from the gale that had engulfed the fighting. Her primary target, a wounded but still savage ogre, also fell from the blast.

  In the wake of the bolt, the battle fell silent. No foes remained moving. No survivors to retreat.

  The gale that surrounded Alaria, and indeed the whole battlefield, subsided quickly. The R’Hathi mage gently returned to earth as the winds calmed. When her feet touched ground her knees buckled and she simply crumpled into a heap.

  The crystal orb rolled from her other hand, her fingers gone as limp as the rest of her. Its swirling cloudy inner light faded from view.

  Exhaustion claimed her clouded mind as tears flowed down her cheeks freely. Somewhere some piece of her thought how pathetic her lack of self-control and unseemly her emotional outburst must seem to the remaining onlookers. 

  She didn’t care.

  Alaria lifted her eyes to the body-strewn field. They came to rest on the sundered shield. Her vision blurred and there was a dull awareness of her head hitting the ground before darkness claimed her. 

*3 Days Earlier*

  Leaving the Inn at the Lake and getting out of Welford took a bit longer than the group anticipated. With the influx of refugees from South Imer and Lakesdown, the town of Welford was close to swelling.


Mayor Brethel made an announcement in efforts to calm the population. He relayed to the people Rhea’s vision that Welford would not be attacked and that staying in the hamlet was everyone’s safest option. Despite these “official” proclamations, there were several refugees and some locals who wanted to get away from Lake Imerlis.

  One of those insistent on leaving Welford was a merchant from the desert empire of Thelitia named Kudjik.

  Kudjik was a slight man in both stature and girth.  He had darkly tanned skin with large dark eyes that glinted when he smiled. He sported, as many Thelitian men, a full black beard and was swathed in a off-white linen robe and roomy (some might say “poofy”) pants of similar cooling fabric with calf-high boots whose tips had a slight curve to them, reminiscent of gnomish style shoes and boots. His abdomen was wrapped in a wide sash/belt striped in bright colors and covered his head in the traditional Thelitian head-wrapping (turban) of blue fabric.

  Kudjik had managed to get to a ship and flee South Imer with his two wagons of goods and four guardsmen before the goblin army arrived there and was hells-bent on moving to a safe place (preferably where they could be traded so as not to make his entire venture a waste).  Believing, and likely correct, that no army of any kind would be fool enough to challenge the lands of the Dragonmage, Kudjik decided to move his wares into Daenfrii.  The prosperity and generosity of the realm of Daenfrii was well known, though Kudjik himself had never had reason or opportunity to travel that far from his desert homeland.

  Being observant and shrewd, as Thelitian traders were (among other things) known to be, the merchant was most complimentary to Alaria and her companions, but mostly Alaria. He showered the wizardess with blatant and transparent compliments about her looks, her dress, her “obvious magical prowess” as a R’Hathi, etc. etc..

  Alaria ignored most of these, which were sprinkled throughout their brief negotiations. She gave the tan desert man (who was really no taller than she herself) a quaint smile here and acknowledging head-nod there. It was quickly agreed they would travel with the caravan (in exchange for provisions and rides) as far as the crossing at Bridgetower (the nearest way across the D'Evand river into Daenfrii), three days.

Kujik tried to get Alaria to ride on the first wagon with him, but the mage politely, even coyly, refused. Much to all of the party's surprise (especially Braddok), she opted instead to share one of the two horses Kudjik offered with the swordsman from Denil.


  Coerraine found the merchant’s manner toward Alaria to be somewhat insulting and scowled at him regularly. It was common knowledge in the paladin’s southern homeland that Thelitians, in addition to being shrewd, were not an overly trustworthy people.

  The young Redstar Knight’s attempt show of warning received a similar glare from the largest of Kujik’s guards. 

  Gnobert very much liked the bright elaborate fabrics the Thelitians used for belts and was interested in seeing Kujik’s wares. Kudjik, in an interest to secure their safety before business (something most merchants of the desert lands would not be wise enough to do), assured the gnome he could see all of the fabric he’d like when the train reached Daenfrii.

  As the group moved out through the hamlet’s farmlands and took the northwesterly road, they picked up additional wanderers who wanted to seek out some safety. Most of the local Welford men were content with what the mayor had said about the Green Witch’s assurance. But there were some who were too cautious or cowardly to stay. 

  Within their first few hours on the road, the caravan had grown to about 50 people, mostly on foot. In addition to Kudjik’s two wagons or wares, another 3 carts joined them, piled with supplies and goods, some with cages of chickens and hogs. One had two goats hitched up to the back. 

  In addition to Alaria and the others, there were Kudjik’s four men. They wore the pants and boots similar to the merchant’s own, but with leather breastplates and shin guards instead of robes. They each also had sashes of varying bright colors and patterns wrapped around their middles. 

Two wore simple wraps on their heads and two wore the Thelitian-styled helmets which sloped towards the back. They all carried shields and weapons with broad “C-shaped” blades which Braddok identified as “khopeshes.”


Two of the guards also carried short bows. One had a spear. The largest, who Kudjik called Jarood, had a second curved scimitar much larger than the khopesh strapped across his back.  

  There were also, Braddok estimated, about 10 other men among the refugees who could be useful in a fight, if need be. A few carried staves or pitchforks. He did note one man who actually wore a chainmail vest and had a scabbard slung at his hip. Least it'll be something, Braddok figured, if we found ourselves in dire straits.

  Also among those vacating Welford was the young owner of the apothecary, Devrim. Alaria told Braddok the bookish wiry youth had some experience on the road of his own.

  While Alaria was not pleased at the decidedly slower prospect of moving with a wagon train, the concept of “safety in numbers” could not be denied. She also figured, once they crossed into Daenfrii and parted ways with the caravan, the security of that realm would make the remainder of their journey that much safer and quicker.

  So as the train's first day came to an end and Kudjik called for camp to be made, everyone felt fairly secure in their roles as “caravan guards” and looked forward to an uneventful three day journey to the lands of the Dragonmage and then onward (and equally uneventful) to the fabled realm of the elves.


----------



## steeldragons

[FONT=&quot]Since it's been a bit more than a while, here's where we are at the beginning of the party's journey out of Welford: 
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]*Alaria Staver: *Human/Female, 2nd level/Magic-user (Mage, Wizard, whatever you want to call her). No armor. Weapon: staff. Spells: 4 0 lvl (cantrips), 3 1st lvl/day. (I give bonus spells for high Int. MUs like Clerics get for high Wisdom).[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: _Wand of Lightning_ (2 charges left); _"Orb of Air Control"_ (for lack of a convenient name); _Ring of Protection +1, +3 vs. Earth Elementals;_ Scroll_: Magic Missile, Hold Portal_; Scroll: _Detect Thoughts, Whispering Wind_ ; Potion of Water Breathing; found spellbook containing: _Alarm, Hold Portal, Identify, Protection from Evil, Blur, Levitate, Mirror Image_[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]*Braddok Kar Barforth: *Human/Male, 2nd lvl/Fighter. Chainmail and Shield. Wpns: Longsword, short bow, Morningstar (spiked mace, no chain), dagger.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: _Potion of Water Breathing_[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]*Coerraine:* Human/Male, 2nd lvl/Paladin (a “Goldshield” of the “Redstar Knights”, patron deity: Celradorn). Partial plate and shield. Wpns: Spear, broad sword, dagger.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Paladin Abilities: Dt. (“See”) Evil 2/day; Protection from Evil 10’ rad. 2/day; “Smite Evil” 1/day.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: _Potion of Water Breathing_[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]*Haelan Spurthistle:* Halfling (“Daelvar”)/Male, 2nd lvl/Cleric (“Hilltender”, patron deity: Faerantha). Chainmail and shield +1. Wpn: mace. Spells: 4 1st lvl. (clerics and druids need not “memorize” 1st or 2nd lvl spells at start of day)[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: _Shield of Returning +1, Potion of Healing _(1 draught left), _Potion of Neutralize Poison_ (2 draughts left)[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]*Fen:* Half-elf/Male, 2nd lvl/Druid. Leather armor. Wpns: Spear, sickle (for ritual use only), dagger. Spells: 4 1st lvl.[FONT=&quot] (clerics and druids need not “memorize” 1st or 2nd lvl spells at start of day)[/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Magic Items: “Druid’s Cloak” (blending powers in natural surroundings)[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]*Duor Darksmythe:* Dwarf/Male, 2nd lvl/Thief. Leather armor. Wpns: short sword, hand crossbow, dagger, dagger +1 (ethereal).[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] Magic Items: _Dagger +1, +3 vs. Ethereal/Intangible creatures, Potion of Water Breathing._[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]*Gnobert “Gnobby”:* Gnome/Male, 1-1st lvl/ Illusionist-Thief. Leather armor. Wpn: dagger. Spells: 3 0lvl, 2 1st lvl. and his animal friend (familiar?) *Buttercreamshadowfeet:* a female giant ferret.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot] Magic Items: None (Gnobert is fond of changing the color of his clothing periodically by means of the Prestidigitation cantrip)
[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]At this point, Erevan the elf has "gone on ahead" to warn his people of the coming goblin army.
[/FONT]


----------



## steeldragons

_*2 Days Earlier*_

  The night went by quietly. Not surprising since the group was still within the lands considered to be part of the Laklans. By mid-morning, the neatly ordered fields and orchards became more natural looking and unkempt. They crossed several brooks and tributaries, some leading to Lake Imerlis and some finding their way to the D’Evand. 

  One such crossing, a humped wooden bridge sported a wooden post with simple pointed signs. One said “Mill Road” and pointed to little more than a path that led upstream. Another said “the Downs” and pointed back the way they’d come. A third slab of wood said “Dragons” and pointed down the road in the direction they wanted to go. 

  This was more than a bit disconcerting for Haelan, but he was assured by one of the locals traveling with them that it really meant “the Dragonmage.” This put the Halfling priest at some ease, trusting the simple farmer until he added, “Cuz, ya know the Dragonmage has a buncha them.” Again, Haelan’s stomach twisted into knots.

  Shortly after crossing a very old looking stone bridge, the wagon train came to a “namestone.” It was common in the days of the Selurian Empire to place these six foot pillars of white rock at the borders between regions or at particularly important or well-traveled crossroads. 

  Grasses and weeds grew up to conceal the bottom two feet of the pillar. In the centuries since the Godswar, the white marble had been weathered to a point that none of the original writing could be seen though a bit of ornamentation, twining vines and leaves mostly, could still be gleaned around the borders where writing would have been.

The pillar had been painted at some point in the decades since with place names in the Common tongue. Near the top, it said “You are leaving the Lake Lands. The gods keep you.” Below that was the word, “Thornfeld” and “the Feldmere” beneath which an arrow pointed to the southwest.

  At eye level for Duor, on the opposite side of the namestone, the pillar sported the word “Daenfrii” with an arrow pointing them north and then “Welford” with an arrow indicating one to continue along the road and “Feldmere” with an arrow pointing south.

  “Nice to see someone’s keepin’ up on these things.” Duor remarked. 

  Coerraine agreed. “But what is the Feldmere?”

  Again, one of the refugees enlightened the party, the middling-aged man with the chainmail vest. “The Feldmere is a cursed swamp filled with all manner of evil. It’s said there was a great battle at Thornfeld in the time of the Scourge Wars and somehow the swamp is connected that way. But I don’t really know ‘bout all o’ that. Lotsa ghost stories for the campfire ‘bout the Feldmere, though.”

  Braddok and Coerraine looked at one another uneasily.

  The man continued, “It extends for miles to the south and west before the Orean Plains. If’n I’m not mistaken, this path leads us close to its edge before we turn north to Daenfrii.” He leaned in towards the obviously rattled Haelan, who sat tucked in front of Braddok astride one of Kudjik’s horses. “_Daaaangerously_ close.” Then he chuckled.

  “You seem to know these parts pretty well. Comfortable with a sword too.” Braddok observed and gave a nod at the scabbard on the man’s belt.

  The man smiled half-heartedly. “Well, I weren’t a farmer all my life…if that’s what you’re getting’ at. But that’ll be a story for another time.” At that, he slowed his pace to drop back to the cart coming up behind them (the one that had the goats tied to the back). He stared warmly up at the woman and young girl in the driver’s seat of the cart then absently turned and peered towards the north.

  Braddok nudged his mount forward to catch up with Alaria on the lead wagon (she had honored the merchant’s invitation to ride with him that morning. The wizard did not at all miss time in a saddle.)

  Coerraine, who had Duor on the back of the horse he rode (the paladin was taking his assignment of watching the dwarf rogue quite seriously, to Duor’s displeasure), also came forward and the companions looked out to the south and west.

  Kudjik brought the wagon to a halt at the crest of a low hill and whistled. They all looked out toward the south at the expanse of marshlands that extended before them. A gloomy mist hovered above the whole swamp, even in the height of midday. Some clumps of twisted trees spotted the terrain here and there, but on the whole the vegetation and mist produced a wide flat stretch of dull greys and murky greens.

  “Huh. So that’s the Feldmere.” Said Fen offhandedly. The druid had been happy to travel on foot and broke from his easy-going banter with the various refugees to join his companions.

  Gnobert, astride Buttercream snaked their way to the front of the train to find out why they’d stopped. He also whistled a long tone that dropped off.

  “Good thing we’re not going there, eh my friends?” Kudjik smiled broadly in an attempt at humor.

  Braddok noted the farmer with the chainmail vest had been correct as the road did wind down through the ever-flatter landscape and seemed to pass not far from the edge of the fog that covered the Feldmere.

  “We’re going close enough.” Answered Haelan with no humor in his voice at all.


  It was nearly five hours since the caravan had passed the namestone. The foggy wetlands had been silent and forboding to their south for more than two of those hours. As the sun began dipping towards the west, and late afternoon slipped into evening, the swamp seemed to take on a darker more ominous presence.

North of the road, small rolling hills and clumps of thick woods still dotted the landscape, but the woods and hills were getting fewer and farther between, filled in with stretches of high grasses.

  Kudjik very much wanted to get the caravan passed view of the swamp before stopping for the night and no one in the caravan had an argument with that.

  The light of the sun had turned the evening sky to its hues of orange and gold and purple clouds as it sank and the evening shadows extended further and deepened. Kudjik breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Alaria as they came around a section of trees to see the road before them veer sharply to the north. “You see, Miss Mage. We will camp safely tonight after all. Just a bit more.”

  Alaria smiled politely back at the dark-tan merchant. Then her smile sharply inverted at the sound of shrieking that came from behind and to their right.

  The lumbering shapes spewing from the darkening fog were hunched as they charged and seemed to have very long arms and large clawed hands. Their noses, Alaria also noted, seemed unnaturally large for their form. But from her distance, she could not make out much more about them. They snarled and shouted garbled cries as they charged toward the middle and rear of the caravan.

  Coerraine expertly swung his mount around at a gallop to place himself between the hulking figures that seemed to appear out of the very dark gloom of the swamp.

  Alaria heard Duor’s voice boom clearly above the frightened screams of refugees and the snarling shouts of their attackers.

“Trolls!” he said.

  Kudjik shouted something to his men in his native tongue and the Thelitian guards moved to intercept the creatures while Kudjik and the other wagon driver snapped their reigns and called to their animals to move the wagons as quickly as possible. 

Alaria jumped down from the driver seat, none too gracefully, and muttered a curse to the merchant’s cowardice. But after all, she reminded herself, we _are _supposed to be the caravan’s protectors.

  Braddok had lowered Haelan to the ground and kicked his mount into a gallop to catch up with Coerraine, his sword singing from its sheathe as he went.

  Alaria saw no sign of the gnome or Fen, but there was really no time to worry about that now. 

  “Go! Go!” she yelled at the refugees to snap them out of their frozen daze of fear. Then she heard Fen doing the same and saw the druid a dozen or so people behind her.

  Trolls…trolls….Alaria’s mind raced through her studies. Strong. Savagely hungry. Nearly mindless, compared to other humanoids. Resistant to harm? But why? What was it? What was their weakness? Everything has a weakness...What could she do to them…and maybe more importantly, what could they do to her?

  As if to answer her mind, Alaria heard Fen’s voice calling her above the charging trolls, the fleeing people, the frightened animals, she even thought she heard Haelan’s voice rising in prayer somewhere in the cacophony.

But Fen was closer and his voice was clear, “Fire! Alaria, trolls are highly susceptible to fire!”

  At that, the carrot-topped half-elf spun his sacred spear over his head as his lips began forming the words of the secret tongue of the druids.

As he finished his conjuring, a small ball of orange flame burst into being at the tip of his spear. Fen brought the twirling spear to an abrupt halt and pointed the tip toward their attackers. The ball of flame flew forward and caught one of the trolls in the arm.

The creature howled in pain but kept advancing, waving his burning arm (which served to fan the flames) as he ran.

  Another howl rose further back in the line and Alaria saw the tell-tale silver sparks as troll fists and claws pounded and scratched at the barrier of Haelan’s spell of Sanctuary. The Halfling priest had surrounded himself and two children in the protective field, but Alaria new from experience, the spell would not last long.

  Coerraine was doing considerable damage with his spear from horseback to the heinous creatures. The paladin did not even mind when Duor, after placing a bolt from his handcrossbow into one of the troll’s eyes, leapt from the back of their horse to backstab another of them.

  Braddok moved through the creatures with practiced skill, despite their grasping claws. He swung his blade and turned his mount to continue to try to keep the creatures from getting too near the actual caravan. The swordsman noted, however, that for ever hack and slash he made that seemed to be heavy, the creatures simply did not seem to falter.

  Kudjik’s guards stood poised between the caravan and the trolls but did not move to engage. Jarood did, however, instruct the archers to fire. Alaria thought this a bad idea, but found herself both shocked and impressed when the desert men’s arrows found their targets with ease.

  Alaria also noted the man in the chainmail vest who Braddok had mentioned was joining the fight with a longsword that gleamed in the evening sun, despite the deepening shadows and gloom of the swamp. He had taken to occupy the troll pounding at Haelan’s barrier to allow the halfling to get the children off and away (cancelling his spell) with the last of the fleeing refugees. 

  Halean thanked the fighting-man profusely as he swung his pineconed-headed mace into the great sickly green creature’s shins. Whether he heard the thanks of not, Haelan did not know as the troll’s next swipe with black stone-hard claws struck the man squarely across the chest and sent him flying to land on his back with a thud.

  Coerraine was grabbed from his horse and thrown to the ground by one troll while the other sank its teeth into his mount. Coerraine was on his feet in an instant, spear raised, and summoned up the might of faith and devotion. The Redstar Knight’s blond hair seemed to shine with a golden halo as he bellowed his invocation to Celradorn to guide his hand and smite the evil before him. The spear, indeed, shone with a golden light of its own and sank deep into the troll’s chest.

  The troll howled in rage or pain and grasped Coerraine by the neck.

  Alaria was at a loss. She had to do something before Coerraine’s head popped off like a squashed grape, but she had not studied anything to summon fire in her arcane arsenal that day.

She closed her eyes as she gathered her mind and power. The R'Hathi wizardess raised her hands toward the Mostralian paladin and began one of her other incantations. The air swirled around her causing her robe and hair to flutter in an unfelt wind.

_“Cirenbyr Beliviara”<mage spell: Enlarge>_ Alaria’s eyes snapped open, directly on Coerraine, as if there was nothing else in her line of sight. As Coerraine’s image began to get larger, Alaria concentrated until she knew she could not force the power of the spell any further. Her arms lowered to her sides and the rest of the scene, around Coerraine, came into focus for her once again. Coerraine now stood a full head taller than the troll who had been gripping his neck. 

  The troll took a surprised step back from the giantish paladin who simply smiled broadly as he jabbed his, also giant, spear into the widemouthed creature again. With a heave of his spear, he hoisted the skewered troll up and threw it into the troll that was dining on his (now very dead) horse. Then he skewered them together. Both creatures shrieked in pain and alarm. But even as it seemed the first troll perished, the wounds began closing.

_“Imberil nossos REX!” <mage/illusionist spell: Chromatic Orb - Fire>_ Gnobert’s small voice proclaimed from somewhere out of Alaria’s vision and an orb of bright red flew into the two trolls-on-a-stick being held down by Coerraine. When the ball struck it burst into flames and after a few moments, the two trolls stopped writhing.

  “Coerraine! Braddok! A little aid, please!” Haelan called through the din. He was doing his best to damage his troll and his stature was of great help in evading the troll’s sweeping claws. But he was landing very few blows and what damage he thought he’d done seemed to not bother the troll at all after a moment or two.

  By now, Braddok had also been unhorsed but was holding his own against two more of the creatures. On hearing Haelan’s plea, the swordsman took a final swing at the more wounded of the two and dropped it before breaking off from the second to move to Haelan’s position.

  Fen moved into position behind the troll Braddok had left and with a stab of his spear and near-silent cryptic phrase, another ball of flame burst upon the wounded but still standing creature.

  Duor appeared next to Fen, gliding seamlessly from the shadows of the evening to sink his green glowing dagger into the slimey green hide of the troll Fen had struck, which brought it down. Then he made a few stabs at the one Braddok had just dropped.

  “He’s already dead, Duor. Is that really necessary?” Fen said.

“Thought yeh already knew this a bit o’ ancient dwarven wisdom, half-blood?” Duor pulled a flask of lamp oil from his pack and quickly doused it all over both trolls' bodies.

“The only _dead_ troll…” Duor pulled out his striking flint and steel and lit the oil which immediately swathed the trolls' carcasses in fire, “…is a _burnt_ troll.”

  Coerraine also heard Haelan’s cry for help and as the enlarging spell was tapering off, he made the final blow against the creature, knocking it off its grotesque large feet. Duor trotted over with a torch lit from his oil-bathed trolls and set the unconscious creature on fire even as its wounds began to seal.

  Where the sixth troll was, the one Fen had first set ablaze, Alaria neither knew nor cared. The fight was over. The caravan had all made it passed them and around the bend to the north. No doubt they were still flying as fast as they could.

  Alaria turned and leaned on her staff to stare at Jarood and his men. “Thanks a lot.” she said with all intended sarcasm.

  Jarood just looked down at her (he was quite tall) with a dispassionate scowl and snorted. With a short command in his native tongue, he and the other Thelitian guards began to follow the caravan at a trot.

  Haelan healed the man in the chainmail vest (who they finally discover is named “Maracus”) and Braddok and Coerraine who both sustained a substantial pounding from troll fists.

With everyone feeling more or less healthy, the party (much more slowly than the Thelitians as Braddok was the only one with a mount at this point) also continue up the road, happy to leave any view of the Feldmere behind.


----------



## wolff96

Woot, update.  

Considering that everyone is the same level, I'm guessing you do experience points a bit differently than the original method?  I seem to recall 2nd-level MUs in parties with 5th-level thieves.


----------



## Tamlyn

It's great to see this SH updated again! Thank you.


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## silliker

I've been enjoying every story i read in this thread...

Great stories.


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## steeldragons

wolff96 said:


> Woot, update.
> 
> Considering that everyone is the same level, I'm guessing you do experience points a bit differently than the original method?  I seem to recall 2nd-level MUs in parties with 5th-level thieves.




I really don't do XP any differently (still count treasure/gp towards XP as well as monsters).

You may be correct. I was going off of memory (it's not a policy of mine to hold onto character sheets) and simply recall pretty much everyone being 2nd level. Duor very well might be 3rd (even close to 4th) at this stage of the story. Braddok might have been 3rd here too.

It should also be noted (since I just looked through what I had written again), that Coerraine's paladinic Dt. Evil power is "at will" not 2/day. As an added incidental aside, at 4th level, Coerraine will surpass the ranks of Goldshield and become a "Lightlance"...provided, of course, he gets that far and ever sees a temple of Celradorn/base of his order again. We shall see. 

As always, thanks for the interest folks. Glad you're enjoying it. 

And woot woot to breaking 3500 views. Pretty cool. Many thanks.
--Steel Dragons


----------



## steeldragons

It was some time before the party reached where the caravan had halted. Jarood and his men reached them long before the companions and so camp was being set, with multiple cooking fires and cautious relief from the group's narrow escape from the trolls. As the companions returned, they were greeted by many with hearty handshakes and soft spoken cheers and thanks.

 Fen decided to take a watch position about halfway up the low slop atop which the caravan was making camp. The young druid knew hungry trolls could forage for miles with their heightened sense of smell. They would seek fresh meat throughout the night, only to return to their lairs at dawn to cower form the daylight. Following their first encounter, Fen’s own resources (and he suspected most of the company’s) were limited. If they were pursued, flight would be their only hope for survival.

 So he found himself a comfortable dry patch beneath a lone silverleaf tree and wrapped himself in his deep-hooded cloak against the chill of the night. Fen knew his own sight was no match for Erevan’s but given the absence of the full-blooded elf, it would have to do. A cool breeze rustled some leaves that still clung to their branches. Fen hugged the cloak closer and thought of the silver-haired elf as he scanned the roadway and sloping countryside below him.

 Sortly after arriving at camp, Kudjik and one of his drivers came to the party’s campfire with wooden bowls laden with piping hot food and large smiles. The dish was a specialty of his homeland, explained Kudjik. The rice was a bright yellow color from some spice he called _saffron_ and contained chunks of meat (chicken, as far as Braddok could tell) that had a sweet and smoky spice. All of the companions ate heartily after their very long day.

 Alaria, in particular, enjoyed the meal thoroughly, reminding her more of the exotic tastes of her homeland than any other dish she had encountered since leaving R’Hath. 

 Duor complained as he shoveled large spoonfuls into his mouth. “I don’t know ‘bout yeh all. But I’m gettin’ a lil’ tired of riskin’ beard n’ limb fer free.”

 Kudjik, still smiling broadly, “Ah, but my friend. This dish is saved for only the most happy of occasions. The spice is very delicate. Very rare. It is, by no means, ‘free.’” The man’s smile momentarily disappeared, “and neither are my horses.” The smile returned as if it had always been there. With that, the Thelitian trader rose from his seat near Alaria and bid the companions enjoy their meal and a well-deserved night of good dreams.

 When he’d left, Alaria frowned at the dwarf (who was actually licking out the bottom of his bowl). “Really, Duor. We are in this caravan serving as guards for a ride and our meals. That is the deal. Kudjik is upholding his side of the bargain admirably, I would say. You would do well to do the same…without complaint.”

 At this Coerraine nodded. The paladin had to admit his respect for a man who upheld their word, especially a Thelitian.

 Duor grumbled something under his beard before all of the companions were surprised to see Haelan come up the fire (it was startling sometimes, Alaria noted, how the daelvar were so easily overlooked. No one had noticed the hairfoot missing. For that matter, Alaria now noticed, the gnome was nowhere in sight either.). The Hilltender walked with a small wooden wagon in tow. The wagon carried a woven basket in which sat a round black and white speckled hen, nearly half the size of the halfing. Haelan sat on the log beside Duor, picked up the waiting bowl of rice and meat and began eating hungrily.

 “Mmmm. This is delightful! What is it?” Haelan said in characteristic good cheer. Haelan took another heaping mouthful. He halted mid-chew to look around the fire from person to person. All of the companions stared at him. “Wuh? Iv dere sumpfin on muh faish?” He wiped a cheek with his gloved hand.

 “No yeh idiot hairfoot!” Duor burst. “What’s with the chicken?”

 Haelan politely finished his mouthful and swallowed loudly before answering. “Oh! My apologies. This is Elsie. Elsie, this is Duor and Braddok and…”

 Coerraine planted his palm over his face. Braddok’s eyes looked skyward in exasperation. Duor looked fit to rip the hilltender’s hair out.

 Alaria couldn’t help but giggle softly. “No, Haelan. Where did you get it? Why is it here?”


“Oh! Well, Burt and Erna Steadfast were so grateful that I protected their young ones, Burt Junior and Elna, from the trolls that they wanted to shower me with thanks. They were gonna give me their best egg-layer, Betsy. But I told them, ‘With four mouths to feed, you’d best keep Besty for yourselves.’ Wouldn’ta been right to take Betsy from’m, you know? So they gave me Elsie, here, instead and promised to make tribute to Faerantha along with their goddess, Sylari, at planting and harvesttime. Was very sweet of them, really. Don’t you think?” the halfling cleric paused a moment for another mouthful. 

 Alaria just smiled and nodded. Haelan continued before anyone else could think of anything to say.

 “And the little one, Burt Junior, he says he wants to grow up to be a Hilltender. And I just laughed and laughed. Who ever heard of a human Hilltender? I don’t know that Faerantha ever had a human follower before. But I don’t see how she’d mind. You know about godly things, Coerraine. You don’t think she’d mind, do you?”

 Elsie clucked.

 The blond Redstar Knight just shook his head wearily and gave Alaria a look that said “how should I know” before responding. “No Haelan, I don’t see why she would. But mine is not to know the will of your goddess. Only follow that of my own Lord and God to the best of my limited ability.”

 “The Forge forgive me. I’d rather be wrestling with those trolls.” Duor said. He shook his head looking from the hen to the halfling and back. “Well,” the dwarf shrugged, “guess we’ll never be at a loss for eggs.”

 Haelan took another spoon of rice and said, in all sincerity, “Don’t be silly, Duor. We have no cock.”

 At this Duor and Braddok fell over backwards from their seats in waves of guffaws. Even Coerraine found he could not contain an outward chuckle. Alaria blushed and covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

 “What?” Haelan said perplexed. “You can’t make eggs with just a hen. Everyone knows that!”

 The group continued to laugh for some time. Whether it was the length of their journey, the stress of the combat or the lack of sleep, everyone felt better from the outburst. Even Haelan, though mortified, found himself chuckling as he defended his statement, “That’s not what I meant!”

 Shortly thereafter, as the companions bed down for the night, wrapping themselves tightly in cloaks and blankets against the encroaching chill as the fire dwindled, a slight shadowy form neared their circle. Coerraine and Braddok rose and hands went to hilts until the firelight revealed the apothecary (and alleged mage), Devrim. He softly requested a talk with Alaria.

 The magess, though fatigued, accepted and rose from her bedroll. She declined Coerraine’s unspoken wish to accompany them, simply saying to the armored man, “I’ll be fine. Be right back.”

 As the small framed wiry little man led Alaria away from the camp toward a copse of trees, the Redstar Knight turned to the dwarf, who was doing his best to appear to slumber. Unfortunately for Duor, his best sleeping pantomime was not very good.


----------



## steeldragons

“How can I help you, Master Devrim?” Alaria said with a yawn.

 “You already have, of course, Magess.” Devrim answered with a smile. “You’ve helped us all.”

 They trod casually through the tall grass across the field toward the trees. Their way was softly lit by the slim crescent of the great moon, Arinane. The green moon, Sorilorr, had already begun its descent into the west. The smaller moon’s green light already overtaken my Arinane’s soft silver. 

 “I’m afraid I can not take credit for that, Master Devrim.” Alaria admitted. “Were it not for my companions, I doubt we would be having this conversation.”

 “Yes. Your band of champions is most impressive.” Devrim agreed. “But I am wracked with guilt that I was unable to aid with my own powers.”

 Alaria looked at the thin man’s small face. She plainly saw his sincerity. “There is no shame in that. Again, my magics would never have staved off the trolls’ attack.” She did not like admitting her own weakness nor did she wish to belay the fear or near helplessness she firmly felt during the encounter. “I am certain your magics will provide other opportunities to help others…if that is your wish.”

 Just then, a breeze blew across the hill top, rustling the grasses and quickly drying leaves of the copse not far ahead of them. The wind brought with is a line of clouds that shrouded the moonlight most completely. 

 Alaria stopped moving in the complete darkness of the night. She heard Devrim mutter a something, a single syllable, under his breath and a puffball of powdery blue light, no larger than an orange, appeared before them. With their way lit, Devrim continued walking forward. Alaria joined him.

 “You see? Your magic is helping others already?” Alaria said with a smile. She did not mention to the young mage from Welford that the cantrip would be capable by any first year _apprentii_ at any of academy in R’Hath.

 “A small thing.” Devrim replied, not seeing her smile. “Nothing like you are capable of.”

 “How do you mean?”

 “The farmer, Maracus I think is his name, was telling the tale of the battle around his campfire. He said you transformed the Redstar into a giant. That is _real _magic.”

 Alaria could make no reply. It was a taxing spell, to be sure. But hardly what she would consider “real magic.”

 “Well,” began Alaria, “if you like, I’m sure you could return to your master to learn that spell.”

 “My master is dead.” Devrim said.

 “I’m very sorry, Devrim.” Alaria said with sadness in her voice.

 The bond between mentor and apprentice, at least as far as she knew growing up in R’Hath, was a very strong one. For most it was akin to a bond of blood and family. Alaria found she could not imagine the pain of loosing one’s master. But, as she had always been taught, it was a fact of life. One mourned the passing of one’s parents and one’s mentor nearly the same, moreso for some.

 “Would…,” Devrim began. His voice was filled with nerves. “Would I be able to copy the Enlarging spell from you?” He looked at her like a kicked puppy. Hope and longing filled his face.

 Alaria’s fingertips rose to the base of her neck, as if the very question had exposed her somehow. Her mind was a flurry of indignation. In R’Hath, the sharing of magics was something done only among family, one’s master or very well-known and trusted friends…and even then only in exchange for some comparable spell or other magic. Asking to peruse one’s spellbook was akin to asking for a piece of one’s soul.

 “Devrim…We’ve really only just met.” Alaria began. Her mind raced as to how to let the pitiful looking man down easy. She reminded herself that the ways of the Mysteries in R’Hath were not necessarily the ways for outlander wizards.

 “Yes. Of course.I understand.” Devrim said with knowing and defeat.

 Alaria thought for a moment. “If you wish to increase your abilities, I’m sure you could find a new mentor who could teach it to you. The Green Witch, perhaps?”

 Devrim shook his head as they neared the treeline of the copse. “The Lady Rhea takes no apprentices. The ways of the Initiates of the Emerald Tear are not the ways of our Mysteries.”

 “Of course.” Alaria replied though she was rather unfamiliar with anything about the Order of the Emerald Tear other than their reputation as mentalists.

 “But, you are correct.” His tone changed almost to one of joviality. “And I have found a new mentor. Just yesterday as we traveled.”

 This surprised Alaria greatly. “Really? I did not know there is another mage in the caravan.”

 “Oh yes.” Devrim said cheerily. “He has a magic wand and everything. I heard your halfling telling a tale that you had a wand, too. You blew a hole in the side of boat with lightning? Is that true?”

 Another mage with a magic wand? Alaria thought. Something about it did not sound right. “Well, yes, but Haelan is prone to exaggeration.” Alaria was suddenly aware that they had traversed the whole field and stood just at the trees and undergrowth of the copse. The camp was nothing but a spots of orange glows from the various dying fires. “Perhaps we should go back to the camp now.” She said, trying to make it sound as relaxed as she could.

 “Oh, not yet! I brought you here to meet my new friend. He’s a wonderful man and very much desired to meet you. I think you will like him.”

 “Why here? Why is he not at camp?” Alaria did not expect an answer, nor did she want one. She simply wanted to return to camp and her champions. Her strength for magic was all but spent and she needed her rest. “Come, Devrim,” Alaria said not asking, “let us return to camp.”

 The wiry man’s hand grasped her arm. “No! Not yet.” The man’s eyes were again pleading and desperate. “You have to meet him. He said he would not take me as apprentice unless I brought you here to meet him.”

 That, thought Alaria, was it. Something was definitely not right here. She tried to pull her arm free of the blue-robed mage but his grip was firm. “Devrim, unhand me!”

 “Ah, Magess Alaria, so good of you to come.” The voice came behind them from the woods.

 Alaria’s heart leapt into her throat at the start. She whirled around fully expecting to see a bearded man in cascading black robes with a dragon skull atop his head. She exhaled audibly to see a slight man, no taller than she or Devrim, in simple peasant garb beneath a hooded cloak of coarsely woven grey wool. Was he one of Kudjik's drivers? He had a large pointed nose and a thin pointed moustache rested on his thin upper lip.

 Alaria relaxed her arm and Devrim removed his hand. He smiled kindly at the man and then Alaria. “You see? Alaria, this is my new mentor. He’s my friend.”

 “Yes, I see.” Alaria smiled nervously. She whispered, “_Arkanivis._” She turned her magical sight to Devrim. Sure enough, the wiry man was surrounded by a thin pale yellow aura.

 “This man is not your friend, Devrim. Come with me. This is not right.” Alaria said forcefully.

 The young mage just looked at her with a confused grin. He practically chuckled. “Of course he is my friend, Alaria. He’s going to teach me real magic like you have.” 

 “Indeed I am, Devrim. You’ve done very well.” The man replied as he reached into his belt. “And, my dear, I hope you will also call me…” he withdrew a slender length of dark wood. 

 “…friend.” In a single motion the wand was pointed at Alaria and she heard, “_M’rahk_!”

 Alaria’s vision seemed to cloud for a moment into a soft yellow blur before coming back into focus. The plainly dressed man smiled at her and she thought…for a moment…he did seem rather nice…

 Then Alaria didn’t have time to know what she thought as a thickly fingered gloved hand grabbed her forearm and pulled her roughly away from the woods.

 She blinked and saw Duor pulling her back into the field. “That’ll be enough o’ that, I think. Run!”

 Alaria heard the words but her mind didn’t seem to want to tell her legs what to do. Should she leave? But Devrim…this ‘friend’ with the wand…

 The dwarf tugged harder. He put his other hand to his mouth and let out a shrill high whistle with his thumb and forefinger.

 Then, all at once, she felt herself again. Devrim!

 As she thought it, the man with the wand called also “Devrim, stop them! We must all be friends here.”

 Devrim nodded in complete agreement. “I’m sorry Alaria, but you’ll see he is a very good friend.” He reached into one of his many belt pouches and flung a handful of pink sand in the direction of the magess and dwarf.

 Now Alaria was running with Duor. They were still quite far from camp. She could plainly hear Devrim begin casting and she knew the spell well.

_“Contro es amberall buul…”_ 

 Alaria faltered and fell into the tall grass. She was so tired from the combat with the trolls. So tired from the days travel and the night was more than half gone. She was so tired.

 Duor thumped into the grass beside her, snoring loudly. 

 Alaria again mustered her mind to herself. Devrim had cast a spell on them. This strange man was controlling him somehow. Duor was incapacitated. What was that clanking sound? She did not know where the others were. Someone was shouting. “No!” she commanded herself from hands and knees on the ground. She clutched handfuls of grass. She would *not* sleep! 

 She shook her head to clear it and looked up to see Coerraine racing passed she and Duor. Haelan was close behind charging along awkwardly with shield on one arm and her staff (much to large for the halfling to easily carry) tucked under his other arm.

 “Are you ok?!” Haelan asked hastily. “What’s going on?”

 “I am fine.” Alaria said curtly. “Rouse Duor.” She said as she took her staff and rose from the ground. “But Devrim…” Devrim! Coerraine! Alaria whirled about to call after the paladin. “Coerraine, don’t harm Devrim he is under a magic charm!”

 Whether the Redstar Knight heard her or not she could not say as the armored man did not falter in his charge for the two small men near the trees’ edge. 

 Coerraine had heard her and did not alter his course as the other man holding the wand was obviously, to the paladin’s mind, to blame for this attack. His eyes glowed golden light and he saw, quite plainly the tainted aura of evil surrounding the wand-man.

 “Huh? Wuh…?” Duor murmured confused as Haelan shook him vigorously. “Yeh idiot hairfoot! Can’t a dwarf get an honest night’s…” Duor sat up and pushed the halfling away to gaze at the soon to be met battle at the treeline.

 “…Oh right. Look’s like it’s a party then.” He said and leapt to his feet, drawing his hand crossbow and took off after the paladin.

 “You’re welcome.” Haelan called after the dwarf.
 
 He drew his pinecone headed mace and took a position in front of the wizardess from R’Hath.
 
 “I’m hope this does not go badly, Alaria. I am not sure Faerantha will hear my prayer but we need more light here…_Yaix ar Yomarus, benfica Faerantha urmu__”.__” <cleric spell: Light. “Light the darkness, beneficent mother, Faerantha”>_

 As the Hilltender’s invocation finished, sparkles of  what appeared to be starlight brought the area along copse’s edge into passable vision despite the cloud cover.

 Alaria nodded. “That was well done, Haelan. I, too, am all but spent from the day. Let us hope the gods are kind to us in the coming moments.”

 Braddok now raced passed them. The swordsman had removed his chainmail shirt in an attempt for a more restful sleep, but had taken up his shield. His blade, of course, was already drawn. He looked at Alaria with concern, barely stopping to receive an assured glance and nod that she was alright.

 The man with the wand had fear plainly on his face as Coerraine approached. He practically hissed as he shouted, “Protect your master, Devrim!”

 “But…but that’s a Redstar Knight.” The mage said in confusion. “Good paladin, this is all a mistake. He is my friend. We mean no harm.”

 Coerraine pushed passed the mage from Welford without breaking stride. “Apologies friend. But you are not yourself. Stay down.”

 Devrim flew roughly to the ground. He glanced up in alarm as the paladin’s spear shot forward to narrowly miss his ‘friend.’ He continued to look on, his mind racing for anything he might do to help his new master.

 “I’d listen to him, boy.” Said the dwarf as he came up and stood over the mage.

 Devrim had never had a crossbow pointed at his face before. But he was not inclined to disagree with it. He made feeble attempts to make the dwarf understand. “Don’t let him hurt my friend. He’s my master now. He’s going to teach me magic. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

 “Sure he doesn’t. Just do me a favor and stay down for now.” Duor replied.

 The man with the wand squealed in agony as Coerraine’s next strike sank into his upper arm. The man whirled around and hunched over. The squealing continued as his figure shuddered and his back arched unnaturally.

 “Face me, villain!” Coerraine shouted. “I will not stab a creature in the back.” Righteous fury flared in the paladin’s soul. He would like nothing more than to skewer the man where he stood. But that was the way of cowards and thieves, not a Redstar Knight.

 When the man turned again to face the paladin, Coerraine took a step back in surprise. The man’s face, no, his whole head was that of a dirty brown rat. With pointed teeth and red beady eyes the man-rat-thing hissed at Coerraine before putting his wand practically on Coerraine’s face and shouting “_M’rahk!_” 

 Coerraine’s vision was blurred with a hazy yellow light for the briefest of moments. When it cleared, he saw the man with the thin moustache smiling at him. His friend. Coerraine could not, for his life, remember why he had wanted to harm him.

 “My friend. I am so sorry! By the Red Star, I do not what came over me. Please forgive me.” The paladin said.

 “Oh boy.” Duor grumbled. He turned to look as menacing as he could at Devrim, “Stay here!”

 “My dear Goldshield. Thank the gods! You must help me. Defend me from these murderous bandits who would do me harm.” The 'man' said.

 Coerraine whirled around, his duty filling him with clarity. It was his honor, his life’s calling to defend the weak…and his friends doubly so. He saw Duor coming toward them. “You!” Coerraine growled.

 Duor had only a moment to dodge the spear tip. He tumbled to the right and recovered to his feet.
 
 “Easy there, Goldilocks. It’s me. Yer pal, pally.”
 
 He dove again as the spear again jabbed in his direction, sinking effortlessly into the ground. “Blasted mages.” He grumbled. “Yer under a spell, Coerraine. Snap outtuv it!”
 
 “You thief! You’re probably a murderer too.” Coerraine seethed as he attacked again and again, unrelenting.

 “Coerraine, NO! It’s the were-rat!” Alaria called. She knew the power of a charming spell was not easily broken, especially after one had sucumbed to its effect. The hold of a charm from a wand or other item would no doubt be even harder to break. Alaria raced for the melee even as Braddok adjusted his own charge from the were-rat to try to intercept the paladin from reaching Duor.

 Were-rat? Coerraine wondered to himself. There is no were-rat here…only my friend. But Alaria is my charge also, she would not lie to me. What was she talking about? But, of course, she_ would_ defend the dwarf. Afterall, she got him out of jail instead of letting him be served his justice. Murderous thieving dwarf.

 Coerraine struck again.

 This time Duor could not avoid the blow. The spear sank deeply into his shoulder, all but pinning him to the ground. The dwarf cried out in pain and returned the paladin’s strike with a crossbow bolt into Ceorraine’s thigh.

 “Coerraine NO!” Alaria cried.

 “Coerraine, HOLD!” Braddok’s voice came to his mind. The swordsman was almost upon them.

 The paladin’s anger did not subside. Coerraine withdrew his spear and the dwarf sank to the ground. Blood readily poured from the wound.

 This slovenly lying vermin she’d rescued from the gutter. What did she see in him? She was, no doubt, under the influence of his filthy lies.

 The paladin raised his spear for the final blow. He could see plainly. The dwarf would not evade his justice this time.

 “It’s the were-rat…” Duor said weakly.

 There was no were-rat, Coerraine knew. He _knew!_

 “A liar and thief to the end, is it then? Have you _no_ honor? You steal from us. You terrorize my friend. And _still_ she would protect you! I’ll tear your beard from your face. You deserve to rot in the fires of…”

 ***KLLLLANNNNNNGGGGG***

 Coerraine faltered from a hard blow to his head. His spear fell harmlessly into the ground beside Duor. He held the back of his neck where the blow had struck. His mind swirled and his vision doubled for a moment.

 Dimly, in the back of his mind he heard Haelan’s small voice from afar “Soooorrrrry, Coerraaaaaine.”

 The small round shield flew back to Haelan’s waiting hand. The Hilltender raced toward the treeline as fast as his little legs would let him.

 “Haelan? What?” Coerraine said weakly. He looked, but his vision was still a bit blurry. Why was Duor slumped on the ground…and bleeding profusely? His mind felt like five pounds of lead.
 
 He saw Braddok give him a grimacing nod before turning to charge….a…a man with a rat’s head?  Alaria raced up to Duor side and crouched down. She hastily began using the dwarf’s own cloak to attempt to staunch the bleeding. That frail looking wizard from Welford was rising from the ground, his back against a tree. Horror plain all over his face.

 The dwarf moaned and winced.

 The Redstar Knight’s mind cleared in an instant…the were-rat! The wand! Holy Celradorn, what had he done?!

 Braddok made a telling blow on the creature holding a wand. 

 It swiped with its free clawed hand, under Braddok’s shield, and ripped into Braddok’s abdomen. 

 The swordsman barely felt the scratch and knocked the were-rat from his feet with his shield.

 “Bonespit! Defend me!” cried the creature.

 As Braddok raised his sword for a final blow on the were-rat the wood shuddered and cracked as a troll smashed through the undergrowth into the starlit area. The swordsman nearly fell back over himself to avoid a swipe of black claws.

 Alaria was desperately trying to get Duor to his feet and back away from the fray. As she did so, she noted the area of charred blackened skin along the troll’s arm. The sixth troll! The one Fen had burned at the start of battle. Where was Fen?...or that bloody gnome…or his weasel, for that matter?

 As if to answer Alaria’s thoughts, the “calvary” arrived…such as it was. Fen appeared seemingly from the very trees, as usual, and helped her get Duor to his feet. With his help, they began half-dragging the dwarf back toward camp.

 “Gettim, BC!” came the gnome’s voice from behind the druid. 

 The giant ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet, burst from the undergrowth making a beeline for the wounded were-rat. 

 “Eeeee!” squealed the rat-man as the ferret’s jaws clamped onto his forearm. The frightened creature still had the wherewithal to give orders, “Bonespit, Devrim, get the magess! Bring me the orb!”

 Coerraine recovered his spear and moved to stand with Braddok. The warriors’ concern was now clear, cover Alaria’s retreat with the wounded rogue. The paladin put his mind to the duty at hand. Apologies and penance for his transgression against the dwarf would have to wait. 

 The troll, apparently named Bonespit, easily barreled passed the two warriors with a few swipes of its huge clawed hands.

 Suddenly, Gnobert leapt up from the grasses between the troll and retreating party members.
 
 “Ah ah ah, Ugly. Theer’s far eenoo fer now.” The gnome began throwing his hands up, as if tossing confetti and called out_, __"Shahiir imber yexi” <mage/illusionist spell (and inate gnome ability): Dancing Lights>

_Sparks of brightly colored light, like fireworks, shot up from his hands to began snapping, popping and crackling before the troll’s field of vision.

 The nocturnal savage roared and began swatting at the painfully bright lights.
 
  Gnobert giggled and waved his hands about. He skipped and danced among the tall grass around the huge monster. (Could he really be enjoying this? Alaria wondered.) The bursts of colored light continued to weave and bob about the monster’s head as it futilely attempted to free itself from the frightful luminance. 

 “Can you take him?” Alaria asked Fen. The druid nodded in reply. “Get him back to camp and rouse Kudjik. Get the people out of here.” The wizardess from R’Hath let the dwarf go and it seemed, for a moment, the half-elf might drop him. But he held on and continued toward the camp. Alaria gripped her staff defensively and stayed her ground, preparing herself to expend the last of her power.

 She knew it would be the last she could muster and, in all honesty, feared what good it might do. Perhaps something from her scrolls? There wasn't time. ‘Real magic’, indeed, she thought as Devrim’s words echoed in her head. It had been only moments earlier that seemed a lifetime ago.

 Braddok hacked and slashed at the hulking mottled green hide of the creature’s back. Coerraine jabbed and stabbed at its front, futilely trying to get its attention off of Alaria. "Face me, creature! Face your defeat!".
 
 The whizzing and popping colored lights soon flickered and dimmed to nothingness and, Alaria noted, the gnome was again nowhere to be seen.

 As before, the wounds inflicted by the fighter and paladin seemed to shrink and close even before they could make another blow.

 Without the frightful lights, the troll again bowled through the warriors’ defense and continued with some speed to where Alaria stood, waiting and defiant in the midst of the field.

 Thankfully, the clouds continued their journey to the south and west, blissfully ignorant of the life and death situation going on beneath them. The field was again aglow with Arinane’s sliver of white light.

 Alaria centered her mind and could feel what power she had left bending to her will. Another breeze swirled around her, fluttering her hair and shirts, as she felt the air charge with power. 

 With a raging roar, the troll was upon her.

_“Beriz theran” <mage spell: Shield>_  she cried into the night with her taught outstretched free hand.  A circle of solid hazy blue light formed in front of her hand just in time to meet the troll’s downward strike.

 The monster’s blow pushed Alaria back two steps. But the shield held. 

 It turned to take a swipe at Braddok who had landed a solid blow to the back of its thigh.
 
 Braddok went flying. Shield and sword and swordsman landed with thuds and clangs, scattered among the tall grass.

 A stabbing spear missed the creature as Bonespit hurled a fist upon the circular field of blue light.

 The blow knocked Alaria to her knees. The force of the attack pounded in her mind but she held onto the manifestation. The magess’ eyes grew wide as she noted “cracks” in the blue light. She knew she would not be able to maintain the shield through another attack like that.
 
 Alaria was also suddenly very aware that they had no fire! Without fire the creature would not, _could_ not, be defeated. This would all be for naught and she and her companions would be troll food. At least, Alaria thought, Duor and Fen might get away.

 Coerraine desperately stabbed again as he called to Celradorn to protect his honorable servants from the evil upon them. Much to his momentary relief, a circle of golden light arose surrounding himself and encompassing Alaria’s position. The Redstar Knights strike was true, but the creature seemed hardly more wounded than when they’d begun.

 With an overhead swing, the troll’s two fists came down upon the circular shield of blue light. Alaria’s mind didn’t stand a chance and the shield of light shattered into a thousand shards as the magess, herself, was thrown several feet back, rolling heavily along the ground.

 Her mind felt like yesterday’s porridge. She was so tired. So weak. The puffball of blue light Devrim had conjured, that any first-year apprentii could call with a whim, was beyond her. She gripped her staff, her only remaining weapon, and tried to rouse herself but her body was simply spent. Then she heard…Haelan? His voice small and far away.

 “Hey! Bonespit! Back off the nice lady! We’re all friends here.” Devrim called from the treeline.

 Instantly, the troll stopped and turned to face the trees.
 
 The Hilltender stood, with Devrim, beneath the star-glittered area at the tree’s edge. He held the wand.
 
 “Now be a nice troll to our friends and go back to the…what was it?” the halfling cleric said to the Welford mage at his side. Devrim answered inaudibly. “Go back to the Feldmere…and don’t trouble any other travelers on the road ever again.”

 Bonespit’s shoulder’s slumped. He groaned an acknowledgement and began trudging back down the hill slope to the south.

 Coerraine stood dumbstruck. Magic, he thought. By the Golden Defender, he would never understand magic. He thought, for a moment, that it was his duty to smite to evil beast. Then, Coerraine thought of Duor. He had done enough damage this night.

 A groan came from the grass as Braddok roused himself, hand at his head. He looked in confusion at the back of the troll, tromping off into the night. Then to Alaria and followed her gaze back to the copse.

 Alaria grinned an exhausted grin at Haelan. The daelvar priest’s face was alight with his bright smile.

 “Couldn’ta done it without him.” Haelan nodded to his left and a satisfied looking Devrim. 

 “Or her.” The Hilltender moved aside to reveal a very proud Buttercreamshadowfeet, perched upon a body, casually chomping on a dismemebered arm.
 
 Gnobert was beside the ferret, smiling as brightly as the halfling and rubbing the ferret behind her ear.  

 Alaria forced herself to get up and brushed off her robe as Fen and Kudjik’s guardsmen came racing into the field to assist the battered companions.

 “It’s over.” She said weakly to the concerned druid. Then, more to herself than anyone else, “Manat's star, I need to sleep.”


----------



## steeldragons

_*10 hours before*_

The beaten and battered party returned to the camp. After some discussion, Kudjik decided not to move the caravan until the fast approaching morning. Sounded like the villainous creatures had been defeated as far as the trader was concerned, though he did seem horrified to realize that it was one of the driver’s he’d hired in Welford that had been the shape-shifter.

 At least as Fen could tell before leaving his post, they wre not being followed by the trolls. The druid was also confident, that this late into the night, they’d dare not stry too far from the swamp for fear of the coming day.

 The party all went to the tent where Fen and then Haelan were administering to Duor. Braddok was also battered and bruised, but shunned the cleric’s offer at bandaging. Haelan insisted on rinsing the were-rat scratches with some of the last of their Pure Water from Tidemaster Kama. The water did seem to bubble a bit around the edges of the wound, but left a cool soothing feeling that Braddok was thankful for.

 Between some quickly administered “special berries” from Fen and the druid’s and Hilltender’s non-magical healing skills, they were confident the dwarf would survive the night. Haelan offered to stay the dwarf through the night and sleep in the healing tent so that he might pray for healing as soon as he could.

 Duor himself remained unconscious through the bulk of the ministering and eventually seemed to pass into a restful sleep. His eyes weakly opened once to look at the surrounded companions. His eyes fell on Coerraine. The young Redstar’s face was a palette of shame and sorrow.

 The dwarf mumbled something beneath his beard and again fell into unconsciousness.

 Alaria looked at the mournful paladin and then to the cleric. “Did you make out what he said?” Alaria asked Haelan.

 The daelvar’s face blushed a bit. “I think…” Haelan’s eyes went to the floor. “I _think, _my dwarven isn’t very good…but I think it was, ‘I hate you.’”

 At this, Coerraine’s head slumped and he left the tent.

 Haelan shrugged an apology at Alaria. “But I’m not sure!” Louder, hoping Coerraine might hear, he added, “He might _not_ have said that.”

 Confident that Duor would live the companions, other than Haelan, quietly left the tent. 

 Fen began moving away from camp. The magics of his druid’s cloak seemed to begin wrapping him in the shadows of the early morning hour. Alaria stopped him. 

 “Fen, I appreciate your motives to staying behind and attentiveness to our safety. But I really must ask…No, I _insist_, as long as you are choosing to travel with my group, that you keep us aware of your comings and goings.”

 Fen opened his mouth, presumably to make some kind of defense, but closed it again without saying anything.

 “Things tonight may not have become so dire had we all been present from the beginning.” The magess concluded.

 Braddok walked up behind the wizard, as if to enforce her ‘request.’ 

 Fen looked at the swordsman, slightly hunched over clasping his side and what the druid was sure must be some bruised, if not broken, ribs. A large bruise was also puffing up impressively around the warrior’s left eye and cheek.

 “You are right, of course, magess. I will endeavor to keep myself in your more…immediate surroundings.”

 “Thank you, Fen.” Alaria said. “And when you next see Gnobert…I suspect you talk to him more than we…relay it to him as well…and my thanks for his intercession.” The exhaustion was plain in her voice. “Now, good night to you all. I can barely keep myself on my legs.”

 The wizardess accepted Kudjik’s offer to use his covered wagon, even his own cot, for her rest. She knew she would need to sleep well into the day to recover her strength andKudjik had been clear on getting on the move at first light. The border of Daenfrii, Bridgetower, was less than a day’s march and the Thelitian meant to arrive as soon as possible, preferably without further trouble.

 Braddok bedded down, with multiple moans and groans at the varying soreness up and down his body. He looked at Coerraine as the paladin stared aimlessly into the failing embers of their fire. The night was, indeed chilly, but neither of them had the motivation to re-stoke the fire.

 Across the fire from him, he was surprised to hear a loud snore. The source of the noise was the gnome. He was sprawled, limbs akimbo on top of the giant furry circle of his ferret, which also seemed asleep. As he watched, the gnome’s cowl and clothes slowly faded from their bright green and blue he had seen earlier to yellow and brown, effectively camouflaging him among Buttercream’s coat. The swordsman from Denil had to admit to himself, the quirky creature (and his pet) had proved themselves that night.

_*6 hours before*_

The day began, as Kudjik wanted, very early in the soft pinks and oranges of the pre-dawn. The farmers and refugees were a flurry of whispers among themselves relaying the stories of the night’s battle as they packed up and the caravan began moving off for the expected haven of Bridgetower and the realm of the Dragonmage.

 Haelan attended Duor with his healing magic as best he could and helped to dwarf into a crowded but comfortable spot in the wagon of the farmer, Maracus, who had offered to carry the still wounded ‘hero.’

 Coerraine came slowly up to the wagon as Haelan finished situating Duor and hopped down from the back of the cart.

 Haelan smiled weakly at the paladin and answered the unasked question. “He is fine, if still a bit weak.” 

 The paladin made no reply and looked down, surprised, when the daelvar priest grabbed his gauntlet.

 “It wasn’t your fault, Coerraine. It was the were-rat’s magic wand. You are not to blame.” Haelan said.

 The paladin grinned and nodded a thanks at the halfling’s face bathed in its innocent sincerity.

 Coerraine neared the wagon. When Duor’s eyes met his, the Redstar Knight lowered his to the ground.
“Come to finish the job then, Goldshield?” Duor said in a grumble.

 The words pierced Coerraine’s heart as sure as any blade. “My friend, I cannot…” the paladin began.

 His words were interrupted by the most unlikely sound of the dwarf’s strained chuckles.

 “An’ who’s the liar now, paladin? Heheh.” The dwarf paused a moment and coughed. The effort elicited a moan before Duor continued. “Let’s not dishonor ourselves and your god. We are _not _‘friends.’ That much is clear.”

 Coerraine felt his face go red. The dwarf was correct, but Coerraine knew that some recompense must be made. His honor demended it.

 Duor continued. “But…I know…it weren’t yer fault. Them charm spells’re tricky things. We dwarves have never been much fer sorcery an’ last night is an excellent example fer why. I know we can agree on that much, at least.”

 Coerraine, heartened by the dwarf’s apparent understanding lifted his gaze to bandaged and swaddled rogue. “Indeed, that much is true, Duor Darksmythe. Still, it is on my faith and honor that I will make it up to you..I _must_.”

 “Well, if you _must_, gold’s always good.” Duor smirked.

 Coerraine forced a grin, though the suggestion left a sour taste in the paladin’s mouth. The dwarf really did not have any understanding of honor. The Redstar Knight found this odd considering all he’d come to hear or know of other dwarves. But, Coerraine reminded himself, he could not fault the dwarf for being himself. His was not to judge others, but protect them, and he had failed miserably in that duty.

 “As you know, I am duty-bound to Alaria at the present. The tenets of my order do not permit the acceptance of more than a single charge and that charge is clearly set. But when my time in Alaria’s service, when our current course is complete,” the paladin took his spear and stuck the blade into the ground as he bent to kneel before the cart.

 Duor’s bushy eyebrows nearly rose off of his face.

 Coerraine continued, eyes downscast, “I swear to you, Duor Darksmythe, by the Shield and the Lance, that I will submit myself and my spear to your protection for no less than one cycle of the seasons so long as my Lord and God permit me breathe or take me.”

 The Redstar Knight then rose, pulled his spear from the sod. Without another word, he turned returned to the front of the caravan. The oath he had spoken did not require the dwarf’s consent. It was an oath to his god and his duty. If Duor released him from the oath at some point before a year passed, that was his prerogative. But for now, Coerraine had done as he felt he must. The bond was made. The man’s blond shoulder-length hair and crimson tabard flowed behind him as a breeze swept up. He walked, head high, to Kudjik’s wagon at the front of the train. He also denied the offer of a horse, feeling a day of marching would also serve as an acceptable penance for his transgression against, no not a friend, but a companion-in-arms.   

 Duor watched the paladin leave, eyes wide. “Ehrmmm. Ok then.” the dwarf mumbled in response.

 Haelan then saw Braddok and cast another healing spell on the swordsman. The swelling and bruising on his face disappeared. Those on his side (which Haelan did not admit concerned him more than the man’s face) got smaller but did not disappear. Despite the swordsman’s objections, Haelan tightly bandaged the warrior’s middle. 

 As Haelan finished, Braddok thanked him. “You do honor to us and your goddess, Haelan. Were it not for Her graces, our company would surely have been lost many times over in our short journey. You should be proud, daelvar. You are as sure a hero as any told in the tales of bards.”

 Haelan smiled broadly at the warrior. “It is by Faerantha’s blessings that I am able to serve us. Your praise should be for her, Braddok, not for me….But I thank you. Still, I think myself no more a hero than you.”

 He caravan moved out beneath the pale grey clouds that extended across the sky as far as any could see. Jarood make some offhanded comment to the Thelitian sky god that they not see rain before reaching Bridgetower. Apparently, Braddok thought, hauling wagons out of a muddy tranch in the rain was no one’s idea of a good time.

 _*1 hour before*_

The weather cooperated and by shortly after midday, the wagons and refugees came over a low ridge to look down over sprawling fields and spotty sparce woods. The river D’Evand wound lazily through the fields in the distance, a ribbon of pale grey-blue. The ribbon was broken some distance away from them by a structure of white and grey with pendants flying above it. A set of guard towers at either edge of the river with a broad expanse of a bridge crossing the wide flow. Details were not possible from their vantage point, but all in the caravan knew it was their destination, the crossing of Bridgetower, southern entrance to the realm of Daenfrii, the vale of the Dragonmage.


----------



## steeldragons

The caravan came to the thoroughly-cleared plain before the two towered guardhouse on their side of the river. The very top of the much higher white tower on the Daenfrii side of the river was just visible behind them. The group was still nearly a half-hour’s trudge away when the gates opened and a troupe of riders came out heading at a gallop for the caravan.

 There were five mounted soldiers wore deep blue tabards. They all seemed armed with spears, two bore bows and quivers on their backs while the rest had scabbards hanging at their sides. The two behind the helmed lead rider flew the banner of Daenfrii at the end of their spears, a serpentine gold dragon (like a reverse “S”) with a large wing outstretched and a bright blue diamond held in its fore claws. The banners stretched out behind them as they rode. 

 Kudjik brought the caravan to a halt as the riders neared.

 Alaria, who had finally risen as they’d crested the low ridge sat next to the Thelitian. Coerraine stood next to her, plainly displaying the eight-pointed red star on his triangular shield.

 “Hail travelers.” Said the sergeant as he brought his steed up to a halt. “Hold and state your business here.”

 Kudjik rose an arm in peaceful welcome. “Hail to ye, guardsmen of Daenfrii. We are a company, bereft of hope and home by ill-doings to the south. I am Kudjik Al’Djaliil, humble merchant and trader in fine fabrics from my homeland. These rest are refugees of the Laklans who all seek the security of your master’s realm from most dangerous creatures moving through the lands.”

 The sergeant looked to Alaria and then Coerraine. “Hail Kudjik Al’Djaliil. Traveling with one of Celradorn’s chosen, I see. I suppose I have no reason to doubt your words. Do I Redstar?”

 Coerraine stepped forward. “Indeed, you do not.” The paladin responded. He drew himself up to his most erect. “It is as Kudjik claims. We have seen many unfortunate troubles and crossed paths with several perils in the past week.”

 The sergeant nodded. “Nothing you couldn’t handle from the look of it. I invite you to recoup yourselves within the gates of Bridgetower. Whether  or not you will be granted access to Daenfrii, we shall see. But, for now, the road is indeed perilous. We have reports of a large force of goblins in the area. We shall see you to Bridgetower with all speed.”

 “Reports of a large force of goblins here?” Alaria replied. She added more alarm to her voice to get the soldier’s attention. In reality, the news did alarm her somewhat. She was under the impression that they would be several days ahead of the goblin army.

 “Nothing to concern you, my lady.” The soldier replied. The dismissive, if not condescending, tone was not lost to Alaria.

 “You may address me as ‘Magess’, sir. Magess Alaria Staver of Ablidon.” She answered with all intended indignation. Her name would mean nothing to this man, she knew that. But that was no reason for her not to make him feel two feet tall. These were servants of the Dragonmage, after all. Being a fully trained wizard from R’Hath should hold some weight…she hoped.

 “Apologies, Magess.” The mounted man nodded slightly. “Those trained in the Mysteries are  held in high regard in Daenfrii, of course. No disrespect was intended.”

 “Of course not.” Alaria replied coolly.

 “I am Sergeant Goren, Magess. It will be the honor of my men and myself to see you safely to Bridgetower.”  The man replied and smiled at Alaria.

 “We thank you Sergeant Goren. Now what news of this force of goblins?” Alaria pressed even as Kudjik urged the wagon forward. The other Daenfrii soldiers rode along the length of the caravan looking at the obviously road-weary commonfolk and their meager wares. The cool glares of Kudjik’s guards roused no response from the well-trained mounted men. One of the riders returned to Goren’s side and made a quiet report that the caravan seemed to be nothing more than what they had said but did make mention of a “wounded dwarf, a daelvar, and one of the Anicent Order.”

 “Theilitians, R’Hathi, a Redstar with a druid and nearly all the races of realms?” said Goren with a smile. “Quite a diverse group of refugees to be sure.” He instructed the reporting soldier to have the men take up posts along the length of the caravan and then urged everyone to make for the tower before replying to Alaria’s question.

 “It is an advance force, no doubt, Magess. We have received word from the Laklans of the army slowing making its way across the plains. They are still far south and would be fools to threaten the lands of the Dragonmage. But then, goblins are not known for their brains.” He smiled again.

 Alaria grinned politely at the sergeant’s attempt at wit.

  “Our scouts brought word of a large foraging group, maybe 20 goblins, some mounted on zarks, just south of those woods.” He pointed to a line of trees to the south of the cleared plain. “Had a couple of ogres with them too…if the report’s to be believed.” 

 “You doubt your own scouts?” Alaria questioned, honestly surprised at the sergeant’s statement.

 “Well no. But as I heard it, the runner was thoroughly spooked by what he’d seen. It’s possible he exaggerated the threat in his fear-addled mind. We don’t get much excitement here. Even creatures as stupid as goblins and ogres know not to challenge the Dragonmage.” Goren explained. “Still, ogres or no, the report placed them a bit too near for my liking, I will admit. So we will not take chances with your safety.” 

 Did he actually just _wink_ at me? Alaria thought. He’s old enough to be my father!

 The sergeant continued unaware of the wizard’s thoughts, “But the defenders of Bridgetower would be more than a match for those numbers. No force has broken into Daenfrii through the gates of Bridgetower in more than hundred years.” He concluded with unmasked pride.

 “Have they broken into Daenfrii by other means?” Coerraine asked, innocently.

 The question received a frown. “No, Redstar. They have not. But with you here to protect us, I am sure we could face the hordes of Thole, itself.”

 Men, thought Alaria. Always having to beat their chests at one another. Despite herself, Rhea’s telepathic message _‘They are good for some things’_ bubbled up from her memory. Inexplicably, her mind turned to Braddok.


 “Ho! Goblins!” came the cry from one of Goren’s men farther back in the caravan. This immediately turned every head within earshot to look where the soldier was pointing at the ridge beside the wood-line Goren had indicated earlier. A small green figure atop a two-legged very long-necked creature of mottled brown and black raised a horn to its lips and let out a long bleating noise.

 “Go! Go!” shouted Goren, indicating Kudjik to pick up the pace, as he brought his horse around to look at the ridge. “Defenders of Bridgetower, to me! Alath, the alarm!”

 Kudjik didn’t need to be told twice. The wagon lurched forward immediately, nearly sending Alaria flying from her seat. Frightened screams and prayers to the gods went up as everyone in the caravan, carts, horses and on foot took off, in utter chaos, for the gates of the guardhouse several minutes away.

 A horn sounded five quick notes from one of the Bridgetower soldiers.

 Coerraine watched the ridge as five, then ten, then double that number of creatures, half rode atop the bird-creature mounts crested the ridge. The mounted creatures approached very fast, already halfway to the road. At least half of the mounted goblins had bows, as far as Coerraine could tell in the swerving mass of enemies baring down on them. Arrows quickly began whizzing from multiple locations.

 And then, there _were _ogres. Three of the towering things with moldy yellow and orangish skin, clad in leathers and furs, came lumbering up behind the goblins. Two swung huge clubs, one of which sported some nasty-looking curved spikes, as they bellowed across the plain. The third ogre brandished a huge battle axe and seemed to be giving orders to the other creatures.

 The paladin looked up to Alaria as he began falling behind the wagon.

 “Kudjik, a moment. Let me down.” Alaria shouted in the trader’s ear.

 The Thelitian was about to object when he looked at the wizard to see the determination on her face. He pressed his lips shut and brought the wagon up to a momentary halt. “Your gods go with you magess, Alaria Staver. May they grant we meet again before the day’s end.”

 “Thank you, Kudjik.” She responded as Coerraine helped her down. “Now go. Get yourself safe.”

 Braddok already stood, sword drawn, between the magess and the approaching goblins. Fen raced up to where Coerraine and Alaria stood. Gnobert astride Buttercream followed with Haelan trotting along after.

 “What do we do?” the Hilltender asked.

 “We stop them.” Said Braddok with a determined scowl. Then he looked to Alaria, as if to ask if that was the right answer.

 Alaria looked back at the swordsman, her look questioning his questioning look. Then she noticed the rest of her companions were also looking at her.

 Sergeant Goren unsheathed his sword and commanded his men to charge. The two with bows were already returning fire as they charged into the fray.  

 “Yes!” Alaria said aloud. “We stop them…at least until the caravan is safe.” She finished facing Coerraine. “And we protect each other.”

 Everyone nodded and smiled before everything became a flurry of activity.

The companions dispersed just before three arrow shafts landed around and among where they had been standing. 

 Haelan lifted his arms as high as his diminutive stature allowed and called down Faerantha’s blessing on them. Immediately, spear and sword, mace and staff were coated in a honey-colored glow.

 Braddok charged forward determined to take on one of the ogres, if he made it through the array of goblins before them.

 Fen raced in behind the warrior.

 “Oonerd to gloory, Buttercreamshadowfeet! Cheeeerge! Heeeeeheeheeheehee!” Gnobert cried out in maniacal giggle. The ferret took off, hopping along as quickly as she could on her stumpy legs, more or less following Fen and Braddok.

 Alaria reached into her pouch to withdraw the crystal orb. She was acutely aware that she had practically no experience using the item’s various powers. There simply had not been time. She chastised herself at the foolhardiness and general irresponsibility of attempting to use a magical device one did not fully understand. But, it seemed to her, their best option at the moment. She made a mental promise to herself, and Manat, that if she survived the afternoon, she would never use another magic item she had not fully researched again.

 A cry from behind Alaria caught her attention as one of the refugee farmers fell to the ground with a black-shafted goblin arrow in his back. She also noted the farmer-fighter Maracus holding his ground on the road, ushering panicked refugees toward the gates. 

 The loud clang of another arrow against Coerraine’s shield snapped Alaria back to the front. The paladin, it seemed, had no intention of leaving Alaria’s position. We have to do something about the arrows, she thought.

 Alaria held the orb before her and began concentrating. Almost immediately, the orb came alive with its inner light swirling blue and white. The air around the magess, began to churn. Robes and hair fluttered and the grasses and dirt across the road also began to blow around. In a flash, Alaria was perfectly aware of the pulsing light within orb and the use of its power. The energies moved freely around and within her, passing from the orb, up and down her arms, like wind blowing through her very body.

 She thrust her arm to the side and a veritable wall of air became nearly visible. The wind persisted such that no goblin arrow could pierce. Black bolts began being flung, fletching over tip, harmlessly to the ground. It did not stop the goblins from shooting, right away, but at least it would keep the refugees safe until they were out of range. Alaria knew she had to maintain concentration to keep the winds doing as she willed and she had every intention of doing so.

 Braddok slashed through one of the goblins on foot in time to divert a spear from a mounted goblin and avoid the snapping beak of the odd (and ugly) reptilian-bird thing that was its mount. His next blow came down hard on the zark’s leathery tan neck, nearly severing it from its body.

 Fen dodged another of the mounted goblins’ spears only to receive a nasty slash from its zark’s curved beak. The druid grimaced at the painful wound but recovered enough to sink his spear into the rider’s side. The goblin gurgled and fell off its mount. The druid continued passed the flightless creature to try to keep up with Braddok. As he did so, he heard the gnome behind him, chuckling into the fray with an almost sing-songy voice.

 “Goblins, goblins, gets all the goblins. All you goblins can't catch me.” The gnome leapt from the ferret’s back. Well, more slid off her rump than “leapt”, as Buttercreamshadowfeet pinned another goblin soldier, raking with claws and sinking its teeth into its shoulder and neck. “Atta girly, BC. All you goblins can’t catch me, _Shahiir imber yexi! _Heeheeeeee!”

 As the night before, bright streaks of blues and reds, violets and yellows shot out of the Gnobert’s flicking fingertips and snapped and crackled before a goblin on a zark barreling down on him.

The “firework's” light and noise startled the creature that reared its head back and stumbled backwards, clumsily, over its two talon-tipped three-toed feet. The goblin rider struggled to get the zark under control, shouting in goblin.

Many of the words, Gnobert was sure, were curses about gnomes. Without stopping to direct the lights, Gnobert continued after Buttercream who had already moved onto her next appetizer.

 One of the zark-riding archers set his site on the armored man who was standing in front of the female, who was obviously a wizard. Despite not wanting to take on a wizard, the armored man with the spear was fair game. His arrows were doing nothing, so the goblin drew a curved serrated blade and urged the zark forward.

 Coerraine used his shield to fend off the zark’s snapping beak while trying to reach the rider with his spear tip. Unfortunately, the zark’s long neck prohibited him getting in a clear shot and so he was forced to attack the interfering leather-necked creature.

 Haelan, watched on nervously from the “inside” of Alaria’s wind wall. Part of his heart wanted to charge out into the melee, especially given Braddok’s praise of the morning. The other part of him looked out over the field horrified at the wave of evil that was moving closer.

The dust thrown up from the zarx and the Bridgetower soldier’s horses was making visibility more and more limited. The ogres, towering above the chaotic fray, brought a lump into Haelan’s throat. For a moment, watching a horse and Bridgetower guard go flying from a club swing, Haelan felt as though he might feint.

 “Um, Alaria…” the Hilltender began. “I think the arrows stopped, Alaria. Think it might be time for that lightning?”      

 Alaria’s brow furrowed at the interruption, but she did notice the arrow fire had tapered off. Still, Haelan was right, the goblins were getting closer…too close, she thought. With the slightest adjustment of her thoughts, the wind shifted from sideways to forward.

 Immediately the dust and grasses clouding their visibility dispersed, blown far into the goblin ranks, stinging eyes as they went. For an instant, the shifting wind seemed to bring the attacks to a halt, as the goblins' general fearful superstition of magic momentarily outweighed their orders. They were not unaware how close to the lair of the Dragonmage they were.

 This hesitation allowed for a round of attackers by the defenders. Several of the mounted goblins went down. Fen and Buttercream felled another two while Gnobert used the pause to generate a blast of light in the eyes of another zark.

 The creature twisted and turned its head, vainly trying to “shake” the orb of white surrounding its head. It pounded its head into the ground three times before throwing its rider and knocking itself unconscious.

 The momentary break also allowed Braddok, with a few slashes through two more foot-soldiers, to make his way to the ogre who had, moments earlier, taken out one of the Bridgetower guards…and his horse. 

 With a fierce thundering bellow from the top of the ridge, the ogre with the battle axe began moving into the melee. This snapped his depleting troops from their heartbeat of hesitation and the battle was again joined.

 Haelan noticed Coerraine was still having trouble getting in a solid shot on the rider. He whipped his shield in the direction of the goblin. At the moment before striking the goblin, the zark reared its head back to avoid a strike from Coerraine’s spear and got a solid blow to the head from a shield instead.

 The zark went down, its goblin toppling off over it to find himself at the tip of Coerraine’s spear…before Coerraine sank the spearhead into his chest.

 Coerraine snapped a look back at the daelvar as the shield slipped back onto the priest’s raised arm. 

 “What?” Haelan asked defensively. “I wasn’t aiming for _you_!”

 **FWOOSH!**

 Haelan jumped forward nearly as tall as he stood at the sound of flames and burst of heat rushing behind him. He turned to see two goblins shrieking and floundering in a cascade of violet and red flames. 

 The halfling and paladin turned with surprise on the faces to see the last flickers of fire disperse from Alaria’s free hand.

 “Keep your wits about you, daelvar!” she shouted in the most commanding tone Haelan could ever remember hearing from her.

The magess then held the orb in both hands. A moment of concentration and Alaria saw the shape of the glyph for _levitation_ form within the swirls of light. She placed one palm over the glyph and in an instant, air swirled around her and she was rising from the ground.

 Haelan’s eyes widened, even as his ears heard the nearby clanging of Coerraine engaging another attackers.

 It was just a foot, at first. She bobbed there a moment and then looked up toward the battlefield with a grin that Haelan could only describe as 'wicked.' With a thought and a moment, Alaria floated almost fifteen feet high and shifted her position further from the roadside to get a better look at the crowded battle.

 The Bridgetower guards seemed to be holding their own, though there were only three still visible. The Sergeant and one of the other riders had engaged the second ogre.

She saw the gnome, whose clothing was currently bright reds and greens racing to catch up to his ferret, which appeared wounded though was still attacking any goblin that got close to it.

Maracus was battling one creature, another lay at his feet and was that Devrim behind him? The blue-robed mage strode forward beside the chainmail vested “farmer” and she watched as his sleep spell felled two goblins on foot and one of the zarks that were attempting to encroach on the farmer and mage’s position. 

Alaria smiled. Good for you, Devrim, she thought.

 Braddok, and was that dusty green and tan blur behind him Fen (?), moved to engage the ogre with the club.

 The ogre with the battleaxe had moved into the field and with a single blow decapitated one of the Bridgetower soldier’s horse. The next swing of the axe severed the guard in two.

 Haelan was right, Alaria thought. It was time for lightning. Keeping the orb in one hand, she withdrew the slender white wand. Just one strike, she hoped would be enough to fell the creature. She very much did not want to “use up” the wand’s magic. 

 The creature stepped over the horse carcass and took a step toward the other ogre beset by Goren and his guardsman.

The ogre with the spiked club swung violently but seemed unable to get a solid strike on the Bridgetower defenders. The creature looked to be faltering. Streams of black blood flowed from multiple wounds. Given a few moments, it might be felled, Alaria thought. But with the axe-wielding ogre closing, Goren and his man might not have a few more moments.

 “_Allhankowsh!”  _The force of the bolt shifted Alaria back in the air a foot or two, but the lightning streaked over the heads of all of the combatants to slam into the chest of the ogre with the axe.

Thunder crashed over the field and melded with bellows of pain from the ogre captain as he was pushed back a few steps.

 The creature doubled over for a moment and then looked up. The plainly crafted metal plate that was strapped to its chest was blackened and wisps of smoke drifted off the monster from several locations.  The ogre opened its mouth and roared across the field, an earth-shaking ear-splitting roar. Then he began to charge, straight for Alaria.

 
Braddok had made a solid strike against the club-wielding ogre and was confident as he wove and dodged the creature’s somewhat clumsy (thought Braddok) swings. The next swing of his blade struck squarely into thick flabby yellow-orange hide of the creature’s waist. 

 The ogre howled and while Braddok managed to avoid the swinging club, he did not avoid the fist (nearly half the size he was) that followed it.

 The blow knocked Braddok squarely from his feet, to roll a few feet in the field. He reached for the morningstar on his belt, as his sword had fallen from his grasp. There was a pull in his side, where he’d been bruised the night before, and pain shot through him. Scrambling to fight through the pain and get on his feet, the swordsman looked up to see the ogre smiling a yellowed but toothy smile full of jagged sharp teeth and canines more akin to fangs or tusks than teeth. Then Braddok thought he saw a flaring of green light at ground level.

 The ogre lifted its club over its head and before it could make its killing blow, vines and roots and even gigantic blades of grass whipped up out of the ground. 

The assaulting greenery wrapped themselves around the ogre’s arms and twined around its legs. Vines strapped themselves around the creature’s torso, like a harness, from behind. In fact, all of the entangling shoots seemed to be from behind the monster and strained to pull it back, away from Braddok.

 The ogre bellowed and twisted.

One or two of the vines snapped at its protests. They were quickly replaced by new growth.

 Braddok got to his feet and reset his shield. He glanced behind him to see Fen, spear butt firmly planted on the ground, leaning and pulling back towards himself, as if the spear were a rusty lever he was trying to throw. There was an obvious strain on the half-elf's face.

 “Don’t look at me! Hit it!” the carrot-topped druid yelled at the dark-haired swordsman. “Hurry!”

 Braddok surged forward, morningstar in hand, and landed it it squarely on the ogre’s abdomen. And again.

 With another bellow, the monster tore free of its binding flora. 

 Fen was sent thrown back, as if struck physically himself. He landed heavily on his back and though winded, managed to regain his feet in time to engage another goblin with a hand axe that had been trying to sneak up on him.

 Braddok continued to strike and weave, paying closer attention to the creature’s fist. Another strike or two and, it seemed the ogre might fall. Unfortunately, the pain in his side was hindering his maneuverability. Braddok had the feeling that if the ogre landed another blow on him, it might be his last.

 Then all of the action on the battlefield seemed to stop for a moment again, as all attention went to the streak of lightning, followed by the mind-shaking ferocious response and thundering footsteps as the ogre with the battle axe raced across the field toward...

 “Alaria!” Braddok called out as his eyes fell on her.  

 **SLAM**

 Braddok saw stars as his shield flew from his arm, nearly ripped in two further than the swordsman himself flew. The snaps and pops told his heavily dazed mind, even before the pain arrived, that his arm was certainly broken in multiple places.

 Braddok looked up, vision blurred, head ringing, he swung weakly at the ogre’s nearest leg. Sadly, it was not as near as it seemed to him. 

 
Alaria heard her name but could not tear her eyes from the monstrous form charging her.

 For a moment, there was a small blur of bright red and green in front of the charging ogre.

 A ball of green light hit the creatures face and seemed to produce a small cloud of greenish gas. 

 The ogre halted momentarily, sniffed, sneezed and waved the gas away from his face. It bellowed again and with a single STOMP, there was only a red splatter where the small blur of red and green had been.

 “Gnobby!!! Noooooo!!!!” cried Haelan out beneath her.

 Coerraine moved between her and the ogre. A single stab with his spear later the paladin was swatted aside like a fly by a backhanded fist.

 Almost instinctively, she thrust the hand holding the orb forward and in an instant wind howled all around her and rushed to meet the axe-wielding ogre. The winds rose and rose, soon an ongoing howl roared over the field of battle.

 The monster struggled against the wind. Blades and axes and arrows, goblins and zarx (some still living) all shot at the creature with hurricane force.

 Coerraine grabbed Haelan who was about to be swept up off of his own feet and laid on top of him in the flattened grasses which were also beginning to rip up from their roots. He drew his broadsword and struck it deep into the ground, holding onto the teary-eyed daelvar with his other.

 The ogre captain howled and swatted in defiance, but he was, effectively, stopped from advancing.

 Alaria looked to her right and though she could not hear its dying roar, saw the ogre go down between the two remaining Bridgewater guards. Her mind began to burn, the strain of maintaining this much wind this powerfully was definitely not something she could do for long.

 Below her, she heard a strained battlecry and vaguely saw…Duor?!

 The dwarf hobbled up from behind (and beneath) the hovering magess, his dagger drawn and glowing with its eerie green fiery light.  Duor jumped into the howling gale and was immediately caught in its winds and flung.

In what looked like a streak of green flame, the dwarf met the ogre’s belly, beneath the scorched breastplate, and sunk his dagger into the mottled yellow flesh nearly up to his elbow.

 The monster ceased fighting the winds. The axe fell from his hand, being blown a few feet behind him and was, himself, easily blown over.

 Alaria stared agape for a moment before realizing that Duor was grasping for dear life to his dagger’s handle in the hurricane force winds. She settled her mind and the winds stayed their terrible force, though continued to roar around the scene and maintain Alaria’s levitating.

 She scanned the battlefiend in time to see just under a dozen goblins, a few still on zarx were being run down by the remaining guardsmen.

She also saw the ogre Braddok had been fighting…It was raising its club over its head and roaring at the ground.

 Fen was faltering, attempting to stave off three goblins surrounding him.

 But where was Braddok?

 The ogre’s club came down with bone-crushing force that Alaria felt more than heard. 

  Alaria’s eyebrows rose slightly. Then slightly more. A shock that was filling her brain slowly, painfully slowly, began to give way to understanding.   

  Alaria heard her heartbeat in her ears. One….two…no…    

_“ALLHANKOWSH!”_  Alaria called out. The mighty mystic phrase thundered over the noise of the battlefield and howling winds that held Alaria aloft.

  Around the tip of the ever so slender and delicate looking white wand, the air crackled and sparked before a devastating bolt of lightning streaked through the melee. The wand itself crackled and snapped. Alaria watched as veins of light appeared along the wand’s length. With a final snap and static discharge, the wand splintered into a thousand shards and fell from her hand.  

  The final use of her mentor’s gift was far from in vain. Goblins and zarx that did not simply fall in blackened charred lumps flew in various directions. Some were lifted and thrown farther from the gale that had engulfed the fighting. Her primary target, a wounded but still savage ogre, also fell from the blast.    

  In the wake of the thunder from the bolt, the battle fell silent. No foes remained moving. No survivors to retreat.    

  The gale that surrounded Alaria, and indeed the whole battlefield, subsided quickly. The R’Hathi mage gently returned to earth as the winds calmed. When her feet touched ground her knees buckled and she simply crumpled into a heap.    

  The crystal orb rolled from her other hand, her fingers gone as limp as the rest of her. Its swirling cloudy inner light faded from view.    

  Exhaustion claimed her clouded mind as tears flowed down her cheeks freely. Somewhere some piece of her thought how pathetic her lack of self-control and unseemly her emotional outburst must seem to the remaining onlookers.  

  She didn’t care.    

  Alaria lifted her eyes to the body-strewn field. They came to rest on the sundered shield. Her vision blurred and there was a dull awareness of her head hitting the ground before darkness claimed her.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria closed her eyes and smiled at the wind blowing passed her. It whipped her hair behind her and she could feel the skirt of her gown rustling around her legs. It felt so nice. Cooling and energizing all at once, like the power of the orb flowing through her once more. Se was one with the wind….One with the energies of the Mysteries…floating…flying…moving at a great speed. 

 She staggered a bit, almost losing balance. It felt as if she would lose her footing. But she wasn’t standing…or…

 Alaria’s eyes snapped open. The wind still blew passed her. She was still moving but nearly lost her balance again as a she looked down in wonder to find she was standing on the back of a giant snow white owl. 

 She looked around her. The “sky” around her was just a blur of shades of grey. Beneath her, Alaria could only see streaks of browns and greys and greens, an indiscernable landscape whizzing under her and the curious creature on which she now was conscious of trying to balance upon.

  As she balanced and watched in utter shock, the owl’s head rotated 180 degrees to look back at her.

 With a “Hoo-hoot”, it pitched at an angle and Alaria was falling off of the bird head first.

 She fell through streaks of greys and blue until, suddenly, her feet were on the ground. She was standing in a field. It was…yes…it was the field outside of the gatehouse of Bridgetower. The whole landscape was the same, though all muted in shades of grey. 

 Looking to her northeast, she saw a huge steep mountain peak that she had not noticed before. 
 No, thought Alaria, not “not noticed.” The mountain simply was not there/did not exist in the real world.

 “What is going on?” she wondered aloud. Where was she?

 Scannign the field again, there were no goblins or bodies or indication of a struggle of any kind. Then her eyes fell on a lump of yellowish fur. It stuck out as much for being “in color” against the drab surrounding as it did for being the only object in the field.

 A head popped out of the bundle…a ferret’s black-masked head.

 Buttercream! Alaria realized.

 It twitched its nose and whiskers once and then suddenly lurched at Alaria. Its base did not move, but it stretched the length of the field and shoot passed Alaria’s right…then her left.

 In an instant, she was wrapped in coils of yellowish brown fur by the creature whose front half strength stories high to tower above the magess. She was huge! 

 The ferret crossed its black-socked forepaws and shook its head down at Alaria.

 “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” Buttercream began. Then, with a voice Alaria knew…a man’s voice? The voice spoke in a clear even tone, very matter-of-fact and devoid of emotion.

 “He’s dead because of you, you know.” Buttercream said.

 Alaria realized it was the voice of her former mentor, Vertior. 

 “Master Vertior?” Alaria said meekly. “But…but the ogre…”

 Before the wizardess from R’Hath could explain herself, the yellowish fur…the whole ferret!... began to morph into a golden scaled form. Its head became that of a dragon and two huge wings spread out from either side of its back, shrouding Alaria from the everpresent light of the “sky” with their shadows.

 The length of coils around her turned from fur to golden scales and tightened. Alaria shifted uncomfortably. Her arms were now effectively pinned and her gaze went skyward to the huge dragon’s face. In its foreclaws it head a giant blue diamond-shaped gemstone.

 The dragon spread it’s fore-arms and the blue diamond hung there a moment before seeming to blur and shift, other gems breaking off from it until four stones hung there, rotating slowly. One was the blue stone (though much smaller), one a n oval bright red and multi-facetted jewel, one was a crystal orb (which Alaria readily recognized as the Air Orb she possessed) and one a grey stone, bespeckled with red and green.

 Then, in the center of the rotating stones a light shone, like the sun. When Alaria’s eyes adjusted to the initial glare, another orb floated in the midst of the other four. Much larger than her own and swirling with green and yellow colors.

 Before she could bring herself to say anything, the air…in fact the whole landscape around her darkened and she heard a rumble of thunder. As the entire panorama was slipping into the deep grey of a late evening, the dragon’s wings fell off, the dragon head became more serpent than dragon and the scales dimmed until they were the pitchest black.

 She was aware that the entire scene was now a flat black, the giant black serpent only barely discernable in the darkness. Its red glowing eyes looked down on her. There were no scales now, only darkness…It was a huge shadow snake, Alaria realized.

 The creature opened its huge maw and dove down toward Alaria. Despite herself, she flinched and shut her eyes tight awaiting the creature’s fangs to dig into her.

 Then nothing.

 She opened her eyes. She was still in the field, looking as if the snake had never been there….and that high mountain now sat beyond the ridge at the far end of the field.

 Then an arm was slung over her shoulder. She jumped and turned to see Braddok leaning over/on her. The handsome swordsman smiled at her with his bright blue eyes.

 Alaria found herself smiling warming back at the man…and blushing.

 The smile turned into a leer, just as when they’d first met and he leaned in close to her face.

 Braddok whispered into her ear, “We’re going to be very good friends.”

 As she opened her mouth to say…what?...I’m sorry?...Yes we will?...Alaria did not know. What came out was, “Braddok, I….”

 Before she could utter a syllable more, the swordsman from Denil’s face melted. His whole body melted before her. Skin, muscle, exposed bone…the man just began dripping, flowing down off of her.

 Alaria screamed and covered her face with her hands as sobs came wracking up through her.

 No! No…I didn’t mean…

 “Alaria?” came Haelan’s small voice.

 Alaria removed the hands from her face to see the daelvar standing before her. He held a stone bowl. The same grey bespeckled stone she had just witnessed hovering in the circle of gems.

 “Haelan.  Didn’t mean to…” the wizardess managed to get out before the halfling interrupted her.

 “We have to go, Alaria. You have to come back.” The Halfling said.

 “What?” she responded, utterly confused.

 Instead of responded, the daelvar began to grow and shape and melt and rise above her. The Hilltender morphed into a huge form that coalesced into a giant version of the ogre with the battleaxe.

 Then it was away at the far end of the field from her. It began to roar and charge.

 Instinctively, Alaria reached for her spell component pouches. They were gone, fading away even as her hand reached into them. The pouch with the orb! She got the same result. Her staff!....Where was her staff?! She had no defense and the monster was barreling down upon her. 

 Its thundering roar and earth-shaking footsteps blocked out all other sound.

 Alaria threw up her arms as the creature was about to pound her to mush…or slice her in two…Alaria knew nor cared which. But it was what she deserved, she heard from somewhere…was that Vertior’s voice again?

 All at once, the huge ogre burst into a cloud of bright green butterflies and passed harmlessly around the terrified and defeated magess.

 As she watched the fluttering creatures “pop” out of existence all around her, a bright green light across the field caught her attention.

 There was Rhea standing upon the far ridge in her high-collared cloak and bright green gown. Elegant. Statuesque. The diadem on her brow glittered brightly.

 “Enough of this Magess Alaria of Ablidon. You are needed.” Rhea’s voice thundered through her consciousness though the woman’s mouth did not open.

 “Rhea. What’s happening? Where are…” Alaria began. Again she was cut off.

 “You must awaken. Wake up NOW!” Rhea commanded.

 Alaria again threw her arms up in a feeble attempt to shield herself from the explosion of bright emerald green light.


 Alaria’s eyes snapped open. She bolted to sit upright in…a bed?

 She looked at the room she found herself in. She was in a comfortable bed with soft down pillows and linens. A length of white fabric lay across her lap, indeed the whole length of the wide bed. It was stitched with patterns of thorny vines and roses in various states of opening. White roses. There was a large armoire against the wall. Light from a multitude of candles placed on the small table beside the bed and a dwindling fire in a mantled fireplace cast the room in flickering oranges and shadow. A plush deep chair sat beside the fire. An old woman in light robes and a veil embroidered with a similar pattern of twining thorny vine and rose motif sat in the chair. She calmly set down the stitching she’d obviously been working with into her lap and looked at her.

 “Ah. Praise Gilea. Welcome back to the land of the living, child.” The old woman said with a wrinkled smile.


----------



## wolff96

So did Braddok and Gnobby meet their ends in that fight?  Sounds rough!

It's a shame, too, I really liked Braddok.


----------



## steeldragons

wolff96 said:


> So did Braddok and Gnobby meet their ends in that fight?  Sounds rough!




They did, in fact, meet their ends.

Braddok went into the battle not at full hit points. Haelan had spent 2 Cure Lights on Duor and only one on Braddok. Then he cast Bless at the start of battle...which had run out by the time anyone was getting squashed. He was saving his last spell (presumably a Cure) for after the battle.

He did great...and Fen helped!...but in the end, just didn't have the HP to go toe-to-toe with an ogre (I think he started combat with, something like 22 HP). It was extremely close. If the ogre had missed and Braddok had gotten another attack (that hit) he probably could have finished the ogre.

But the dice does what the dice does.  

For Gnobert....the moral of the story is, "A 1st level gnome illusionist/thief with no armor and a mediocre Dex should not get in between an ogre and his prey." Size benefits can only do so much against really good dice...in other words, roll of 19=*SPLAT!*

Valiant to be sure! A most noble end, trying to interfere to protect the magess. But not the wisest of moves. I suspect the player was bolstered by his excellent performance with the troll the night before and just figured "troll=ogre."



wolff96 said:


> It's a shame, too, I really liked Braddok.




Well, my most loyal and prolific of posters (don't STOP!), the finality of it remains to be seen....I mean, not for me, of course. The thread is certainly not a "play-by-play." But to tell you here, now, would be "spoiling." 

For what it's worth...I liked him too. Simple but solid character. Good backstory. Understated personality but definitely a presence and IN the game. Most certainly capable...We'll just have to wait n' see. 

I'll also take this opportunity to encourage any other readers (first, THANK YOU!) to throw in their two coppers!

Did you like Braddok too? Gnobert? Anyone? The story? The writing? Anything...don't be shy. I LOVE feedback!

Cheers and happy gaming to you all.
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

*And then there's Midge.*

“Be at ease, child. You are safe…in Bridgetower.” The woman said calmly. 

She rose from her seat and put down her needlework. The elderly woman shuffled over next to the beside and without Alaria’s consent took her arm by the wrist and held it for a moment. Then reached over and felt her forehead. Alaria thought it strange but was not inclined to back away. The old woman continued.

“I am Revered Daughter Midgalaine, but everyone here just calls me ‘Midge’, as may you.” She turned to the door that creaked open slowly, a younger girl (no older than 17 summers, thought Alaria) in plain white robes and veil was coming in with a tray of various containers.

_<Author/DM’s note: can’t do the accent right, here, but that should be read as “REV-er-ed” Daughter, not “rah-VEERD”. That is all. continue.__>_

 The younger woman looked in surprise at the sitting wizard and turned to Midge with a smile. “Blessed be the Merciful Mother, she’s awake!” The girl said.

 “Yes, indeed, she is Kathaine. Now, go fetch the Hilltender. He was most insistent.” Midge ordered the acolyte.

 “Right away, Revered Daughter.” Kathaine replied. She set the tray of various healing powders and herbs, bandages and a bowl of clean water down on the small side table next to the bed and hurried out of the room in a flowing blur of white.

 “Haelan is here too?” Alaria said. Her mind still a bit foggy. “I must get dressed.” Alaria tried to slide out of the bed but her body felt heavy as stone. She managed to get one leg on the floor to find she had no strength to stand up on it. Midge hurried around the bed to the side Alaria was trying to get out.

 “No, no, no. My dear. You will still be weak. You must stay abed for a bit longer. Really, I must insist.” Midge said soothingly.

 Alaria had little choice but to comply, she simply could not _get_ out of the bed.

 “You said Haelan is here. What of the rest of my company?” Then Alaria remembered. Fear and shock crossed over her face. “Braddok! What off Braddok? Did he…”

 Midge’s face became solemn, her eyes downcast. “I think it be more fitting that I let your friends tell you all that’s happened while you slept.” 
The old woman’s kindly wrinkled face smiled slightly. 

“You just rest now. They’ll be here soon, I’m sure. T’was days before we could get the daelvar out of here in the first place.” She said lightheartedly and chuckled to herself. “You do seem to engender a great deal of loyalty from those boys.

 “T’was a grand thing you did for those people, my dear. Surely you are blessed by the Merciful Mother. The ‘Tower’s been all abuzz about it and the heroes that helped defend us. Sergeant Goren has been in to see you every day…” Midge was cut off before she could attempt to liven Alaria’s spirit anymore.

 “What do you mean ‘All that’s happened?’ _‘Days’_ before you could get Haelan to leave? How long have I been here?” Alaria said in surprise.

 Midge busied herself fluffing up Alaria’s pillows so the magess would be a bit more elevated. She then began reverently pulling off the rose-embroidered sash from across Alaria’s lap and folding it carefully. 

Without looking up from her task she said “Four nights. Tis about midday on the fifth day now.” As casually as if she’d just said “the sky is blue.” 

 Another acolyte now entered the room and again gave praise to Gilea for the magess’ recovery. Midge instructed the girl to open the shutters on the one narrow window in the room. “Let in some light and fresh air.” The acolyte scrambled to comply with her superior’s request.

 “Five days?!” Alaria finally said, incredulous at the calm casual manner of the priestesses who both looked up at her with eyes of surprise. The acolyte looked to Midge, bowed her head silently and swept out of the room. “I’ve been laying here unconscious for five days?!” Alaria said again.

 Midge looked at her, the same as if she’d just heard “the sky is blue”, “Yes, child, that’s right. From what we were told by the Hilltender, you exerted yourself quite a bit in the battle.”

She opened the armoire and tucked the folded sash up on a upper shelf. Alaria could see her robes hanging and pouches and satchel on the floor of the large wardrobe. Midge continued over her shoulder.

“You were brought into the tower, as were all of the wounded, and we tended to you. Your body was fine, save a couple of bumps n’ bruises. But you wouldn’t awaken.

"You were in the ‘spell sleep.’ I’ve seen it before, tending to the magicians in the Lordmage’s service. Your mind was exhausted from delving into those arcane energies you wizard’s are so dependent on.  I tell you it was all we could do to keep the halfling from trying to summon avatars of his Hillmother to bring you back.” Midge chuckled again.

 Alaria was curious and skeptical at the old healer’s tale. She had been raised in R’Hath, Land of Mages, trained for over a decade in the intricacies of working with arcane energies and she had never heard of this ‘spell sleep.’ She knew of the exhaustion, of course, when her energies were depleted for the day or she hadn’t had enough rest to replenish them. But nothing to put her into a coma for a week! 

 Before she could think on it any further, the door to the chamber flung open with a bang.

 “Alaria? Oh it’s true! You’re awake!” Haelan said, a ball of daelvar energy, as he bounded into the room and up to Alaria’s beside.

“Thank Faerantha! I’ve prayed so hard for your return. Oh,” the hilltender turned to Midge, “and thank Gilea, too! Midge and her sacred Daughters were so wonderful to you. Kathaine’s been teaching me about some of the herbs and incenses they used to try to revive you. Oh, Alaria so much has happened, you won’t believe it!” the halfling leapt up half on the bed and flung his arms around the surprised mage.

 She wrapped a stiff arm around the little hairfoot. Before he could begin his next assault on her ears and mind, Alaria said quietly into Haelan’s straw blond hair. “Haelan, where’s Braddok?”

 The halfling returned his bushy-topped feet to the floor and looked up at Alaria with a face that could only be described as a punched puppy. His bottom lip quivered a bit. His eyes, almost immediately, glassed over with tears that he refused to let fall. He’d done more than his share of crying the past few days. “Alaria, Braddok is gone. He didn’t make it.” Haelan sniffed hard to hold back the tears. “Neither did Gnobby.”

 Just then the doorway was filled with a large figure in a blue tabard. The moustached man had a bright smile on his middling-aged face. There was a shining helm tucked under one arm. A scabbard hung on his hip. “So it is true. The sleeping beauty has awakened.” Sergeant Goren said. He looked at the healer, still smiling. “Old Midge, you’ve done your goddess proud once again. Praise Gilea. I shall make tribute to her shrine this very day when my rounds are completely.”

 “Oh Sergeant.” Midge chuckled like a school girl. “You do honor to an old woman who is only the Merciful Mother’s humble servant.”

 “Sergeant Goren, I understand you’ve been visiting me in my…illness. I thank you for your kindness and the hospitality of Bridgetower.” Alaria said with all due formality, but sincerity.

 The man-at-arms smiled and nodded a curt bow to her. “The thanks is ours to give, Magess Alaria. Were it not for the intervention of you and your company, my men and I_, all,_ and probably all of those refugees would have met with slaughter.”

 “Yes, I am remembering more now.” Alaria said. “I am terribly sorry for the loss of your men.” Alaria mentally steadied herself from letting her mind go to Braddok and her own loss.

 Goren nodded solemnly, “We both have losses to mourn, Magess. But they all fell in a noble fight, gleaming with their honor. We mourn, but we must also praise their sacrifice.”

 Alaria nodded a thankful response before the sergeant made a deep bow of courtesy and regretfully excused himself from the chamber to go make his rounds on the wall.

 He did add, as he was leaving, “I do hope, Magess, that we will have occasion to sup some night while you remain in Bridgetower. When you are strong enough, of course.”

 Alaria grinned politely and nodded. 

 When he’d left, Midge looked at the mage and the halfling and bowed her own head. “I’ll set Kathaine to bring you up some food and drink. Our prayers may keep you alive, but they are not exactly ‘filling’. And you will need some real food to regain your strength.” Midge smiled and winked at Alaria. “I’ll leave you two alone to catch up and keep away any other visitors. You’re quite the hero these days, you know.” With that the old woman left and quietly closed the door behind her.

 Halean looked up at Alaria and smiled. Then his eyes shifted to the floor. “Nice bed, isn’t it?” he said to avoid the obvious conversation.

 “Haelan, tell me about Braddok.” Alaria said.

 “Well,” the daelvar began uncomfortably, “there’s not a lot to tell. He fell to the ogre before you blasted it with your wand. In the aftermath, more defenders from the tower arrived and helped load up all of us, any wounded. They piled up the goblins and zarks and burned them. Burned the ogres where they laid since none of them could more them. Oh, Devrim’s getting apprenticed by…”

 “Haelan. Braddok, please.” Alaria interjected.

 “Oh, right. Well, the Daughters of Gilea did what they could to…you know…put him back together, so to speak. But he had no life left within him.” Haelan’s eyes again went to the floor.

 “They summoned the _Shaaliir <“SHAY-ah-leer”, priests of the goddess of death, Desri> _from somewhere in Daenfrii to come do the rites and lay their men to rest. They arrived two days ago and there was a ceremony yesterday for the fallen Bridgetower guards.” Haelan stopped.

 “And Braddok?” Alaria asked.

 Haelan burst into tears. “He’s still down in the chamber the Shaaliir were using for preparations. Oh Alaria, it’s horrible, like a dungeon. They asked us what we wanted to do, but I refused to let him be buried while you were…you know…not here.” With a sniffle the tears stopped. “Coerraine backed me up, too. I was surprised even Duor agreed to wait…something about honoring a fallen warrior in dwarven style. I don’t know what that means. But, well, he’s downstairs.”

 Alaria wasn’t sure how to react. “A week? Oh no, Haelan, he should not be left to rot in such a manner.”

 “Oh no no!” Haelan interrupted. “That’s what the Shaaliir did, since we weren’t having a cerremony right away. He’s under their special spells to keep him just as he was until we decided what to do. I spoke with the head death-priest, just this morning though. Dolorn, his name is. Fine fellow, actually, despite the creepy death-thing. But anyway, he said they could not wait indefinitely and we would need a decision about what to do with Braddok’s body by sundown today.”

 “What to do with it? Well, I suppose a funeral pyre is the respectable hero’s way, isn’t it?” Alaria offered.

 “Actually, Alaria, we were thinking…you know, if you wanted to…or didn’t mind…that…um..well…”the Hilltender was stuttering and stumbling word after word.

 “What Haelan?!” Alaria finally burst in exasperation.

 “We’d bring him back.” Haelan snapped meekly.

 Alaria was aghast and agape. Bring him back?...Could they do that?..._Who_ could do that?...She had heard in legends and tales of heroes returning from the grave. In the Saga of the Heroes of the Thorn, the Sainted Daughter of Gilea returned the swordsman Elibon from the grave…

 “Is that possible?” 

 Before Haelan could explain a commotion came from the hallway.

 “Whaddaya mean privacy?! I’m a hero of Bridgetower too, yeh know! Is she awake or not?” Duor’s voice came booming through the closed door.

 With a look from Alaria, Haelan went over to the door and opened it a quietly. 

 “It’s all right, Rever…er…Midge.” Alaria called.

 Duor grumbled under his beard as he entered the room, something about a “crone” was all Haelan or Alaria could make out. Then he was all smiles. “Well there now, boss lady. I knew yeh weren’t down fer the count.  Yeh wouldn’t believe it if I told yeh…I wouldn’t believe if I told me! Heh heh heh. We’ve been named Defenders o’ the Tower and everything! And I will say, these folks of Daenfrii know how to treat their heroes.” The dwarf puffed out his chest and stroked his beard in self-satisfaction.

 Coerraine entered behind him with a quiet apology to the Revered Daughter of Gilea. He smiled and nodded to Alaria. “Praise Celradorn and Gilea you have come back to us, magess. There is much to discuss.”

 Alaria nodded and smiled at the Goldshield.

 “And there’s one more thing…” Haelan mentioned as a trimmed form flowed into the doorway. Hair of flowing pale grey flickered almost metallic in the sunlight streaming into the chamber.

 Large deeply violet eyes sparkled above a broad grin on a face of chiseled unworldly handsome features.

 Alaria’s eyes went wide as the figure moved into the room with telltale elegance and grace.

 “…Erevan’s here too!” Haelan finished with excitement.


----------



## steeldragons

*Rangers and Captains and Lap-Drakes? Oh my!*

 “_You are looking well, Alaria Staver of Ablidon. It seems I have missed quite a lot of excitement in my absence.”<translated from elvin>_ Erevan said with a forced grin.

 “_It seems you have, Erevan Ryvsorai Aiiri._ You have been missed. It is good to see you, again.”<_first part translated from elvin_> Alaria answered in near-perfect accent.

 The reunion was bittersweet with the question of Braddok hanging over the room. But Alaria moved the conversation along and received all that Haelan could tell about the passed almost-week.

 Two days after they’d battled the goblin and ogre party, reinforcements began arriving at Bridgetower, including a contingent from Celradorn's temple in the Vale of the Dragonmage.

 One of the few Redstar Knights was a “Lightlance”, the rank above Coerraine, and had taken to training the paladin to increase his abilities.

 The whole party had been awarded accommodation in the great tower since Coerraine and Haelan had informed the guards of the "dark wizard who was after them.” Seemed the great tower, though not the whole keep, was guarded by mystical barriers from prying magical eyes.

 Erevan had returned two days passed, carried there by one of his “_Kiiri Eres’kai” __<translation from elvin: “cousin of my house”_> whose mount, Haelan excitedly explained, was a giant hawk that talked! This other elf cousin was apparently an special elvin knight of some sort who had come to discuss the goblin army threat and had left that morning before Alaria awoke.

 They had, apparently, been honored as “Defenders of the Tower” and Duor had thoroughly been enjoying the prestigious rewards of such an honor.

 The lady of the Tower, the captain’s wife, was already preparing a feast for the following night in their (and Sergeant Goren and his men, along with those lost) honor. The lady, Elhianne, had been given the news of Alaria’s recovery as she had been entertaining an audience with Haelan and Coerraine.

 What little time Haelan could be forced away from Alaria’s bedside were being spent learning new healing techniques from the Daughter of Gilea and praying/attending Braddok’s body with the Shaaliir.

 Most of the refugees had continued on to the Vale, fearing themselves too close to any potential conflict in the border keep. But the farmer Maracus, Devrim and a few others had remained, in hope of Alaria’s recovery.

 “And, it seems Devrim has been taken on as apprentice to Bridgetower’s resident…what was it?...Arcanist?...their wizard. He’s very excited about it and praises you for his courage in the battle and his new-found desire to furthering his…er, well, both of your…craft. Isn’t that wonderful?” Haelan concluded with his characteristic smile.

 Alaria grinned at the news and was glad to hear of it. Then she asked for some time to dress and ready herself to leave her sickbed. 

 The men graciously conceded, Coerraine had to get back to his training in any event. They all agreed to meet in two hours’ time.

 It didn’t take Alaria an hour to gather up her strength to wash and dress herself. 

 She declined aid from the ever-helpful Daughter acolyte who returned with a serving tray of fruits, bread and cheese and a pitcher of water mixed with wine and spices (“to increase your vitality”, said the acolyte before exiting with a nodding bow) which she left in the ante-chamber. Alaria ignored her cautious warning about “over-tiring herself.”

 Alaria exited the bedchamber, needing to lean heavily on her staff. No wonder wizard’s all have staves, she thought and smiled to herself. Outside the bedroom was a nicely appointed sitting room with another fireplace, round table and comfortable chairs. She poured herself some wine from the pitcher on the table and enjoyed the coolness and tingle as it trickled down her long-parched throat.

 The wizardess made her way to the hallway to see the Revered Daughter, Midge, having a conversation with...a satyr?

 The goat-legged man stood as tall as the old woman. He wore a breast plate of leather set with large oval metal studs and similarly studded leather “plates” upon his thighs and forearms. The satyr wore a cloak of deep blue and turned immediately to look at the mage. He had a head of chestnut brown hair with small horns, curved back, poking through the wavy locks and a trimmed goatee hugged his strong squared chin. 

 “Ah! Mistress Alaria. I am so glad to see you up and about. I was just relaying a message to Old Midge that the Captain would like to see you when you were feeling able. Able enough, I see.” The satyr piped up as he rushed down the hall. He walked eagerly down the hall with arm outstretched in greeting. His cloven hooves clip-clopping on the stone floor as he approached.

 “Festus, my lady.” The satyr said with a deep bow as he took her hand. “Festus Hornshod, ranger of the Tower and Captain Rynthis’s right hand man.” The satyr looked down at his lower half and then back up at Alaria with a devious grin. 

 “Well, half-man.” The satyr winked and moved closer, his horns curved slightly back, but all in all, the satyr only slightly shorter than Alaria, herself. “But all satyr.” He leered again.

 Alaria drew back and looked down the hall at Midge whose eyes were rolling in her head. “Very nice to make your acquaintance Ranger Hornshod.”

 “Excellent! Shall we to the Captain, then? This way. Follow me.” the satyr smiled. 

 Alaria found it uncanny how the goat-man’s face changed so swiftly from that of a sex-starved sailor to one of sincere servitude. “Well, Ranger Hornshod..I, uh…” Alaria began.

 “Festus, I think the lady Alaria has had enough excitement for one day.” Midge broke in as she shuffled down the hall to where they stood. 

 Merciful Mother, Alaria thought, bless your Revered Daughter.

 “Perhaps, you can tell Rynthis she will meet him tomorrow.” Midge continued.

 “No. It’s alright Revered Daughter.” Alaria composed herself. She was weak, but not incapacitated. Alaria did not wish to insult their benefactor by waiting longer than need be. “Would your lord be available in…what time_ is_ it?”

 “Nearing twelve bells, my lady.” Festus cheerfully told her.

 “Very good, I will come to him at half-passed twelve bells…if it pleases him.” Alaria suggested.

 “It will very much indeed, my lady. I will carry the news, myself, forthwith.” Festus bowed again and took his leave. His clip-clopping hooves echoed down the hall long after he had turned the corner at the end of the hall.  

 When he’d gone, she thanked Midge for her help and inquired of the whereabouts of the tower’s resident mage.

 “Eager to get back into your studies?” Midge offered. Without awaiting an answer, she added, “Always the way with the magicians. Tis a good sign, child. Exercising the mind with aid the body.” She beckoned Alaria to follow her and led her down the hall and up some stairs.

 When they’d climbed two flights, Midge brought her down another hall to a large dark wooden doorway. 

 “ Stenthil always takes his lunch in the library.” Midge offered. “He practically sleeps here.” The old priestess chuckled lightly. “I’ll send one of the serving girls to come gather you.”

 “My thanks, Midge, but don’t trouble the servants. I will find my way.” Alaria said.

 “As you wish.” The priestess nodded a goodbye and headed back for the stairs they had just climbed.

 Alaria opened the large door. Goddess, it was an effort. Her strength had definitely not returned fully.
 
 When she entered, Alaria felt, immediately “at home.”
 
 The room, which apparently took up most of the floor, had high ceilings and rows and rows of shelves stacked with scrolls and books. The scent of parchment filled the room. A proper library, Alaria thought. Here in this border fort of all places. Well, Alaria reminded herself, this _was_ the realm of the Dragonamge. She supposed she should not be surprised.

 She made her way down the center aisle which seemed to open in the center of the room to a space among the stacks which held a long dark wooden table and several chairs. Multiple tomes lay open across the table as did wells of ink and writing plumes. The entire area lit by a bright chandelier that glowed from puffballs of even yellow-white light.

 Alaria perused the open books, being sure not to touch anything. The few she saw, that she could read without magical assistance, held material on goblins, the making of potions, maps of the area and other things. One word caught her eye and attention, immediately, a name among the other obscured letters, _Sharzaak._

 Alaria placed a hand on the book and then flinched away as a section of the dark grained tabletop seemed to move toward her arm.

 A moment later, she saw it was not the table itself, but the form of a creature, dark brown with veins of black matching the table’s grain.
 
 A tapered tongue flicked out of a reptilian shaped snout as the snout, then the whole head, then the whole body shifted from dark browns to bright teal.
 
 A dragon-looking creature with small wings folded against its back, about the length of a house cat, came into focus and cooed a warbling sound at the wizardess.

 A lap-drake! Alaria thought in surprise. For the first time in what seemed an age, Alaria thought of her home. Her mother kept two of the small draconic creatures. 

 Alaria lowered her hand tentatively and the creature nuzzled its head under her open palm and made a rumbling purring sound. She watched as the creature's scales shifted, starting at its nose and cascading to the tip of its tail, from teal to a shimmery violet that matched Alaria’s gown.

 Just then, a man emerged from one of the other aisles, an old bearded man in a pale grey robe and silvery skullcap that reflected the puffball light. His nose was in a book until he was almost at the table.

 “What is it now, Amarys? Lunch will be here shortly.” the man said. He looked up in obvious surprise at the young woman standing beside the table petting his lap-drake.

 “Ah! Magess Alaria, I presume. Well met, well met. I heard you were back on your feet. Old Midge is a wonder, is she not? I trust Amarys isn’t giving you any trouble?” 

 “Uh, well no, Master…um…Stenthil, is it? I trust I am not interrupting.” Alaria said apologetically.

 “Not at all. Not at all, child. Welcome. Welcome!” the old man began closing and stacking books to make a space in front of a chair. He gestured for Alaria to sit. “Sit. Amarys, get down! Sit, child. You must still be tired from so much time in bed.” The old bearded man chuckled and stroked his beard, more grey than its original blond. “Bit of a paradox, there, eh? Tired from being in bed? Heh heh.”

 Alaria sat and thanked the aging mage. Alaria smiled at the wizard’s jest.

 “Now, what can I do for you?” Stenthil said. Before Alaria could make a response, the wizard added, “And I must thank you for young Devrim. Quite a talent, that boy. Proving a most adequate apprentice.”

 Alaria opened her mouth to address the wizard, but was again cut off.

 “Of course, he’s only been helping me for three days. But still, doing very well. Very well.” He smiled and nodded approvingly.

 “Thank you, Master Stenthil. I fear Devrim may have exaggerated my role in his coming to you. Be that as it may, I am glad to hear you approve of him. I do think he will try very hard.” Alaria finally said.

 “But to the purpose of my visit, I was wondering what you could tell me about the ‘spell sleep.’” She asked.

 “Ah. Well, my dear, it is one of the basics. I am shocked a full magess would have questions about it.” the old wizard began. Amarys climbed off the table into the old man’s lap and butted its head against the wizard’s arm. Stenthil began absently stroking the drake’s head without a thought. “Quite handy, really. Puts a creature into an arcane slumber. Its origins are attributed to the archmage Krendellak, if I’m not mistaken. Goes back to the very dawn of wizardry…Became a lich, you know, Krendellak. Nasty business, lichdom…Luckily, there was a band of heroes…” 

 “No!” Alaria interjected. “Uh, no, Master Stenthil. You misunderstand. Not the ‘Sleep spell’ the ‘spell sleep.’ The affliction from which Revered Daughter Midge said I suffered these passed days.” Alaria corrected.

 “Ahhhh. Well that’s something completely different, then. Isn’t it?” the old mage chuckled. “That makes more sense.”

  The old man gently placed the lap-drake back on top of the book that had mentioned Sharzaak and moved over to one of the rows of books. He took only a moment to search the titles and pulled one from the shelf. “Ah! Zarcha’s Afflictions of the Arcane. Excellent work. I’m surprised you haven’t read it.”

 The title name did ring a bell, thought Alaria. Zarcha was one of R’Hath’s ‘Founding Five’ archmagi. Had she studied it as a first year at the academy?

 “Here we are._’Dormistrius Arcanis_’ in the old Selurian.” The old mage began. “Our Revered Daughter uses the common colloquialism, not being versed in the Mysteries, of course.” Stenthil looked up from the page at Alaria with a knowing smile. He continued to read. “’When using an artifact beyond his capabilities or utilizing too many enchanted items at once, the magus may find themselves overwhelmed with the channeled energies and risks entering the dormistrius arcanis. It is an exhaustion of the mind and soul brought on by overtaxing the magus’ capacity to channel magical energies…’” Stenthil looked up from his recitation.

 Alaria nodded.

 The wizard continued, “…Known cases of the dormistrius arcanis include the effects of physical fatigue, to the point of paralysis of body and mind; entering a sleep from which one cannot be awakened lasting a matter of days to a matter of years, despite physical affliction, mundane or magical; and on rare or untreated occasion, death.” Stenthil closed the book.

 “Sounds like you went a bit too far into the lake, eh?” Stenthil smiled. 

 Alaria looked away and frowned. Stupid girl! An apprentice’s mistaken could have taken her life, and for all she knew nearly did! 

 “Ah, lunch.” Stenthil chirped.

 A servant entered the opening with a tray, similar to the one Alaria received earlier, though this had a plate of ham in addition to the bread and cheese.
 
 Alaria could not tell the contents of the pitcher.
 
 The servant dropped the tray, rather hastily and backed away from the table. His eyes darted about the table. He looked nervous, if not outright fearful.

 “Might I offer you a respite?” the wizard said to Alaria. “A bit of elfvine perhaps? One of the simple joys of a posting so near Miralosta.” He looked hopeful.

 The lap-drake, Amarys, lunged at the slab of ham, becoming again clearly visible in iridescent teal scales. The servant jumped and backed from the table a step.

 “Amarys, manners!” Stenthil chastised. The pseudo-dragon continued tearing into the ham without a glance.

 “No, thank you, Master Stenthil. I have imposed enough. I am grateful.” Alaria said, waving off the waiting servant boy. “If I might impose on your generosity for something else though.”

 “Mm?” the wizard replied, raising eyebrows over a simply carved wooden goblet that obscured the lower half of his face.

 “Might I use your library for some research? I have a good deal of transcribing and study to complete and I do not know how much time we might have access to such a well-stocked trove of information.”

 “Yes. Yes, of course, my dear. You are a Defender of Bridgetower, after all. You may come and go as you please.” Stenthil said gladly. “What else?”

 After a pause, Alaria continued, “Are you versed in the identification of enchanted items?” Alaria asked hesitantly. She did not wish to offend the kindly wizard, nor did she wish to overstay her welcome as the wizard took what she deemed an impolitely large bite of cheese.

 The wizard let out a full mouthed guffaw. “My dear, in my twenty years at this post in the service of our great lord, the Dragonmage, I have had little cause to do anything else!” He guffaw turned to a close-mouthed chuckle as he tore into the hunk of bread on the tray. “What can I help you with?”

 The R’Hathi wizardess pulled the air-controlling orb from her satchel. “This. This is the item I was using that cause my…dormistrius arcanis. I can tell you it is called the ‘Wind Soul’ and I am aware of its powers. But…I would be interested in knowing more.”

 “Of course you would, child. Heh heh. You are Magess, after all.” Stenthil replied, taking the orb from Alaria and looking at it pensively as he chewed on the crusty chewy bread. “The Wind Soul, eh? What secrets have you for old Stenthil?”

 “If you might conduct some research into its history. It’s background. I have cause to believe it an item of much greater use than controlling wind.” Alaria paused again. Would it be too much to ask?...“And I note you had something here about the dread-wyrm, Sharzaak. Anything you might find regarding these two things or any connection between them would be most appreciated.”

 Stenthil’s face, for the first time since they’d met, took on a note of seriousness. “Indeed?” The wizard looked to the orb then his grey eyes looked up from beneath grey bushy brows. “Most intriguing, don’t you think Amarys. I will see what I can find. With young Devrim, now, to relieve me of more…menial tasks, I can spend more time in my beloved library. I should be able to have something for you in a few days.” 

 “Thank you, Master Stenthil. I will confer with you soon, then. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Alaria said as she rose from her chair. Standing was more easy now. That spiced wine, perhaps, or just that she was shaking the final effects of the ‘spell sleep.’

 The lap-drake looked up from its preening as Alaria rose. It licked its forepaws, contentedly curled up on the plate which had held the ham steak.  

 “And you, Amarys. I will see you both later, perhaps.” Alaria concluded the meeting and nearly left before asking for directions to the Captain’s meeting chamber.

 Stenthil happily gave directions in between chunks of cheese and slurps of elfvine.

 Alaria took her leave from the library in the great tower to attend her meeting with the seneschal, Captain Rynthis.


----------



## steeldragons

*Captain Rynthis*

Alaria sat on one of the brightly-colored pillows that lined the oaken benches against the wall in  the ‘waiting room’ for the office of Captain Rynthis. It was little more than a widened section of hallway at the end of the curving corridor that circled the perimeter of the tower. Still, the pillow-lined benches and small corner table, on which sat a silver decanter, pitcher of water and bowl of fruit (apples mostly), and the natural light from two narrow arrow-slit windows made the “chamber” more than comfortable.

 The satyr, Festus stood across from where Alaria sat. He whistled a jaunty tune, arms folded. Occasionally one of his hooves clipped a brief beat on the stone floor. 

 Alaria had caught him looking at her, more than once, in the passing minutes. Sometimes he wore an innocent grin to rival Haelan’s and sometimes there was something a bit more ‘carnal’, she thought, for lack of a better word. He certainly was an intriguing creature.

 Satyrs were not such an unusual species in the mage-lands of R’Hath. They were a common enough sight at festivals as performers or footmen and messengers in the service of the grand villas and manors outside of Abildon. Though to find them roaming the streets or strongholds of more populated areas was certainly not commonplace from what Alaria could recall.

 Alaria rose and moved to stare out of one of the windows.

 “Won’t be long now, milady. The captain is just finishing up with his lieutenants.” Festus offered with a smile.

 Alaria returned the smile and nodded. He’d told her the same thing twice in the passed ten minutes. She did not mind the wait, actually. She had much on her mind.

 Looking out the window and down at the broad seemingly impossibly long expanse of the bridge spanning the wide section of the D’Evand. The bridge of Bridgetower was wide enough to allow four men on horseback to ride side by side with room to spare for a footman on either side. The water sparkled and the silvery grey and white stones of the bridge (built back in the Selurian days, Festus had told her the first time she’d looked out the slit in the stone wall) gleamed in the midday sun.

 The two-towered gatehouse at the other side of the river was common-enough looking, built of the grey stone to be found just about anywhere.

 She watched a moment as horses pulled wagons, groups of soldiers in blue tabbards going to or coming from their appointed posts and commonfolk in plain clothes of brown and grey toted bundles and baskets across the bridge from the gatehouse to the tower.

 Alaria turned at the sound of the large iron-banded oak door heaving open.

 Out came three men in armor and jackets of blue with blue and grey cloaks, helms tucked under their arms. Two of the men sported beard while one wore the droopy-styled moustache like Sergeant Goren. All three nodded and grumbled greetings to “milady” as they passed by and disappeared around the bending hallway.

 “Come!” boomed a gravely baritone voice from inside the chamber.

 Festus waited a breath and then stuck his head into the office. “My lord, the Magess Alaria is here for her appointment.” The satyr said, sounding most deferential.

 “Yes, yes. Show her in, Festus.” Commanded the voice.

 As Alaria entered the doorway, Festus began a lengthy and formal introduction.

 “My lord, may I present the lady, Magess Alaria Staver of Ablidon. Lady Magess, may I present his Lordship, Rynthis Thesunder, Senechal of Bridgetower and Captain of the South March to his most exalted luminousity, Arganor, Lordmage of…”

 “Yes. Yes. Thank you, Festus. You may go.” Captain Rynthis said, his voice and face softening.

 He was, Alaria had to admit to herself, quite a handsome man of middling age. A full head of charcoal black hair and neatly trimmed beard both bore distinguished-looking strips of silver white. He wore a thigh-length sleeveless jacket of deep indigo leather worked at the shoulders and trimmed with golden scroll work. A swordbelt hung at his waist, but instead of scabbard, Alaria was surprised to see a rather large, finely woven, grey sack, and other pouches and pockets of varying size. It was then that Alaria became aware that in amongst the scrolling pattern of his jerkin were mystic symbols, though she could not discern their precise purpose.

 The Captain extended an arm in greeting, sleeved in chainmail, ending in a thick gloved hand of matching indigo leather.

 “_It is a pleasure and honor, my lady Magess. I must first ask to your lady’s health? Feeling better I trust.”_ <_translated from R’Hathi, formal courtly language of the Mage-lands_> Rynthis began.

 Alaria’s mind balked at hearing the High Tongue of R’Hath spoken to her. She new a bit of the language of the courts, but had never expected to hear it spoken, so perfectly, this (what she considered) “far” from her homeland. She extended a gentile hand which he gripped and bowed to kiss, leaning over his desk.

 “_Much better, my lord Captain. Thanks to the generosity and charity of your lordship and his, er…_ Revered Daughters.” Alaria responded as best she could in the High Tongue before taking the captain’s unspoken offer to sit. 

 “Ah yes, well,” he began, also switching to the Common tongue, “Old Midge is a wonder. I have been fortunate to have Gilea grant she be in my service for so long. She’s been seeing to Bridgetower’s well-being since before I arrived.” He smiled lightly.

“May I offer you some refreshment?” the captain asked as he moved to a side table set with array of polished silver and crystal decanters and goblets. “Midge tells me you have had little to eat or drink these passed days.”

 When Alaria declined with a thankful smile and polite hand, Rynthis poured himself a deep golden colored fluid from one of the decanters and took a deep swig before returning to his high-backed seat behind the desk.

 “I must also thank you for your company’s defense of our humble outpost. I trust you have been informed that you and your companions are to be honored tomorrow eve with a feast. My wife, the lady Elhianne, is most anxious to meet you and wished me to covey her sincerest relief and thanks at hearing of your recovery.” The captain continued.

 “Uh, yes. My thanks again Captain Rynthis. I would hardly call Bridgetower an outpost, my lord. This is as impressive a keep as any I have seen...outside of R"Hath, of course. Your lady is most gracious to go to the trouble.” Alaria responded…but had more she wanted to ask.

 The captain laughed. “Tis no trouble at all, Magess. My lady would throw a party when the sun set or the moons rose, if I would allow it. I am afraid there are few distractions for her ladyship in such a place as this. But in the face of such bravery and loss, a celebration is most welcome and deserved.”

 “Loss, my lord?” Alaria began before understanding that he’d meant the loss of his soldiers an, perhaps, her ‘soldiers’ as well. “Ah, yes. Of course.” Her gaze went to the hands folded in her lap.

 “Magess Alaria, forgive me. I meant not to cause you pain. The battlefield is a cruel place for even the most stalwart of veterans…” The captain began apologetically. 

 “No. No. It is quite all right.” She forced her mind to the task at hand and lifted her eyes to meet the captain’s concerned look. “Your lordship is quite right. Now, I understand you wished to speak with me? I would surely have sought you out, in my own time, to offer the thanks of my people for the exceptional hospitality of your house.”

 Rynthis took another swig of his goblet and lifted a waving hand. “Not at all, Magess Alaria. It is the least we can do. Especially in this countryside and the uncertain times we find ourselves. Goblins so near Daenfrii…I never thought I’d see the day.” His glance wandered to the wall above the side table and decanters. 

 “Um, my lord? If I may before you begin, your name…” Alaria tentatively began to ask.

 Rynthis’ grey eyes returned to the magess and he smiled light-heartedly again. “You are correct, Magess Alaria...of Ablidon. I am, indeed, of the High-family Thesunder. Primagus Gorem is my cousin.”

 Alaria could hardly believe her ears. The Primagus of Ablidon, Gorem Thesunder was the cousin of this captain_. Here_, in Daenfrii? Her eyes betrayed more surprise than she intended. “Um, well…my lord…I must, definitely..um..” Her mind swam. What _was_ she supposed to do? What could she possibly offer for one of the highest royal families in R’Hath!? “How did you…” she stumbled before Rynthis gracefully interrupted her.

 “You’ve done quite enough for now, I am sure. As to how I came here, I renounced my position in my cousin's army as Battlemage to do even as you, I suspect. See the world." He smiled broadly.

"In my travels, I found myself here, in Daenfrii, where my heart was stolen by my lady love. My skills brought me into the distinguished service of our most beneficent Lordmage.”

 Alaria nodded politely.

 “But, now, yes to the business at hand. Our thanks and generosity aside, I am afraid I have a few items to discuss with you.” Rynthis began, setting the heavy goblet down on the desk.

 “It seems, Magess, that your Hilltender’s ferret got into the chicken coop yesterday morning. We have, of course, compensated the farmer for the loss of…” He rifled through the disarray of letters on his desk before pulling one out and looking at it. “..six chickens. We had to give him double before he stopped ranting for the animal’s head. But I must please ask you to have the daelvar keep the creature tethered or otherwise penned so as to not have a repeat of the incident.”

 The Hilltender’s ferret? Alaria was not sure what to say. She would have to discuss the matter with Haelan. “I will offer recompense, of course, your lordship. It will, of course, be as you say. I cannot apologize enough. Um, where is Butter..er, the ferret, now?”

 "We had the Hilltender take it to one of the dungeons, not really having any other way to cage the thing. The daelvar was quite upset, at first, but said today that the creature seems to be enjoying itself…and helping the ‘Tower in its own way,” Rynthis almost chuckled, “cleaning up the rats.”

 “Well, my lord, I can assure you…” Alaria began.

 “I’ve also received a complaint from the chamberlain about the dwarf.” Rynthis continued.

 Alaria’s eyes went to the ceiling. By the Blue Star, Duor, what have you done now?!

 “It seems, the chamberlain claims, he is running the servants ragged with his requests for food and drink at all hours of the day and night…” Rynthis looked to another sheet of paper, “and, ‘accosted’ more than one of the serving girls.” One of the captain’s eyebrows arched a bit, “According to the chamberlain, quote ‘in a manner less than respectable for a defender of the tower’, end quote. Now, I don’t know what that means. Mistress Angtha is rather proper about these things and I am not one to deny a hero his fair, er, ‘spoils’ if you would. But I must address the complaint, you understand.”

 Alaria did not doubt her face flushed to nearly the shade of her gown. She would ring the dwarf’s neck for such an embarrassment. “Of course, Captain Rynthis. You need have no further concern on that matter. I will turn him into a toad if he continues behaving in the slightest unsavory manner.” Alaria responded in all seriousness. She knew she didn’t have the power to turn him into a toad, yet, but she’d figure out something.

 The captain guffawed. “Well, let us hope that won’t be necessary. But I will leave it to your obviously capable hands.”

 Alaria was glad at the appearance that these ‘transgressions’ did not sully her or her company’s reputation with the Battlemage captain. 

 Rynthis’ face then became quite solemn. He spoke softly, gingerly. “Now, there is the lamentable question of your fallen companion.

 “The Shaalir have made it clear they wish to return to their own halls on the morrow.

 “We’ve been informed by the Lordmage’s diviners, and our own scouts have confirmed, that the bulk of the goblin army is passing us by. Heading straight for the elves, from what it seems. So, gods willing, we would have no further need of their services. 

 “I know you have been through quite an ordeal of your own, the spell sleep is no simple thing, but I really must ask that you make a decision on the burial arrangements and proper rites for your swordman. I understand from speaking with the Hilltender and Redstar that he hailed from Grinlia?  I must confess, I am not familiar with their funerary practices.” 

 Alaria nodded in understanding. Her face took on a shroud of solemnity itself. She didn’t know what Grinlians did for funerals either. She fought to hold back the tears she felt welling up in her eyes. She could not, _would_ not, cry in front of one of the Thesunders. Such an emotional display must be unforgivable in the ranks of such a house in their homeland. He’s related to the Primagus, for Manat’s sake!

 “However,” Rynthis continued, his voice filled with comforting concern, “if my lady would prefer, I will see to the arrangements myself. He was a warrior, after all, and I do know how to do honor a fellow warrior.”

 Alaria steeled her nerve and forced the tears to return to the back of her eyes. “My thanks, Captain Rynthis. But you and your house have done quite enough for us, already.” Or had they, Alaria wondered.

 “As you wish.” Rynthis answered calmly. “But I must, again, insist that you make your wishes known to the Shaalir by day’s end.”

 “My lord,” Alaria started, surprising herself with what she was about to suggest, “you have done so much for us already, I fear to ask anything more of your generosity…”

 Rynthis leaned back in his high-backed chair, a brow arched.

 Alaria noticed, for the first time since she’d entered, the great tapestry hanging on the wall above and behind the chair. The golden dragon with outstretched wing, grasping the blue diamond looked down over the captain.

 Alaria gulped and continued. “Would it be within the power of the Shaalir or the sacred Daughters, perhaps, to return Braddok to the living?” There! She’d said it.

 Now both of Rynthis’ eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. He paused a moment and let out a lengthy exhale. “I am afraid, I cannot say, Magess Alaria. Whether it is within the power of the Shaalir or not, or within the power or inclination for Midge or any of our Daughters of Gilea, I simply do not know. This is no small thing you request.”

 Alaria nodded, her shoulders slumped. 

 “Of course, it is only natural that we want our loved ones returned to us.” Rynthis offered in condolence.

 “He was not my loved one! He was an honored and trusted comrade and my protector. He…” Alaria replied with a bit too much defense and force. She regretted the obvious admission as soon as the words left her. “He deserves to be returned to us. His…His fate cannot be concluded in such a manner.” Alaria’s will gave under the emotional weight and despite her mental chastising, the tears began to flow.

 Alaira again looked defeated and looked to the folded hands in her lap. Tears leaked down her cheek and dropped onto her hands. Quietly, she finished, “He was my friend.” 

 The captain offered Alaria a handkerchief from somewhere in his desk. He nodded and remained silent for a moment as the magess collected herself.

 “You must forgive me, Captain. It has been a trying day.” Alaria offered, attempting to explain away her outburst.

 “No forgiveness is necessary, Magess.” Rynthis said calmly. “Manat grant that I have such a friend as you at my passing.”

 Alaria thanked the captain and rose to leave.

 “Magess Alaria.” Rynthis finally said as Alaria reached for the door. "I can not say whether it might be possible or not, but I will say, if this is the will of you and your company, go speak with the Shaalir…and the Daughters...and find out what might be possible. But I do not wish to give you false hope. It has been a week since the battle. It is very likely possible Braddok’s spirit has received Desri’s judgement and been ferried to its deserved rest.”

 Alaria nodded a bow. “My thanks, Captain. I will look forward to speaking more with you at tomorrow’s celebration. Good day.”

 Rynthis rose from his desk and returned the bow. “The pleasure will be mine, Magess. Good morrow to you.”

 Alaria made her way back to the stairs and began descending. She walked with singular purpose. Finally, where the stairs ended, on the bottom floor of the tower, Alaria stopped a serving boy and asked where she could find the Shaalir priest, Dolorn.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria returned to her room after meeting with the head Shaalir, Dolorn, to find most of the company waiting for her.

 Haelan munched on an apple from the tray of food that had been left for Alaria earlier. His bushy blond-topped feet dangling and swinging happily off the edge of the chair at the round table.

 Erevan stood, arms crossed, staring out the window by the table.

 Duor sat in one of the chairs near the small fireplace, one leg thrown casually over the arm of the chair. He was swigging from a flagon of ale that must have been delivered by the aggravated looking servant Alaria passed on her way back to the room.

 Coerraine also sat at the table, across from Haelan. His shield and spear leaned against the wall behind him. He looked tired, as if from too much exertion as opposed to lack of sleep.

 “Where’s Fen?” Alaria asked the collected heroes.

 Haelan shrugged with a mouthful of apple.

 “He’s not been around much. Once the sacred Daughters knew you would live, he took off to familiarize himself with the surrounding countryside. He’s stopped back in every few days.” Coerraine offered.

 “I’m sure, once word of your recovery gets out, he’ll be back.” Haelan offered.

 “I’m sure.” Duor agreed sarcastically. He took another long draw from his mug and refilled the flagon from the pitcher set on the small table between the chairs by the fireplace. “So, what’s this about, boss lady? What’s next?”

 Alaria took a seat at the table with Coerraine and Haelan. She poured herself some more of the watered and spiced wine and drank thirstily.

 “That is precisely,” Alaria began, “why we are here.” 

 Receiving no comment, the R’Hathi mage continued.

 “I have been to see Captain Rynthis and the Desriite, Dolorn. We have much to discuss. First…”

 Alaria first relayed the “concerns” of the Bridgetower seneschal.

 Haelan was overjoyed by the prospect of getting Buttercreamshadowfeet out of the dungeon and keeping her with him, though he had no idea how he was supposed to keep the creature under control.

 Duor was less so but, grumbling, agreed to not “impose” on the tower staff.

 Then a silence fell over the room for a few moments as everyone wondered at the other topic of importance. The sun was beginning to tilt toward the west in the mid-afternoon.

 “Now,” Alaria continued, “about Braddok…” She was not sure how to go about it. She knew she was, for all intents and purposes this group’s “leader”. But she had found, during her brief time on the road of the passed few weeks, it was a role she was not comfortable with.
 

 She gathered her resolve. “_Nothing to do about it but jump in with both feet_.” The oft heard advice of her master filled her mind.

 “You are all here because of me. The trials and threats we have faced have been because you were bound to me, as protectors, for my errand. That errand is complete and though I know the terms of our arrangement had been to see me to Welford and returned safely to Hawkview…the circumstances of our gathering have changed…somewhat dramatically.”

 The company was glued to her every word. They were all intrigued by where this line of thought was going.

 Alaria continued, uninterrupted.

 “It would seem now, that we shall not be returning to Hawkview any time soon. As such…” Alaria paused and took in a deep breath. “…I hereby annul your ties to me. It is my sincerest wish that we remain together to further our collective goals out of friendship and,”  she looked to Coerraine, “honor. But I can not continue to ask you to put your lives in jeopardy for me…or because I am paying you to do so.” There she’d said it.

 The companions all looked to each other somewhat uncomfortably. The momentary pause in the room was shattered by Duor jumping up, splashing ale from his mug as he did so.

 “WOOHOO! Heh heh heh! Yer arse is mine, pally!” the dwarf guffawed.

 Alaria and the others looked at Coerraine with some confusion.
 

 The paladin explained that if Alaria was, indeed, releasing him from her service, that he was duty-bound to the service and protection of Duor.

 “So, you’re still going to stay with us, aren’t you Duor?” Haelan asked concerned.

 “Well, if we ain’t getting’ paid, then what’s the point?” Duor replied honestly.

 “The reason,” Alaria interjected, “for the immediate future, is Braddok. I am neither equipped nor inclined to handle his resurrection on my own. Shaalir Dolorn was quite explicit that the ritual needed to return Braddok to life was very complex and expensive.”

 “How expensive?” Duor asked with a serious furrow in his overgrown brows.

 The group remained silent.

 “Well, for one, the ritual cannot be conducted here. He, nor any of his delegation, are capable of such a feat.” Alaria explained. “The…uh…body, must be taken back to their temple in the Vale where the Shaalir high priestess can conduct it. The other thing is, the ritual actually involves various stages. The first of which is communing and determining if Braddok’s spirit is retrievable…to see _if_ he wants to come back.”

 “You think he may not want to?” Haelan said sadly. “But he liked us all so much.” The Halfling looked as though he would begin to cry.

 “It is not for us to say, Haelan.” Alaria spoke with compassion. “It is up to his spirit and the will of the Grey Lady. If he has already been ushered to his final rest, then it is unlikely he would be allowed to return. But, if the tapestry of his fate is not fully woven, Dolorn assures me, then his return would not only be permitted…but expected by Desri.

 “There is also the concern, Dolorn was very clear, that the Braddok who was returned to us might, and even probably _would_, not be the same Braddok we knew. Crossing into the Grey Lands and, even further, into the afterlife, could very possibly change him. His return would come with a severe price. Not in gold or jewels, but in his soul and possibly our own.”

 The company continued to watch and listen in silence to the wizard. Finally, it was Duor who again spoke up.

 “So, yer sayin’ we would have to pay some tribute to the goddess of death?” the dwarf asked.

 “That is exactly what I am saying. But Dolorn could not even begin to explain what it would be…or even if it would be necessary. We would have no way to know until the ritual was done. The high priestess would, apparently, know what must be done. But it is possible.”

 “Well,” Duor said chipperly, “if we’re not havin’ to give the temple gold, then why in the Forge not bring him back?” he asked rhetorically.

 “That is the other thing, Duor. A tribute must be paid for the casting…which may or may not bring about the desired result.” Alaria explained.

 Duor put down the flagon and crossed his arms. An eyebrow rose. “How much?” 

 Alaria said something so lightly that none of the company, except Erevan, heard her. 

 Duor noticed the elf’s slender eyebrow cock up. “Well, that ain’t never good.” The dwarf said.

 “How much, Alaria?” Coerraine questioned gently.

 “Five thousand gold pieces.” Alaria said louder.

 Haelan whistled. “That hardly seems fair!” the halfling protested. “We’ve already paid a dear price by having him die! We shouldn’t have to pay a material price to have him returned. That’s just wrong.” Haelan frowned and again sadness took over his face.

 “There are five of us, friend Hilltender.” Coerraine said gently. “Six, if you count the heathen. It is not so costly a price…given time.”

 “Oh! I’m not saying I won’t pay!” Haelan piped in defensively. “Braddok was my friend. Of course I will do what I can. I just don’t think we should have to. Your death goddess, the Grey Lady of Men, I mean, seems to have quite a racket going.”

 “You have a thousand gold laying around somewhere, hairfoot? I sure don’t!” Duor agrued.

 “Well,” Alaria interjected again to get the conversation back on topic before it descended into arguments. “That is why I have negated our previous arrangement. I have every intention of bringing Braddok back…if he wants to be so brought.” She ended quietly before continuing on with determination.
 

 “If we are to undertake it…if what you told me earlier about desiring to attempt this is true…I have no right to ask any of you to continued simply because this is the course I choose. You must do it for yourselves.”

 “And where’re we all supposed to get a thousand gold? Yeh might be rollin’ in riches, boss lady, but I’m only here because of your…ehm…generosity.” Duor asked with an accusatory tone.

 “And because the Dusk would have your skin if you hadn’t, of course.” Erevan added dispassionately.

 Alaria nodded, ignoring Erevan’s attempted defense. She’d expected the dwarf’s opposition.

 “We must find some treasure.” Alaria admitted. “The Shaalir said they could only maintain Braddok’s body until the night of Darkveil.” Alaria let that added tidbit sink in.

 “That gives us less than a month!” Coerraine noted.

 “Three weeks and three days, to be exact.” Erevan added.

 Alaria nodded. “Just so. I have at least a week’s worth of research and study to complete before I am willing to undertake any further adventures.” Alaria turned to Duor with one of her dark glares, “Provided we don’t overstay our welcome before then.”

 The dwarf resumed his seat, adequately accepting the warning.

 “Coerraine, how much longer must you train before you would ready to leave?” Alaria asked.

 “Lightlance Anborth says I am making exceptional progress. Another week, at most.” The paladin returned.

 “If it please you, Magess Alaria.” Erevan interjected. “I might join you? I could use some time to transcribe and hone my own limited mystic talents.”

 Alaria nodded and readily agreed.

 “Haelan, in fact, any of us who can,” again she looked at Duor, “if you can ingratiate yourself into the service of the tower, in some way, while we remain. It would do us good to return whatever kindness we can to those in control of Bridgetower and may earn us…or, well, ‘you’, a few coins to finance our future travel. I am afraid the trove of treasure from the harpies is all but spent.”

  With that, she withdrew five of the larger gemstones that remained in her pouch. She places three on the table.
 

 One for Haelan. One she indicated was for Erevan and one for Duor. Coerraine, she knew, would accept no payment for performing his appointed charge.
 

 “These are to conclude our prior business. From here on out, we shall act as individuals, bound by a common goal...not to me or my purse strings but to our greater cause and mutual well-being.”

 Duor took the gem eagerly. Haelan and Erevan were a bit more hesitant. But did accept the payment.

 “Let it be done then. Also, while we remain here, we must try to find a suitable quest which might garner us the requisite fees…with discretion.” Alaria finished.

 “FINALLY!” roared Duor. “A proper treasure hunt!” The dwarf’s eyes all but glittered at the thought of a lost hoard of treasure.
 

 “Collectin’ information is one of my specialities. No worries, boss lady. We’ll have a quest in no time.” The dwarf rose from his seat and with a casual wave of his arm and, “C’mon, Goldilocks. We’ve got work to do.” The dwarf chuckled to himself as he left.

 Coerraine let out a sigh, collected his shield and spear and with a silent nod to the remaining company, followed the dwarf out.

 “That’s so odd.” Haelan mused to no one in particular. “Coerraine in the service of Duor. Hillmother protect us all, eh?” he said with a smile as he jumped down from his seat.
 

 “Don’t worry, Alaria. I am sure Revered Daughter Midge will find something for me to do. I’ve been learning so much from them…and don’t you worry about Buttercream. I’ll find something for her to do too.”

 The halfling paused in the doorway and turned to look back at the wizard.
 

 “But Alaira, what about Gnobby?”

 Alaria looked at the hopeful Hilltender sadly, "I’m afraid, Haelan, the Shaalir need a body to perform the ritual…and, well…we don’t have one.” Alaria hoped it had not sounded callous.

 Haelan looked at the floor for a moment, then nodded. “No, I suppose not. Poor Gnobby. I’ll see you both at supper in the great hall, then?”

 Alaria and Erevan nodded their agreement.

 When they were alone, Alaria turned to the statuesque elf. He looked at her with his deep violet eyes. “If there isn’t anything else, magess, when would you like to begin our studies?”

 “I plan to begin as soon as possible. After supper? But there is just one more thing, Erevan.” Alaria answered. “Do you think you could find Fen for me. Explain all of this for him? I’d like to not have to think about it any longer.”

 Erevan nodded, though his lack of understanding was clear. “Til supper then, I too shall take my leave.” The elf extended an arm with hand outstretched.

 Alaria gave him her hand which the elf gently kissed. Even in her weakened state, Alaria shivered with attraction. The elf was just so handsome. “Til then.” She managed to whisper.

 The few hours of activity, Alaria admitted to herself, had taken its toll.
 

 She summoned one of the serving girls from down the hall and instructed her to see that she was awakened at half passed seven bells. With that done, Alaria returned to her bedchamber and promptly fell into another deep sleep, troubled by obscure images.


----------



## steeldragons

[FONT=&quot]The days passed with relative ease. Alaria and Erevan copied their spells in the library.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Coerraine went about his training, even taking in a few guard rotations with the Bridgetower guards.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Duor had seen fit to “allow” this since, the dwarf thief reasoned, the more powerful the paladin was, the better use he would be. It hadn’t quite sunk in to Duor yet that Coerraine was a protector, not a servant who needed his “permission” for anything.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Haelan, gleefully had gotten himself and Buttercream rounds at the gatehouse entrance, with the assurances that the ferret was an infallible detector of “were-rats” which the guard sergeants were none too pleased to hear had been on the party’s heels. Haelan offered the occasional “Detect Evil” and “Detect Lie” prayers for any individuals that seemed “suspicious.” In his days at the gate, none did. But it was an appreciated service.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]The seneschal actually instituted a test for all entering Bridgetower (for the south and north gates) with slender rods of silver stuck into their mouths to see if anyone reacted to the metal, presuming lycanthropes would.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]The feast in their honor went off without a hitch. 

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]The Lady Elhianne was a charming hostess. A woman in her middling years of obvious breeding, beauty and charm.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]The feast had included roast pheasants, apple stuffed geese, gratins of potatoes and cheese, baskets of golden loaves, sweet ripe fruits, apple and cinnamon pies, and honeyed sweets.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Alarai and Erevan were thoroughly pleased with the quality of the cooking. Haelan even moreso, eating until he could barely speak.
  [/FONT][FONT=&quot]
Rouses of applause echoed through the halls at the captain’s speech and introductions of the party members as well as Sergeant Goren and guardsman Alath. 

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Minstels played throughout, including an original composition by the ‘Tower’s head minstrel entitled “The Ballad of the Stormrider”, about the battle with the goblins and ogres. It mostly featured Alaria’s magical prowess, “flying on winds” and “throwing lightning bolts from the sky”. Alaria blushed uncomfortably for most of the performance.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]She also had the unenviable task of declining dance invitations from several of the men in attendance, including Sergeant Goren. In her years and years of study, “courtly dancing” had never been a subject of hers. Alaria was thankful for Elhianne’s intervention on more than one occasion, saying their “Ladies talk” was being interrupted.  

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Duor got completely oscified with the satyr ranger, Festus. The two traded stories of their "glorious" histories and the legends of their peoples well after the party had concluded. Neither was seen nor heard from for two days following the night of the feast.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Fen had returned in time for the party. Erevan had informed him of the party’s new “organization” and the half-elf was more than happy to oblige. He did not, however, believe that Braddok’s return was a realistic expectation. 

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Druid philosophy on “death” mandated that Braddok would be re-entered into the Wheel of Life in some form other than the human body his spirit had previously inhabited.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]He did, however, agree to contribute if the party managed to find a treasure that would allow them the attempt. Fen made no bones that his remaining with the party was the will of his superiors in the Ancient Order and protection of “the orb” from falling into the wrong hands was his priority.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Throughout the week, the party reconvened to discuss possible opportunities for adventure. Duor’s means of “collecting information” were proving generally unfruitful. The party considered what the dwarf learned and dismissed most of them as rumor and/or tall tales. He had discovered, however, that the ranger satyr would be a welcome and eager asset if their adventures took them anywhere within the Dragonmage’s realm.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]At the end of four days since the company became a “company” instead of “Alaria’s entourage”, Coerraine completed his training. Alaria completed her studies and transcribing. Erevan had, he assured them, a single day left to go.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]The wizardess decided it was time to again meet with Abjurist Stenthil to see what his research had unearthed. He had indicated, two days after leaving Alaria left the orb with him, that he was “on to something.”

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot] Following a substantial breakfast, Alaria went to the library to find the aged wizard. She was stopped on her way by one of the messenger-pages who requested she accompany him to Captain Rynthis’ office. The servant couldn’t say what it was about, only that the seneschal had something to discuss with her.

  [/FONT]   [FONT=&quot]Alaria’s mind swam with possibilities of what “the dwarf or ferret could have done now.” Bracing herself to explain away or defend the actions of either, she was completely caught off guard by the actual conversation.[/FONT]


----------



## wolff96

Heh.  I love Coerraine's obligation to Duor.  That's just fun.

Still reading and enjoying!


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## steeldragons

Alaria followed the captain’s manservant through the crowded corridors. What was his name again? Tohmas, Tumnes, Tihmos, something like that but the name escaped Alaria as she wove through the halls. 

 Messengers and officers of Bridgetower’s constantly increasing compliment of soldiers moved to and fro. The entire keep bustled all day while the clanging and smoke billowing from the smithy continued all night.

 Coerraine had shared at one of their meals, one of the few calm casual moments they’d had in the past week, the ‘Tower’s barracks were full to bursting with over 200 guardsmen having arrived over the past several days.

 They came to the office of Captain Rynthis and the servant knocked on the oaken door.

 “Come.” Came the gravely baritone voice from beyond the door.

 The servant opened the door for the magess, but did not enter and closed the door as soon as she had entered.

 “Ah, good. Thank you for coming so promptly, Alaria. I have something for you, but first things first.” The Captain remarked, barely acknowledging the wizard before moving over to the side table that held the array of bottles and goblets and decanters of liquors.

 With a wave of his hand, the sideboard swung out into the room. Rynthis stepped up to the stone wall behind the table and tapped lightly three times as he spoke.

 “_Venta norx_.” <_mage spell: Knock_>  

 Alaria felt a warming pride within her as she recognized the incantation she’d only completed adding to her spellbook a couple of days earlier.

 There was a momentary flicker of a rune upon the area of stone wall. Alaria recognized the sigil also as a protective trap. As the symbol faded from view, the stones of the wall sank back into the wall, one by one, and turned aside until a doorway was completely formed.

 “This way please.” Rynthis said casually. He extended an arm and stood aside, obviously intended to let Alaria enter first.

 The chamber she found herself in was not overly large, perhaps twenty by twenty feet. A series of braziers lining the chamber burst into flame as she entered lighting the room with a flickering golden light. The only other item in the room was a mirror, the largest Alaria had ever seen, easily ten feet across.

 As Rynthis entered and passed Alaria to near the mirror, the surface shifted from reflecting the magical firelight to a swirling fog of grey and blue.

 “We’re here, my lady.” Rynthis said to the mirror.

 In a moment, the swirling fog parted to reveal the very clear image of Rhea in all of her shimmering emerald glory. The room Rhea was in was still somewhat foggy.
 
 Images coalesced and then became hazy and other areas of the image beyond Rhea reformed. There was a table. Then a bookshelf...a high backed chair. Nothing except Rhea remained clear for very long, but there was the definite sense of a “room” she was standing in which Alaria could definitely tell was not her cottage in Welford.

 “Thank you, Captain. Greetings, again, Magess Alaria. It does my heart good to see you well. News of your battle and subsequent ailment found its way even to the Vale. I trust you are fully recouped?” Rhea spoke.

 “I am, Rhea. You honor me with your concern. It is good to see you again, as well.” Alaria responded.

 “I am afraid there is little time for pleasantries but I have some news that is most important for you to have.” Rhea began seriously.

 “As to your dark wizard…I have conferred with members of my order, my contacts in R’Hath, the Alkari Fellowship, and even a friend at the Sanctemus Nekri <_autho/DMr note: the Sanctemus Nekri=the Academy of Necromancy in R’Hath_>…none have ever heard of this ‘Tresahd’. Now, again, that is not to say it is not his name. But my intuition is that it may be a cover…a pseudonym.

 “That said, my own attempts at scrying and divining the wizard’s whereabouts have met with almost complete failure. He is, no doubt, very powerful, Alaria. You must take care.” Rhea’s tone shifted to one of concern.

 “I understand, Rhea. I thank you for your efforts and counsel.” Alaria managed to reply before the seeress continued.

 “Now, regarding the Ihs Repahl. My associates and I have reason to believe it holds a power much greater than the mystic gifts we uncovered at the tolarium.” Rhea said.

 “’Much greater’ in what way, Rhea?” Alaria’s brow furrowed at this rather ominous sounding news.

 “That is not important as of now. I apologize for being cryptic, Alaria. But we believe it is better, for your own safety, that I not share that with you at this time. The less you know, the less others seeking the orb may find out through you.” Rhea apologized.

 Alaria did not like this answer at all, but she nodded a reluctant understanding.

 “It is _imperative_, Magess Alaria, that you do not allow the orb to fall out of your possession.” Rhea’s shift in tone became entirely serious. Almost dire, Alaria thought.

 “If the evil forces moving through the land, this ‘Tresahd’ or anyone else, get their hands on the Ihs Repahl the consequences could spell disaster for the realms. I would counsel you to bring it to the security of the Vale with all speed.”

 Alaria did not like the sound of that at all. “My apologies, Rhea, but we have an errand of great urgency that must be undertaken first. But I swear, by Manat’s star, that we will bring you the orb..er…Ihs Repahl at my first opportunity.”

 Rhea nodded as if in understanding. “That is all I ask.” The green-gowned woman replied.

 “Take this.” Rhea tossed a small glittering item.
 
 In a flash, a gem flew through the mirror into the chamber where she and Rynthis stood.

 The captain caught it and handed it to Alaria. It was a perfectly smooth emerald in the shaped of a teardrop.
 
 “Keep it with you at all times. My companions and I are soon to be heading west and I am not certain when I shall be able to converse with you again. But that gem will allow me to find you telepathically over great distances and contact you thus. I wish you safe journeys and continued good health on your quest. May the gods grant we meet again soon. 

 “Thank you, Captain. I leave you to return to your business.” Rhea concluded.

 Before Alaria could make any reply, the swirls of blue-grey fog seemed to pour in from the gilded frame, obscuring the mirror’s surface. A moment later, the mirror dimmed and again only reflected the golden flickers of the braziers.

 Alaria placed the emerald teardrop into one of her side pouches and followed Rynthis back into the office.

 “You have friends in higher places than I knew, Magess. I had no idea you were acquainted with the Steel Dragons.” Rynthis said amicably.

 “The Steel Dragons, captain?” Alaria asked.

 “They are the Dragonmage-apparent’s inner circle. They are a highly-skilled and diverse company of heroes led by the Lordmage’s two sons. If the Steel Dragons are indeed to ride again, then we are facing a darker tide than I suspected.”

 “You confuse me, Captain Rynthis. Forgive my ignorance. I thought the Lordmage was the Dragonmage?” Alaria questioned.

 “Of course. Forgive me.” Rynthis smiled. “You’ve become such fixtures in your short time here, I forget you are not actually from Daenfrii, yourself.

 “Our illustrious Lordmage, Arganor, has ruled Daefrii these…fifteen years past, now. Make no mistake, he is a wizard of surpassing talent and a just and beneficent ruler…but he is not of the Dragonwing line. Arganor is widower of the last Dragonmagess.

 “The princes were only very young when their mother met her unfortunate end.” Rynthis sadly added, almost as if to himself moreso than Alaria. His focus returned to the magess as he continued.

 “It is their son, Montor, who is next to inherit the mantle and become our next _true _‘Dragonmage’…though, he has yet to take on that title and fulfill his destiny. So, Arganor continues to rule until such time as Prince Montor takes up the Staff of Wyr and claims the throne.” Rynthis explained.

 Alaria thanked the captain before adding, “You said you had something for me, Captain Rynthis?”

 “Ah, yes.” Rynthis said as he shuffled through the immense stacks of papers littering his desk. “I understand you and your company have decided to undertake the raising of your fallen warrior.”

 “That is correct. By your leave, we will be parting from Bridgetower on the morrow to seek out some necessary…um…necessities for the ritual.”

 The captain nodded in understanding as he continued to shuffle. “I believe I may have something that will help. I have a mission for you…Ah! Here it is.” He pulled a closed scroll from the other parchments. It was sealed with a large golden wax seal and bright blue ribbon.

 “A mission, my lord?” Alaria was concerned. They did not have time to waste on errands for the captain. The time limit for raising Braddok was now only seventeen days away. She was immediately conflicted with thoughts of duty and fairness for all of the assistance and hospitality Bridgetower had showed them.

 “Yes. There’s been a disturbance in Shafton. It’s a small mining village just north and east of here, well within Daefrii’s borders so travel should be swift and safe.” Seeing no interruption or disagreement from Alaria, Rynthis continued.

 “A message came from the village elders, almost two weeks ago, that the mine had been suddenly overrun with kobolds. Kobolds in the South March! Can you imagine?” Rynthis asked in the rhetorical way Alaria had found common among the people of Bridgetower.

 “I sent a small squad to go handle it, but they have not returned. Nor has there been any word from Shafton since they were dispatched. With all of the chaos around and the increasing forces arriving every day, I doubt anyone else has noticed, but I do not like the feel of it.”

 “My lord, we really must…” Alaria attempted to interject politely. She was not successful.

 “There have not been kobolds in the eastern hills in over a decade. I’ve also received reports that the barbarians are haranguing the northern borders…Plus this goblin army in the south.” The captain began to sound somewhat defeated. “It just doesn’t feel right.” Rynthis repeated distractedly.

 He continued undeterred. “With everything going on, I do not have men to spare to follow up, but my duty as Captain of the South March is quite clear and with war looming around us, I cannot allow the mine’s production to be stifled. We have only perhaps a month or two more before the snows move in from the north and we will be wintered.

 “I will offer 200 gold to each of your company toward your cause upon your successful routing of the vermin and, gods’ willing, your safe return. Can I count on your company? Shafton is only a day’s ride. You will, of course, be entitled to any other riches you find along the way…barring the actual mine’s ore which belong to his lordship, you understand.”

 “Yes, certainly, my lord.” Alaria paused a moment to think, 200 gold each would certainly be a nice beginning to their quest. “I am afraid though, we have no mounts. How long would it take on foot?” Alaria offered tentatively. She hoped the captain’s generosity would not fall short of a few horses.

 “I have already dispatched Festus to secure you mounts. The stables of Bridgetower are needed for our troops. But he is resourceful and will be awaiting your arrival at the Wyern’s Wing tomorrow. I have assigned him to be your guide and aid you in anyway possible.”

 Alaria was not so pleased at the captain’s presumption that they would accept his offer, but was more concerned by his ending news.

 “Festus, my lord? The satyr?” Alaria said displeased, somewhat obviously.

 “Indeed. You will find him a capable ranger and willing warrior, if needs be. His knowledge and skill of the South March will be most helpful and ensure you the most direct route with all speed.”
 
 Alaria did not respond.

 “So we are agreed?” the captain finally said.

 Alaria, somewhat snapped out of her own mental mechanizations, “Oh, yes! Yes, I’m sorry. We will meet him tomorrow and take care of your kobold troubles.”

 “Excellent. Then you will need this.” He finally handed her the rolled and sealed parchment.

 “My lord?” Alaria asked as she took the scroll. She noted the dragon holding a diamond seal of Daenfrii pressed into the golden wax.

 “It is within my power, as well as my privilege and honor, to offer your company an official charter. It carries the weight of the seneschal of Bridgetower as vested by the authority of the Lordmage himself. It will permit you the baring of arms and use of magic in our just cause. Any official within Daenfrii who does not honor this charter should be brought to my immediate attention.”

 “Captain Rynthis, your generosity truly knows no bounds. I do not know what to say.” Alaria gushed.

 “Of course, any company charter requires the band and leader be named. I do hope you will not mind the presumption, but the Hilltender seemed to indicate you had all decided on “the Stormriders” as your group’s name. I took the liberty of using your name as the charter’s official leader.” Rynthis grinned.

 “The Stormriders’ will be fine, my lord. Though I will have a talk with Haelan as to just how officially decided that was. You have my, all of our, thanks.” She grinned back.

 “Very good. I look forward to your return and report. Hopefully within the week. You have my, and indeed all of Bridgetower’s thanks as well, Magess Alaria Staver.” Rynthis said as he resumed shuffling about the papers on his desk.

 “Timothy?” Rynthis called loudly. The door opened almost immediately and the young manservant poked his head in. Without looking up from his desk, Rynthis commanded, “Find me Lieutenant Goren.”

 “Good day to you then, Captain.” Alaria nodded a goodbye that the captain did not see and took her leave.

 So, Alaria thought, Goren’s been made lieutenant. Good for him. She smiled despite herself shifting through the crowded corridors on her way back to the library to see what the wizard, Stenthil, had turned up about her or-….the Ihs Repahl.


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## steeldragons

Alaria entered the parchment-scented library and made her way to the center table. She noted Erevan at one of the solitary writing desks that were placed sporadically around the library’s perimeter. If the elf noticed her entry, he made no indication of it. The elf’s quill carefully transcribed letters from the stack of books and scrolls atop the desk.

 As she entered the central opening with the large table, the puffballs of light atop the chandelier bathing the table in their even glow, Alaria was surprised to see Amarys lounging casually in the center of the table. There were no other books or scrolls out and Stenthil was nowhere to be seen. The wizardess supposed the magician was lost somewhere in the stacks and presumed to wait for him. If the lap-drake was here, surely her master was not far.

 “Hello Amarys.” Alaria said softly. “Where is your master, this evening?”

 The lap-drake’s head popped up at Alaria’s address and cooed at her. The creature’s metallic teal scales rippled for a moment before taking on a golden sheen that was remarkably similar to the harvest gold traveling robe Alaria was wearing that day.

 Amarys stretched out its clawed fronnt legs and and arched its back. Its dragon-like snout opened in a long exaggerated yawn. Then Amarys stretched out her small wings and lunged into the air, flapping casually to keep herself bopping above the table. She warbled a purring noise at Alaria and fluttered to one of the aisles that led further back into the library and turned a serpentine neck to look at Alaria again.

 “Ah, I see. Thank you, Amarys.” Alaria repliedand followed the lap-drake back through the aisle, around a bend, down another aisle to a smaller opening against what she presumed to be the back wall of the library. There was another smaller table and chairs. This study area was lit with multiple candles instead of the magical light-balls even as the evening sky sent a sliver of rosy colored light through one of the narrow windows.

 There, at the table which was cluttered with stacks of tomes and scrolls, ledgers and books of all sizes, sat Stenthil thoroughly engrossed in what he was reading. The crystal orb sat next to the book the magician was studying.

 Amarys landed smack in the middle of the pages Stenthil was reading and warbled at the mage. Her scales, again rippling from nose to tail, shifted back from gold to bright blue-green.

 “Amarys, I told you to…OH! Magess Alaria. Excellent, excellent. Is it time already? Forgive me. I do lose track of the hours when I’m in study. You understand, of course. I’m sure. Do sit down. Sit.” The old mage rambled on for a bit, shooing Amarys from what he’d been reading and attempting to gather up books and papers to make room for the magess at the table. 

 “Devrim?” the wizard called out. It was really only a convensational tone, but in the serenity of the library, the sound seemed to boom through the stacks.

 “Thank you, Master Stenthil.” Alaria sat in the chair the wizard had pulled up beside him.

 As she did so, the blue robed Devrim entered the alcove from some place hidden behind the stacks.  He smiled at Alaria and the two exchanged pleasantries. He seemed much more happy than when the two had first met.

 “Yes. Yes. Very good, my boy. We’ll take the tea now, if you please. The Magess and I have much to discuss.” 

 Devrim nodded and left with an almost cheery “Yes, Master.”

 Stenthil handed Alaria the orb as he began. “Your intuitions about this crystal were quite astute, Magess. It is, indeed, more than it appears.”

 “What did you find? Were you able to discern any connection between the orb and Sharzaak?” Alaria questioned. Her inate magical curiosity was immediately piqued. Perhaps Stenthil was able to find something about the crystal that Rhea had been reluctant to share.

 “Well, yes and not exactly. It is a most intriguing object. If I am correct, it has quite a history. Far more ancient than one would think. It is referred to…” the mage shuffled through one of the stacks and retrieved a small book with a marked page. “…according to this little treasure trove of information, as the Ihs Repahl, ‘the Wind’s Soul’ as you already knew. Which, naturally, led me to look into the legends of the Repahlentim...with which, I am sure, you are acquainted.”

 Stenthil smiled broadly, his bushy grey brows risen in an expectation of agreement. The excitement of whatever he’d discovered in his research all but bubbled out of him.

 “I am afraid, Master Stenthil, that I am not.” Alaria begrudgingly admitted.

 “Ah, well. Tis to be a history lesson as well then, eh?” the wizard chuckled. “You do know of the creation of the world, I should hope.” Stenthil began, again seeming hopeful of a positive response.

 “Of course.” Alaria replied, trying not to sound too indignant. The creation of the world, Alaria thought, Manat’s star how long a history lesson is this going to be?

 “Well, then you know that long before the Selurians or Tanku Empires rose, before the Five Tribes of Men ever set foot on Orean soil, the world belonged to the ShiStaliiri. And before that…?”Stenthil paused as a teacher searching for an answer.

 “Before the elves?” Alaria was shocked. Her mind raced to recall her studies in ancient history. “Before the elves, there were only the Children of Zho and Ahl. <_author/DM’s note: the dragons and titans, respectively_>

 “Just so.” Stenthil replied with the pride of a teacher who had received a correct answer. “There were the dragons and the titans…and their _magic_. The fundamental elemental energies of the Elder Gods and the birth of the world. You, ehm, you are familiar with the Elder Gods, are you not?”

 Alaria had a vague recollection. There were only eight original Elder Gods of Orea. Pairs of male and female, each tied to…or was it created from?…the elemental forces of existence. Gods, Alaria chastised herself, she should have paid more attention to Magess Feranga’s ancient religion courses at the academy. She recited what she recalled for Stenthil.

 “Just so.” The mage said again. “Now, only the rarest of remnants of those primordial forces remain to us, only threw legend and myth, from those treasured items created by the Children of Ahl and Zho. Like the fabled Gifts of Doron and the Treasures of Wyr….or the Repahlentim.

 “Six stones of surpassing power over the elemental forces of the world…and beyond, some say. But we’ll get to that…”

 Just then, Devrim returned with a tray containing a tea pot and matching cups and saucers. All beautifully crafted of delicate white porcelain, glazed in bright blue with scenes of twining dragons and eagles and other aerial creatures Alaria could not readily identify. 

 Devrim began to pour and passed the first cup and saucer to Alaria. The spicy aroma was very familiar to the magess. She could hardly believe her nose.

 “Is that…?” Alaria began.

 “Indeed, R’Hathi Black Ginger. My favorite…and the captain’s. I acquired a bit of his personal store for this meeting. I do hope you will like it.” The kindly wizard explained as he took a cup and saucer from Devrim. “Pour yourself a cup also, my boy. This will be a good lesson for you as well.”

 Devrim smiled unabashedly. He had hoped beyond hope he might spend time with his new master and the magess learning about this intense research Stenthil had had him running raggard for the passed week.

 “Now…ehm…Where was I?” the wizard asked as he took a noisy slurp from his cup.

 “The Repahlentim, Magus.” Alaria replied. With the addition of Devrim to the conversation, she felt the need to apply ‘official’ titles, as was customary in R’Hath when among those of lesser training.

 “Ah yes. Six stones of surpassing power…crafted by a titan. There is some disagreement as to whom…multiple names appear…” The wizard began rifling through scrolls again. “Ampheron seems the most commonly accepted…but there was another…”

 “If you please, Magus Stenthil, the what about the Repahlentim? Is this orb one of them?” Alaria could hardly conain her impulse to hear what else the wizard had to say.

 “Indeed, I believe it very well may be, my dear. There were six stones in all. Each for the primal forces of the universe!” the wizard laughed in the revery of his excitement. 

 Seeing Alaria did not yet share his elation, Stenthil continued. “Ehem, yes. Well, they have subsequently named and categorized by the elves and later, the Selurians which are the names we have for them today. One for ‘Ihnt’, or Earth, ‘Fehs’, Fire, ‘Vort’, that Water,” the mage said in an instructive tone towards Devrim, “and ‘Ihs’ or Air. There was also a Repahl for Life and one for Death though I could not find reference for their Selurian, or indeed any other, names.

 “The combination of such are said to give utter command over the world…and all life and even death itself.”

 Alaria looked at the orb in her hands with utter amazement. Did she truly hold one of the most ancient, most powerful treasures in all of legend? She immediately thought of the visions she’d seen while in the spell sleep.

 “What do these other stones…or…the Repahlentim look like? Are they all orbs like this one?”

 Stenthil was pleased with the obvious excitement in Alaria’s voice. The girl was catching on. “Well, there is really no way to tell. They are so old that there is really no way to tell, you see? Ages and ages of time have passed. But…I did find reference to some of them…well, only two, actually.” 

 The wizard again rifled through the stacks of books and withdrew a rather large thick tome and flipped through multiple markers within the pages, finally settling on one. “According to the Natorum Chronicles as written by the sage, Olion…”

 Alaira did know that name. Olion was the one of the sons of one of the Founding Five archmagi of R’Hath, Serion the Green. Olion was renowned for his knowledge and collected histories of the earliest days of the Principalities.

 “It is purported by Olion, that the Archmage Nator used the Fehs Repahl as the heart when creating his Staff of Fire. And here…” he switched to another page, “describes the Repahl as, quote,_ ‘a jewel of unmatched quality and beauty, the brightest red any mortal eye had ever laid eyes upon.’_

 If that is true, and I’ve never known in all my years of study for Olion’s work to be anything but,” he added as an aside with a knowing wink at Alaria, “then the Fire Staff of Nator holds one of the Repahlentim. Alas, of course, it is long lost from the grasp of the ruling mages of Ablidon and no doubt lost forever from the realms of men.”

 “And the other account, Stenthil?” Alaria forgot to use the proper title in her exuberance. So, Alaria quickly realized, Rhea and the Steel Dragons were seeking the Fire Staff because it held one of the Repahlentim! But what were they for, she wondered…other than immense cosmic power, of course. She smiled at her own foolishness and returned her mind to Stenthil’s discourse.

 “The other…” Stenthil all but threw the large tome aside and waved his hand over in a simple gesture over the arrayed chaos on the desk. A very old-looking scroll rose from the pile and unfurled itself before Stenthil. He leaned in closely to look at the ancient writing on the parchment that looked like it might crumble into dust right before their eyes.

 “Can’t be too careful when dealing with fragile documents, young Devrim. Prestidigitation is often required. Now, let’s see…

 “The other, my dear Magess, it says here in this copy of a page from the Staliirim Verstes, may very well be known to us, these days, as…” Stenthil paused for dramatic effect before bursting in childlike excitement. “…the Eye of Arinane. Can you believe it?!”

 The Staliirim Verstes, Alaria knew, were the Treasures of ShiStaliir, the Star Elves first among the races brought into being. They were reputed to be a variety of items of great magical power that were gifted to the highest families of the ancient elvin nation of ShiStaliir.

 One such item, known through myth and history, was the Eye of Arinane which belonged or, Alaria presumed, ‘belongs still’ to the ruler of the House of the Moon…the king of the Miralostae elves…Originally, this was the sorceress who led the elves who would become known as the Miralostae out of ShiStaliir. She was the same sorceress who slew the dread wyrm Sharzaak and whose progeny established the Miralostae nation.

 The R’Hathi magess’ mind raced while Stenthil explained all of this to Devrim.

 “The goblin army is after the Eye of Arinane!” Alaria blurted.

 Stenthil and Devrim looked at her in surprise.

 “Perhaps. Perhaps.” Stenthil mused, scratching his grey beard and furrowing his brow. “If this account is correct and the Eye of Arinane is, indeed, one of the Repahlentim…but what would goblins want with an artifact of such power? They couldn’t possibly understand or use its magics.” Stenthil posed. “Of course, it is ridiculous to think for a moment that_ any_ army would stand a chance of penetrating so far into Miralosta.”

 Sharzaak, Alaria thought. It has to have something to do with Sharzaak…and Tresahd. “It is not the goblins that worry me, Stenthil, but whomever their master might be capable of doing with it. Was that the connection to Sharzaak you found?”

 “Huh?” Stenthil murmured roused from his own musing on the possibilities. “Oh. No. No. Here…”

 The wizard flicked his wrist and the aged scroll rolled itself up and gently placed itself back among the other documents.  “Devrim, more tea for me, please. Alaria?” He searched through the stack of tomes.

 Alaria sipped the last of her cup and nodded thanks to Devrim for a refill as well. She did enjoy, and did not realize how much she had missed, Black Ginger tea.

 “Here we are.” Stenthil began opening yet another lage book and finding the marked page. “I confess, I must give credit to Prius for finding this tidbit. Have you met Prius, my dear? Lovely man.”

 Alaria explained that she had met the Bridgetower scribe and archiver at the feast earlier that week.  

 “Well, Prius has been quite a help these passed days…as has young Devrim, here…he found this account in the archives regarding the Battle of Thornfeld and the Feldmere. I suppose you do not know military history any better than myself.” Stenthil chuckled. “Sorilorr’s blessing on Prius for not being as narrow minded as we, eh?”

 “Magus…” Alaria interjected. Seemed keeping the wizard ontrack was going to be repeated necessity.

 Stenthil noisily sipped his tea again and placed the cup and saucer on the table. “Indeed. Well, this account of the Battle of Thornfeld explains how it was a very necessary and decisive win for the forces of good in these parts against the demon-godson. It even credits the battle with turning the tide. You know the Scourge Wars ended not two years after? I was surprised myself to find that out.

 “In any event,” the wizard continued, perusing the pages of the historic work, “the Battle of Thornfeld was waged between the forces of the high-king Elibon…of course, he wasn’t high-king yet…and the forces of the Scourge who were held up in one of their greatest strongholds. 

 “The stronghold was said to have been a citadel leftover from the Selurian Empire and twisted by the Scourge’s insidious evils. The accounts of the day name it Nor Gorthok…which would indicate, obviously, it was a dwarf made construction, just as Nor Tyrilith or the elvin city of Nor Evand. ‘Nor’, of course indicating ‘rock’ and ‘Gorth-…”

 “Master Stenthil, please…” Alaria interjected again. 

 “Yes. Yes. The commander of this stronghold and the army of evil within was a dragon of surpassing evil and ferocity named Desaarthal <_’dez-AY-arth-ahl’_>.

 “Desaarthal, my good Magess, was reputed to be one of the elder wyrm Sharzaak’s many broods.”

 Alaria’s brow furrowed. She did not understand the connection. Stenthil continued.

 “The dragon threw all of its evil and magics from its hoard at the forces of Grinlia. There is a passage telling of an orb used by the dark servants of the citadel which roused the winds and brought storms down upong the Grinlin forces.

 “But in the end, goodness prevailed and the dragon fled the field, wounded…and returned to the depths of Nor Gorthok, cursing the lands and creatures as it fled, defiling them with evil and corrupting all in its path. The surrounding lands befouled and swallowed the citadel in their festering depths.

 “Those are the lands we now know as the Feldmere. The ancient stronghold of evil, the dragon and its hoard may yet exist beneath the reeds and mud of the swamp.” A bushy eyebrow rose in speculation.

 “But you said the dragon was defeated!” Devrim piped up, somewhat surprising himself. “There could be a dragon’s treasure just a day away somewhwere in that troll0infested swamp?”

 “Trolls are not the only dangers of the Feldmere, young Devrim. Far from it. However, I said the dragon fled the field. It was wounded, yes. Defeated, yes. But I found no indication that the wyrm was slain.”

 “You honestly believe the dragon might yet live…it’s been centuries.” Alaria questioned.

 Stenthil chuckled to himself. “My dear, you are unlearned in the ways of the wyrms it seems. Centuries to an ancient dragon could be a mere nap…or perhaps, the creature did die from its wounds in the bowels of the citadel. The accounts have no way of knowing.” 

 “You believe the Ihs Repahl was that magic orb? That it, somehow, in these passed centuries since the Scourges Wars, rose to the world of men again?” Alaria questioned.

 “Rose? Was brought? Maybe even sent forth by whatever evil still haunts the mists of the Feldmere today. I could not find any other accounts of magical orbs which could control air in such a manner.

 “You said you claimed it from a dark wizard’s lair. Perhaps this wizard found Nor Gorthok and ventured into the lost stronghold. Perhaps it had been brought forth centuries ago to be claimed by the wizard elsewhere? Maybe a Grinlian soldier all those years ago found and kept it as a spoil of the battle….Who can say? 

 “But_ you_ have it now, Magess Alaria, and I suggest you not let it go.” Stenthil finished.  

 Alaria finished her tea and set down the cup. Her mind was swimming with all she’d heard. 

 “My thanks, Magus Stenthil, for the excellent tea and the research. You surpassed my expectations. But I regret I must retire, I have an early day. Good morrow to you both.” With that, Alaria rose and exited the library. There was so much to discuss with the others.


----------



## steeldragons

It was just after eight bells in the keep courtyard, behind the great tower of Bridgetower, when Alaria arrived at the north gate. She had packed up what things she could carry herself, her orb and spell components in the pouches and pockets around her waist. Following her week of study and transcribing, there was only a single scroll left in her scrollcase. Alaria had said her farewells to Midge, Stenthil and Devrim, Captain Rynthis and the Lady Elhianne. She took up her staff securely in her grip, made her way to the courtyard and waited for the rest of the party.

 Haelan, Erevan and Fen arrived shortly, suitably supplied and ready, even eager, to get moving on their quest. 

 Coerraine stood a short distance away saying his goodbyes to the other Goldshields and priests of Celradorn. 

 Duor marched directly through the circle of armored men in crimson tabbards on his way to the north gate.

 “Get the spear outta yer arse, Goldilocks. We’ve got treasure to hunt.” The dwarf barked as he passed Coerraine.

 The blond paladin looked at his fellows who met Coerraine’s gaze with raised eyebrows and questioning glances.

 “New charge.” Coerraine said in simple explanation.

 This received several smiles and “ahhh” looks. “Celradorn keep you, Goldshield. May the Red Star guide your path.” One of the other paladins offered.

 Coerraine clasped arms with his fellows and met the rest of the group where they set off down the dirt road leading north from outpost of Bridgetower.

 The band discussed their mission on the road, along with what Stenthil had uncovered and Alaria’s own suspicions about the dark wizard and his motives.

 “Kobolds! There’s a dragon’s hoard in the swamp and we’re going after yappers?!” Duor said incredulously. “I say we turn around right now!”

 “There _might_ be a dragon’s hoard in the swamp, Duor.” Alaria calmly explained. “We have only sixteen days to collect what we need and get to the Desriite temple in the Vale to raise Braddok. We don’t have time to be wandering about a swamp with nothing but _hopes_ to find some centuries old ruin that _could_ possibly have some treasure.”

 Duor conceded but put in his two coppers that once Braddok had been returned to them, they go hunting for the dragon’s lost lair. “The old boy would be rather peeved if we went dragon hunting without him, I suppose.”

 “What concerns me,” said Coerraine, “is the missing squad from the tower. Bridgetower, while a relatively small fortification, has well-oiled greaves. The men are disciplined and exacting. I concur with the Captain’s sense of foreboding that they have not, at least, sent word back to the tower in almost two weeks.”

 “I do hope they’re alright.” Haelan said offhandedly as he patted Buttercream as she hopped along beside the daelvar.
 
 The morning was bright and lovely, if a bit cool with the thoroughly entrenched autumn. They passed a couple of homesteads, small but nicely-maintained single story thatch-roofed cottages with low “fences” of piled stone, here and there, delineating property lines and separating animal pens from gardens and fields. 

 The “diverse” group caught a few curious glances from wives sweeping their walks or tending their roadside gardens. A couple of small children peeked over one low stone wall, pointing and giggling with each other. 

 Haelan waved and smiled at anyone. The others gave subdued but good-natured “Good morrow’s” to the few people that stared a bit too long.

 Alaria had to admit, they must be quite the sight, even for the lands of the Dragonmage. A Redstar Knight, a druid, a magess of R’Hath, an elf, a dwarf and a daelvar hilltender with a giant ferret. Alaria smiled despite herself. Yes, she thought, they must appear curious indeed.

 The Wyvern’s Wing inn and tavern was just a mile up well-worn dirt road. It was a popular hang out for the local farmers as well as off-duty keep guards and travelers moving through Bridgetower who were not offered the honor of chambers within the keep. It was a solid looking two-storied building of wood and stucco with multiple chimenies and a roof of shale shingles instead of the thatching atop the other country dwellings. A wooden sign in the shape of a serpentine dragon-like creature with a long tail and outstretched wings hung perpendicular from the building.

 A long single-story structure that did have a thatched roof ran along the side of the inn. From the smell and lanky peasant lad that was toting an armful of leather straps and buckles, it was clear the structure was the inn’s stable.

 The party entered the almost entirely empty tavern common-room (it was only nearing mid-morning). Sitting at the bar, the satyr Festus shared a cheery guffaw with the buxom young woman behind the bar and took a long draw from his flagon.

 “Ah! Well met, Defenders.” Festus burst at their arrival. “You see, Amber, I told you I was on a quest with the heroes of the Tower.” The satyr set down his large mug and smiled brightly at the party. “She didn’t believe me. Some nonsense about trusting a satyr. So how ‘bout that kiss fer luck now, my beauty?” The small horned goat-man leaned over the bar with a leering wink.

 Amber laughed openly. “How ‘bout a victory kiss upon your safe return, instead?” the red-headed barmaid suggested. “He speaks the truth, though.” Amber directed at the party. “I didn’t believe him. Well met, heroes. Can I get you anything before you start your journey?”

 “I’ll take one of those ‘luck kisses.’” Duor said lustily making his way to a stool beside Festus.

 “No, thank you, Amber. We really must be getting on the road.” Alaria interjected.

 “How ‘bout a whiskey then?” Duor said, more to Alaria than the barmaid.

 Amber gave Alaria a knowing nod, obviously understanding that the magess, near-legendary to the simple barmaid's mind, was the reasonable one in this group. “I’ll get your provisions then.”

 “Provisions?” Coerraine said.

 “Aye. The good captain told me to make arrangement for our journey with all speed. I took the liberty of ordering us a lunch and full wineskins. Shafton is not a full day’s journey, but no reason we should deprive ourselves of Amber’s mutton pasties. Best in the land.” The satyr concluded with another hopeful leer at the barmaid’s back.

 “Now, now, Festus. They ain’t mine, you know that.” Amber said returning with two full satchels. “Father’s the cook.” She said as an aside to Alaria and Coerraine.

 “Em, well, many thanks, to you and your father…and you, Festus.” Alaria offered to the cloven ranger. “But my understanding,_ from Captain Rynthis_, was that you would be securing us mounts to speed our errand.” Alaria concluded, emphasizing the “official” nature of their mission.  

 “Indeed. Indeed, mistress magess.” The satyr said as he took his mug back from Duor who had gulped down its contents. “They’re in the stable. Ready to go in a moment’s notice…One more for the road, beautiful.” Festus said.

 Haelan sniffed deeply at the contents of one of the satchels. “These smell divine! My compliments to your father, Amber.”

 “Wait’ll yeh taste’m. Best in the land. I'm tellin' yeh.” Festus said distacted by his refilled mug.

 “Ranger Hornshod,” Alaria began, attempting to assert some control over the situation though she had only a week ago willingly shed her role as group leader, “we really must be on our way. Time is of the essence.”

 “Now, now, Alaria. We’re not at your beck n’ call anymore, remember?” Duor offered. “That whiskey, please, my dear.” The dwarf asserted.

 Amber gave Alaria a cautious glance and then pulled the bottle out from behind the bar, pouring a shot into a small thick glass tumbler.

 “Fine.” Alaria said. “One for the road, then. Coerraine, Erevan and I will get the horses and await you outside.” The mages did not wait for a response but turned abruptly, causing her golden traveling robe and dark blue hooded cloak (an indulgence purchase from the keep before leaving) to twirl with a flourish.

 Erevan followed without a word. Coerraine hesitated a moment waiting for some derogatory comment from Duor. He was not disappointed.

 “Indeed.” The dwarf said with intended affectation. “Prepare our mount, pally. I’ll be out in two swigs.”

 Ten swigs later, the dwarf and satyr exited the inn to find the rest of the company waiting. Alaria, in particular, was obviously impatient.

 There was a horse for Alaria, one for Coerraine which Duor was hoisted up on, one atop which Erevan sat, with Fen seated behind him and a pony for Haelan.

 “What about Buttercream?” Haelan said.

 “She will keep up, friend daelvar.” Fen offered. “And you, master satyr? What will you ride upon?”

 “Pah!” Festus snorted. “I’ve hooves of my own.” The satyr ranger chuckled. “I’ll keep up. Don’t yeh worry ‘bout me. Shall we, then? We’ll make Shafton in two shakes o’ my tail.” He turned his back to the party and pulled aside the coarse patchwork cloak of browns and greens that he wore (as opposed to the fine blue and grey cloak of the Tower guard Alaria had seen him in before). The satyr bor his shaggy haired behind and flicked his stumpy goat-like tail twice. 

 “Onward to adventure and glory!”

 With that the ranger began cantering up the road for a distance before breaking from the dirt road across a field to the north and east. The rest fell into a speedy trot easily keeping up with the satyr.

 It was only a couple of hours later, the party halted their mounts at the top of one of the low hills they’d entered after clearing some miles of harvested farmlands and yellowed fields.
 
 The ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet, sat with them nonchalantly chewing at some itch on her hindquarters.
 
 They all watched as the satyr tramped his way, slowly, up the slope to the top of the hill. Finally, Festus met them and leaned against one of the sparsely spaced trees. The ranger huffed and puffed, gasping for air.

 Alaria looked down at the satyr imperiously.

 Festus offered a broad smile in between gasps for air. “No worries, magess. *huff* No worries. Only *gasp for air*  a few leagues to go.”

 “Which way?” Erevan said. His smooth voice betrayed no hint of humor or condemnation.

 The ranger simply pointed, adjusting his gear and taking a single deep breath. The company again took off.
 
 Buttercream merely twitched her whiskers as the satyr began after them. The ferret overtook the ranger within a few strides.

 Festus fell behind almost immediately. He called after the group, “There’ll be a road over the next ridge through the trees.”

 The band found the road without incident before noon and slowed their pace for the ranger to catch up. 

 At this rate, Alaria supposed, they would make the town by mid-afternoon and suggested they break for lunch. She directed her horse off the road to a clear patch of browned grasses not far from a copse of trees. She eyed the copse cautiously as her mind immediately went to the night, only a few weeks before, when the companions had almost fallen to the rampaging troll and the cursed were-rat. Unbidden, her mind went to Braddok being flung by the troll into the grasses...and then the image of the ogre slamming its club into the field. Alaria physically shook off the unwanted images.

 Erevan, as if reading the wizard’s thoughts, said he would go scout the trees. Fen accompanied him as the rest dismounted and stretched their legs. Haelan, immediately, dove into the satchel holding the pasties and began doling out the patry wrapped meat and potatoes. Festus, naturally, pulled out his own full wineskin and gulped thirstily before offering it to Duor, who did the same. 

 The company had settled into a relaxed meal of the meat pies and fruits when they heard Erevan’s signature birdcall “alert.”

 Festus was a bit confused why the others leapt to their feet and made for the trees over the call of a warbler until Duor explained it was the elf and there might be trouble. Without a moment’s hesitation, the ranger withdrew the shortbow that hung from his waist and nocked an arrow.

 “Stay here with the horses, Goldilocks.” Duor commanded.

 “Duor,” Coerraine said without any hint of deference, “if you go, I go. I am duty-bound to your protection. You have my spear and my shield, not my will or servitude.” The young paladin had indulged his new “charge” while they were in the secure confines of Bridgetower, but now they were in unknown territory. He’d had enough of the dwarvish rogue treating him like a squire. He was a Redstar _Knight_. Doing his duty, not only to Duor but to himself and his _true _lord and god demanded he be able to act as he thought best.

 Duor furrowed his brow before nodding a reluctant acceptance of this fact. “But yer arse is still mine. Haelan! Watch the horses.” The dwarf commanded again.

 The Hilltender, not one to make waves, consented. “But you’ll call me if you need me, won’t you?”

 “Yeah, yeah.” Said the dwarf over his shoulder, trotting after the mage, paladin and ranger.  

 It was evident that there was no immediate threat. The elf and half-elf stood over a heap of…something…in the road. As they neared, Alaria had to cover her nose and mouth at the repulsive odor that clung to the area.

 “By the forge” Duor proclaimed, similarly covering his nose, when he neared. “What is it?”

 The heap was, in fact, a carcass. Primarily bones with few remnants of bloody muscle and sinew left on them. The remains were humanoid.
 
 Fen, Erevan and Festus quickly confirmed them to be, in fact, human. Remnants of whatever the person had been wearing were shredded and flung about the area, a few scraps of fabric still wrapped about torn limbs. A pack laid a few feet distant, its contents strewn about around it.

 Alaria set to examine the contents of the pack while Festus and Erevan nosed about the area to try and discern what had happened to this poor traveler.
 
 Fen inspected the carcass.
 
 Alaria wondered how the druid was able to get so near the carnage without losing his stomach.
 
 After some time, the druid proclaimed the killing was not the work of any “natural creature.”

 “The teeth marks are like no wolf, cat or bear I’ve ever seen.” The druid explained. “And here,” the druid lifted one of the arm bones, “the teeth have even gnawed into the bone, but…whatever it was did not eat them.” The druid attempted to point out the specific wound. The others took his word for it, not daring or desiring to get any nearer to remains. 

 The contents of the backpack proved entirely mundane travel items. There was a pouch holding nineteen silver pieces (minted with the dragon symbol of Daenfrii on one side and a diamond shape on the other), a tinder box, two pouches of oil, a hooded lantern (its glass lens shattered in the brawl, no doubt), some ink, blank papers, a sack that had been torn open with some rotting fruits. 

 Among them, Alaria found a single parchment, wrapped and sealed with a blue wax and the symbol of Daenfrii. She broke it open and read the distressing contents. Seeing the severity on her face, Duor asked what it said.

 Alaria read:
_“To Captain Rynthis Thesunder,_ 
_We have arrived in Shafton. Kobolds hold the mine. There is a curse over the whole of the area. The village has lost nearly half of its populace to the creatures that emerge from the mines at night. Guardsman Felorn has already fallen. We request and await reinforcements to retake the mine and fight the cursed vermin back to their depths. A sickening afflicts any who have enganged the creatures. Healers are sorely needed among the reinforcement of arms._ 
_Long live the Dragonmage._ 
_Signed, Sergeant Hepbert Balthas.”_ 

 “Well, seems the soldiers did send word back to the tower.” Duor remarked before turning to the carcass. “Sorry for you, mate, that the message didn’t make it.”

 “How long has the body been here, Duor? Fen?” Coerraine posed.

 The dwarf took silent affront, grumbling something about “not being a physician” under his beard as he neared the remains.

 Fen was silently leaning casually on his leaf-tip spear and staring blankly into the surrounding trees. He seemed not to hear the paladin’s query.

 “These are not kobolds.” Festus stated plainly. He pointed out a couple of tracks he’d discovered among the disarray of dirt on the road.  Erevan concurred. The prints were almost human-like, but elongated with clawed toes. 

 “A large goblin, perhaps? Or small troll?” Festus posed to the elf tracker.

 Erevan solemnly shook his head. “No goblin or troll I’ve ever seen.” The elf disagreed.

 “No.” said Fen simply. “Do you sense it?” the druid said cryptically.

 “Couldn’t _not_ smell it, half-blood.” Duor said, hand over his nose. “Surprised we didn’t smell it back at the Wyvern. I’d say the body’s ‘bout a week old. Though I can’t be entirely sure.”

 “Not ‘smell’, my dwarven friend. ‘Sense.’ There is no motion or noise in the trees. No scavengers. If the body has, in fact, been here a week wolves, ravens, bears, foxes, even raccoons should have picked this entirely clean. Especially with the winter approaching. The bones would be scattered through the woods. There shouldn’t be anything left here for us to find.”

 None liked the sound of that.

 “Why wouldn’t scavengers be taking these remains, Fen?” Alaria asked tentatively.

 “Abomination.” Fen said matter-of-factly. When that roused no response, the druid explained further. “Something unnatural lingers here. Do you not feel it? The animals will not come near it.” The druid did not meet any gaze but scowled at the surrounding wilds, as if he might discern some further insight from the air or the trees. None was forthcoming.   

 “Only thing lingering here is this gods-awful smell.” Duor said as he backed away from the scattered bones. “Ruined a perfectly good lunch. Let’s get out of here.”

 “Should we not dispose of the poor soul?” Coerraine offered. “Perhaps have Haelan lay a blessing over the body?”

 “No blessing is going to help him now.” Fen said morbidly. “Let us return to camp.”

 The others conceded. Alaria stated that they would have Haelan say a last rite for the poor courier and they would dispose of the remains when they got back on the road.

 The group returned to the halfling, casually snacking on his second mutton pasty. Happy to see his companions returning unscathed, Haelan inquired through a mouth full of pastery and potato, “Wuh wuv it? Ev’yfin ok?”

 The daelvar priest’s eyes widened to the point they seemed they might fall out of his head by the time they had finished.

Haelan did not like the sound of any of it, "not one bit."…and something in the back of his mind itched at him…something about the lingering odor he couldn’t quite recall.


----------



## steeldragons

The company paused over the tainted remains for a bit while Haelan said some kind words for the poor man. Alaria placed a handful of the silver coins  upon the body (his tribute to the death goddess in the afterlife) before they used the oil from the courier’s pack to douse the remains.

 With a casual flick of her finger, Alaria ignited the collected remains with a simple sliver of magical flame. 

 Feeling their duty done, the group carried on to Shafton.

 It was not an hour later before they came to the outlying farms of the mining community. They passed three homesteads. Two had obviously been torched, little more than charred beams and heaps blackened material.

 The third had its windows and doorway boarded up. A quick inspection revealed no one about. The interior of the place was in utter disarray. The normal household tools and simple furnishings were strewn about, broken and tattered.

 “We’d best get to the inn and find out what’s actually going on.” Festus offered. “The Silver Platter is just up here.”

 They entered the town proper. Buildings on both sides were built of solid stacked stones with thick beams exposed here and there. Most of the roofs were shingles of shale. Every possible window and doorway was shut, shutters closed. Several buildings had planks of wood barring the shutters, from the outside and/or across the doorways. A few people were seen peering through shutters or planks across the windows. 

 Two men rushed up to meet them as they neared the town’s square. One was armored in a shirt of chainmail under the blue tabard of the Bridgetower guard, the other in simple peasant garb. Both wielding swords.

 “Thank the gods you’ve come. Festus? The captain sent you? A Redstar too! Praise Celradorn. I’m afraid we are sorely in need of your lord’s protection, good paladin.” Said the tower guardsman.

 “Not just a Redstar, soldier. _These_ are the Defenders of the Tower who defeated the attempted goblin incursion.” Festus said proudly.

 “We’re called the Stormriders now, actually.” Haelan added with a smile.

 The guard looked at the Hilltender somewhat blankly. “Um. Sure, ok. Stormriders or Defenders, Shafton is in dire need. Come. Come, let’s get inside. We’re mostly holed up in the Platter. This way.”

 The companions all looked at each other and followed the men.

 “Is the Sergeant there?” Festus offered.

 “I’m Sergeant now.” Said the guard, somewhat forelorn. “Sergeant Hepbert fell two nights ago.”

 “I am sorry to hear it, sergeant, and your name?” Alaria offered even as she noted the speed of the man’s gait. The helmeted soldier couldn’t be any older than twenty summers.

 “Borsem, milady.” The sergeant answered without turning back. “It’s all right. They’re here to help.” The man called out to the prying eyes in one of the multi-storied building’s shuttered windows. 

 With that, one shutter, then another and another opened slightly. Exhausted sounds of “Praise Dunric.” and “Thank, the gods” and “Save us, heroes!” rose from various sides of the street.

 The group entered the Silver Platter. True to its name, a large oval platter of beaten silver hung over the door. The door was cautiously opened after Sergeant Borsem knocked on it in a specific series with the rounded butt of his sword.
  
 Inside, there was a room that looked more like a general’s tent than an inn’s common room. Maps were laid out across one table. A group of bedraggled and tense looking men hovered in clumps. All bore some weapon, a few swords, spears, axes. There were two youths who reached for longbows even as the party entered. A few large tables had been laid on their sides and pressed up against the large window that faced the street. Several of the window panes were broken out with boards sloppily nailed up over them.

 Introductions were made. The crowd visibly relaxed with the arrival of the “heroes” from Bridgetower. Explanations, by the sergeant, began. 

 “We arrived two weeks passed. The mine is, indeed overrun with kobolds. We were able to route them several times away from the entrance shaft. But they have obviously had time built up traps throughout the primary shafts. We lost one of our men in an ambush by the things. But they are loathe to enter the sunlight and are firmly entrenched within the mine’s second and third levels. Here and here.” Sergeant Borsem pointed to two places on a map, obviously, of the mine’s shafts. “And with their being there for nearly a month, according to the local miners, there’s no telling what adjustments to the tunnels they’ve had time to make.”

 Duor shook his head knowingly. “Yeah. Yappers can dig almost as effectively as dwarves. If they weren’t such bloody cowards, not to mention idiots, they’d be dangerous.” 

 “Excuse me,” one of the middle-aged raggard looking locals interjected softly, “but did Afran stay in Bridgetower? I thought he’d be returning with you.”

 Borsem looked at the companions, seemingly as curious for an answer. “This is Afran’s father, Garen.”

 “Who’s Afran?” Haelan questioned innocently. 

 Alaria wanted to smack the halfling. She turned to Erevan with a pleading look.

 Borsem looked at the raggard looking man with worry but held his chin firm. 

 “The messenger!” said Garen. “The one who brought you word of our plight. He is alright isn’t he?”

 “I’m afraid, goodman, your son did not reach Bridgetower.” Fen said cooly. “We are here at the behest of the good Captain Rynthis to find the reason for his squads lack of communication or return.”

 Alaria shot Fen a disapproving look.

 The man, Garen, who it turned out was one of the farmers, broke down in sorrow. Haelan did his best to console the man and others of the assembled rabble offered their condolences and kind words.

 Another older gentleman, the innkeeper Berfle apparently, brought the distraught father a large silver cup of some strong liquor and sat with the man.

 “Well, that explains why it took the Tower so long to send help.” Borsem said solemnly. “Are there more coming?”

 “Sergeant,” Coerraine piped in, “how have kobolds been able to create such a panic here…even in the daytime? What are their numbers?”

 Borsem nodded and paused a moment. He had to wrap his mind around the fact that the messenger had not made it through to the Tower and these would-be reinforcements really knew nothing of what was going on.

 “It’s not the kobolds.” The sergeant began. “We, the initial squad and these brave townsfolk, ventured into the mine to discern the precise nature of the threat…not even the day after we arrived.

 “The kobolds are, indeed, there as I noted.” He pointed at the mine map again. “We engaged a few small groups of them. They were stalwart but easily enough routed. As the night drew over the town, a large force of kobolds we were about to engage retreated without apparent reason. We pursued them, believing our victory assured. Then, they came out. Up from one of the tunnels. We had to fight for our lives to get back to the town. Many lives were lost in our retreat.

 “Since then, we’ve not dared to venture back into the mines. But every night, at sundown, they now venture further and further out of the mine.” The sergeant paused a moment, lost in his own thoughts. 

 “It’s our fault Afran’s dead.” He said quietly. “It was near sundown when we sent him out, but we were assured he was the fastest young man in the village. I thought…well, Sergeant Hepbert was still in command at the time…but we thought that he’d be far enough away from the village before night fell to get back to Bridgetower.”   

 “What are _‘they’_, sergeant?” Erevan asked what all of the party was thinking with his usual emotionless candor. 

 “Monstrous cannibals? Ghouls? Demons? We don’t know what they are.” Borsem admitted. “They reak of death. A fearsome odor that makes all but the most stalwart fall ill. They attack with raking talons. Their touch immobilizes any they touch. There’s a whole pack of them…at least a dozen from what we can tell. They fall upon those immobilized and tear them to shreds in moments. They are…inhuman. Unnatural creatures.”

 Fen’s earlier assertion echoed in all of the party’s minds.

 “Every nightfall, they move further and further into the town. Seeking out any unfortunate enough to be caught unawares. We instituted a curfew on the third day. 

 “The sergeant decreed that only those willing to volunteer to engage them need leave the security of their homes. But two nights of that and we were sorely losing men. When there were none to engage them out of doors, they began assaulting the homes and businesses themselves.

 “The clerics of Dunric at the shrine near the mine entrance were entirely massacred. We’ve only a single acolyte left who fled to the square for our aid. He’s near useless. In battle-shock, I suppose. We keep him in the cellars with the women and children who have come here for protection.

 “Any who are wounded by the creatures fall into a hideous fever which we’ve learned rouses them the following night as one of the creatures. So…” the sergeant paused, unsure how to share the information.

 “It was not long before we realized that any wounded had to be...disposed of regardless of how slight the injury.”

 Alaria gave an audible gasp at the news.

 “It has been…a difficult week since Sergeant Hepbert instituted that policy. It is why I am sergeant now.” Borsem finished, not able to meet the gaze of any of the companions.

 “Yer in luck then,” piped up Festus in as cheery a tone as he could muster. “Cuz now yeh’ve got not just a Hilltender of Faerantha, but a paladin of Celradorn, one of the Ancient Order, and the Stormrider, herself! Ghouls or demons, yeh’ve got the full force of a proper R’Hathi magess at yer defense now.” Festus smiled broadly, obviously believing every word he said, at Alaria. 

 Alaria was horrified at the vote of confidence. A full Magess I might be, Alaria thought, but I’ve no ritual for dealing with demons…or ghouls for that matter!

 Haelan just stood agape, also in horror. “I…I…I’m not…ghouls? Hillmother forfend…I don’t…” the cleric’s stammering wiped any look of hope or welcome from the assembled haggard survivors.

 Coerraine came to the rescue of his companions, and his, reputation. “Of course we will do everything we can to protect the village and rid it of this evil.”

 Surprisingly, Fen strode with purpose to stand beside the paladin. He spoke with all seriousness, “These unnatural abominations will be cleansed from the world. The Balance will be restored.”

 Coerraine found himself inwardly admiring the “heathen’s” certitude.

 “Well, count me out. I’m stayin’ here.” said Duor casually before taking a gulp of a mug of ale he’d helped himself to while the others had been gabbering.

 “If you’ll excuse us, Sergeant Borsem, is there some place my companions and I might conference privately.” Alaria interjected.

 Bosrem directed them to one of the rooms upstairs that he knew was vacant. The companions took their leave of the first floor.

 Duor brought the mug of ale with him. “Send one of these up in a few, will you? I’ve a feelin’ it’s gonna be a good day to drink.” the dwarf said offhandedly to the innkeeper who was consoling the bereft Garen.

 "Make that two!" called Festus, already ascending the stairs.

 Both requests were met with a scowl neither the dwarf nor satyr noticed.


----------



## steeldragons

The companions entered the small guest room. Slivers of sunlight streamed through the narrow partings of the boards hammered over the single window.

 Alaria had forgotten, with all of the dark news and mood of the lower floor, that it really was only mid-afternoon.

 She seated herself upon the lumpy bed. Still, she thought, better than a saddle. Her mind raced with the options before them.

 Haelan plopped himself next to the magess. He stared at the floor. 
 
 Duor casually flopped into the one crudely fashioned wooden chair and slurped on his mug of ale.

 Erevan moved to stand near the window, arms folded, letting the slivers of sunlight play across his face and the form-fitting violet leather jerkin he’d been wearing since his return from his elvin homeland.

 Fen took a quiet position near the elf.

 Festus stood near the chair with Duor, and “borrowed” a gulp of his mug.

 Coerraine stood near the door, resting his spear and shield down against the wall. The paladin folded his arms and seemed deep in thought. He took a deep breath before attempting to speak. 

 The silence of the room was abruptly shattered.

 “I CAN’T DO IT! Not undead! I just…I can’t! Please don’t make me! I don’t have to, do I Alaria? I’m a Hilltender! We tend the crops and the animals and the goodly folk. I’m not…I can’t…I…don’t make me…please.” The halfling burst in panic and concluded in a ball of tears.

 “Well, ain’t that just grand.” Duor commented softly. “Got a cleric who is afraid of ghouls. Some goddess you got there, hairfoot.”

 “You would have to be a fool not to fear the undead, Duor.” Erevan interjected. Alaria was surprised to hear the tint of recrimination and anger in the elf’s voice. “But then, we already knew you to be a fool, didn’t we?” The elf’s violet eyes looked to pierce the dwarf’s skull.

 Duor guffawed and shook a finger at the elf in a toying manner. “That we did, point-ear. That we did.” Duor knew he needed to lighten the mood. This “mission” was nowhere near the casual “mine-sweep of yappers” he’d expected.

 The company settled into talks of strategy...along with trying to calm and bolster their cleric.

 “Erevan,” Alaria took the lead, “what spells have you memorized for this day?”

 “I’ve only the disc spell and the evocation of energy darts.” The elf replied without his gaze faltering from the dwarf. Finally blinking, he turned to Alaria and continued, “I did not expect we would venture the mine until the morrow.”

 “That is well done.” Alaria answered, seeming to add that information to her unspoken equations. 

 “And you, ‘boss lady?’ What does our resident magess have to combat ghouls and demons?” Duor said with more than a polite amount of snark.

 “Well, she is the boss, isn’t she?” Festus interrupted innocently. “Captain Rynthis said the charter named you leader.”
 
 “That is correct, but I do not make summary judgements or decrees, Ranger Hornshod.” Alaria said distractedly. She did not want the satyr feeling them on “familiar” terms. There was more than enough to deal with without unwanted advances from a satyr.

 “To answer your question, Duor, I have more than enough magics to deal with the undead.” Alaria replied with assurance…though she knew that to be false. Her limited teachings regarding the undead told her that the sleep spell would have no effect on the creatures…they would also, likely, not be fooled by the new illusion she’d learned from the fallen elf mage’s spellbook. “And we have the orb.”

 That seemed to lift Haelan’s spirits quite a bit. “YES! The orb! You can blow them all away, right Alaria? We won’t even have to engage them, you can just blow them back into the mine.”

 “Haelan, that…” Alaria began.

 “That won’t be enough.” It was now Fen who interrupted. “These creatures can not simply be ‘blown away.’” The half-elf’s face was more serious than any had seen him before. “They must be destroyed. Expunged from our reality. The Balance must be preserved.”

 “Well then, ‘Master Expunge’, what weird tree-magic do you have to stop these creatures…If, indeed, they are undead…Gonna talk to the animals that won't even come near them? What if they_ are_ demons?” Duor said in accusation.

 “I say,” the dwarf hopped out of the chair, “we cut n’ run. We could hold up here fer the night and hightail it out of here at dawn. Two hundred gold ain’t worth this.” The dwarf crossed his arms in an attempt to seem imposing.

 “But…but these poor people.” Haelan said. “And we have a paladin of Celradorn. Surely that counts for something.” The daelvar looked pleadingly hopeful at Coerraine.

 “We also have a Hilltender of  Faerantha.” Coerraine countered as kindly as he could. “Who, I am certain, can do more good here than I.”

 Haelan again began to stutter, “But I…I mean…You and the spear…and I am…but…”

 It was Alaria’s turn to try to calm the daelvar. “Haelan, you have the blessings of your goddess. They are formidable. I’ve seen them save and protect and heal me, _all_ of us, more times than I can muster. You have your blessings and the invocation of Sanctuary that cannot be pierced. Even a spell to stave evil will effect the undead. Surely we will prevail here.” The wizardess rubbed the halfling’s back in an attempt to be comforting.

 She glowered at Duor. “And we will prevail _here._ These people need us. Braddok needs us. And we need the payment of the Tower. Let alone I gave _my word_ to Captain Rynthis and the hopes of those people downstairs. Besides, Duor, the captain gave us free reign to claim any treasure we find in the mine.”

 “We’re going_ IN_ the mine?!?!” Haelan, who had begun to relax, said in panic.

 “Not now. Not today.” Coerraine said in all seriousness.

 The rest of the company turned to the usually understated Redstar Knight. Coerraine continued.

 “There are only a few hours til nightfall. I say, we remain here. Do what we can to protect the town through the night. We will assault the mine in the morning,” Coerraine paused and continued before Alaria could object, “_after _we are suitably rested, of course. In the day neither the kobolds nor these unknown creatures would be venturing forth. But I doubt there is time now to do anything but defend the village…and you cannot argue, by the looks of those poor souls downstairs, they need some help and a decisive victory to have _hope_ again.”

 The company agreed as a knock came at the door. It was one of the younger men from downstairs with two mugs of ale. As he was leaving he turned and looked at Coerraine, “You are going to save us, aren’t you Redstar?”

 “Save you? No. We are going to _rid _you of these troubles.” Coerraine said flatly.

 Alaria was amazed and allured by the young paladin’s charismatic assertion. She felt bolstered, bathed in his confidence. They _would_ succeed…They _would_ restore hope to these people…she just knew it.

 The youth grinned wearily at the paladin. “Gods bless you, sir. All of you.”

 When the young man had left, Alaria rose from the bed. It was her turn to be assured and commanding. “Alright. You all must leave me now. I must rest and prepare my own energies for the coming battle. Do what you can to comfort and bolster the men below. I’ll be down before nightfall. There is much to do.” 

 The company nodded and took their leave.

 “’Nuther round, friend Duor? Good day to drink, indeed.” Festus said cheerily.

 “’Nuther round, friend Festus.” Duor replied. He added after Alaria had closed the door, as they moved down the hall, “The Forge grant it not be our last.”


----------



## wolff96

steeldragons said:


> “Yer in luck then,” piped up Festus in as cheery a tone as he could muster. “Cuz now yeh’ve got not just a Hilltender of Faerantha, but a paladin of Celradorn, one of the Ancient Order, and the Stormrider, herself! Ghouls or demons, yeh’ve got the full force of a proper R’Hathi magess at yer defense now.” Festus smiled broadly, obviously believing every word he said, at Alaria.





So is Festus a particularly vocal NPC or are we seeing a temporary replacement character for our fallen friend?

And I love that they're calling Alaria the "Stormrider".  That's a wicked name to live up to...


----------



## steeldragons

wolff96 said:


> So is Festus a particularly vocal NPC or are we seeing *a temporary replacement character for our fallen friend*?




*Emphasis/bold applied by me*

Haha. Nuthin gets passed you, does it Wolff?

As to how "temporary" it is remains to be seen. But I'm really liking the character thus far.



wolff96 said:


> And I love that they're calling Alaria the "Stormrider".  That's a wicked name to live up to...




Cool. Glad you like it. That was entirely not my idea. Just something I mentioned in the "feast scene" as the song sung by the Bridgetower minstrel/bard. They totally ran with it.

Again, "remains to be seen" just how much she can live up to it now that the wand of lightning is defunct/used up (at this point of the story, she's still only 3rd level).

Thanks, as always, for reading. 

Thanks _to all_ for reading...I noted that we slipped passed 4,000 and  4,100, and 4,200 (!) views without my notice. Thanks very much. Hope y'all are enjoying.

PS: There's battle scenes coming up soon, I prooooomise. 
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria had rested but her what short sleep she had gathered had been troubled and fitful. Resolving herself to their upcoming battle, Alaria released a couple of the spells she had memorized that morning back into the arcane either and took out her much bolstered spellbook.
 
 Still thin, by any magical account, the book was nonetheless much more full than it had been a week or two ago. Another spell, maybe two, and she would need to begin a second one.
 
 She had shared the contents of book received from the dying elf sorcerer, Lethyllis, with Erevan. The elf had not been able to transcribe three of the spells (the more powerful) from the book. Alaria pulled that small book from her pack and studied it as well.

 She descended into the common room of the Silver Platter Inn and Tavern before the evening was fully realized. Several of the men who had been there earlier were gone. The few that remained grumbled quietly among themselves. One or two muttered a “Good morrow” to the magess.

 The innkeeper, one Rulphus Bullnose, approached the woman and asked if she required any food or drink. “I apologize, Stormrider, that we have little of our usual fare. You’ll have to return to visit us after the curse has been lifted.” He attempted a half-hearted smile. The aging man had never expected his inn to be used as a barracks or refuge for nearly a quarter of Shafton’s remaining population.

 Alaria thanked the man and ordered a modest repast and elfvine. 

 The innkeeper looked thoughtful and then quietly informed Alaria that he thought he might have a bottle left, “for emergencies” somewhere in the kitchen. He winked and smiled warmly at the wizard.

 Inquiring of some of the remaining men as to the whereabouts of her companions, Alaria was informed that Coerraine, Duor and Festus had gone with Borsem to survey the “defenses” in the “upper town.”

 Haelan had been in the basement attempting to soothe the non-combatants and see if he could glean anything further from the “useless Dunric priest.” He’d then emerged and gone outside “to pray, he said. Fer all the good that’ll d’us” one of the bowmen muttered.

 The “elf and half-blood,” one particularly grizzled looked man informed her, had gone to the cemetery, “around the north side of the slope fer…wuh’d they call it?...‘Evidence of undead activity.’ W’ever that means.” A large hammer hung at his side and Alaria later discovered the grizzled veteran was named Drunac. He was Shafton’s preeminent blacksmith.

 Of Shafton, she learned, the mines were primarily iron and silver with the occasional discovery of a cache of “firestones” _<author/dm’s note: an uncommon Orean crystal commonly ground down to a gravely power. Used as an explosive for mining purposes and a component for several fire-evoking spells.>_

 The mines had been dwarven made, in the age before the original Dragonmage had ever taken up residence in the Vale nearly four centuries ago. The apparent wealth of the mine gave way to human prospectors and for a time dwarves and men had lived and worked in Shafton together before the ever-grumbling clan of the town’s founder, one Gorn Deepshaft, left Daenfrii for other lands and riches they could call their own. 

 There had been, at the beginning of the kobold invasion, only ten dwarves still in residence in Shafton. Now, after two weeks of fighting (and subsequent fleeing of many of Shafton’s residents) only two remained. The “Deepshaft brothers”, Kordun and Kurn, were the last remaining relatives of Gorn’s original clan. 

 Kordun worked as a miner and had proven a warrior of no small skill. Kurn, Alaria was told, had all the valor and “toughness” attributed to dwarves, and had proven most skilled in the various skirmishes they’d fought, but before “the invasion” worked as one of Shafton’s several silversmiths.

 Alaria ate the simple broth flavored with a few chunks of root vegetables (which, the R’Hathi felt, lacked any kind of seasoning) and the crust of bread served with it. She sipped calmly on the golden elfvine that the innkeeper had surreptitiously served in an ale mug.

 What little light filtered passed the barricades against the front window of the inn were deepening from an orange glow to the rosy pink of later evening before any of her company had returned.

 Erevan and Fen came back first.

 “The cemetery shows no signs of disruption.” The elf tracker reported.

 “Thank the gods for that.” Alaria remarked.

 “It is odd, however, Magess.” Fen started.

 Alaria was taken aback, somewhat, by the druid’s formality. Since encountering the remains on the road to Shafton, the druid had become more serious than Alaria had ever seen the carrot-topped half-elf…almost ‘dark’ in his determination.

 “The Abominations, what you call ‘the undead’, do not commonly arise from nothing. They must be called, dark souls summoned back into this world against all of the wishes of the Balance and the wills of the gods of Men. Save those which are spontaneously generated from some wellspring of evil or their own depravity.” Fen concluded.

 “That is not entirely true, Fen.” Alaria said calmly.

 The half-elf looked at the mage with questioning surprise.

 “For good or ill, and I take it as ‘ill’ believe me, the goddess Endore is one of the ‘gods of Men’, as you put it. Disease and Undeath are her dominion. Her servants, while vile and depraved individuals by any definition of civility, are said to be most potent and dangerous.”

 “Also, while I am loath to admit it, the practice of Necromancy is not an entirely ‘evil’ pursuit. Not in R’Hath, in any event. There are necromancers who call forth servants of bone or mindless husks to do their bidding. Such beings, to my limited understanding of that school of study, are not actually inhabited by an evil intelligence, but simply ‘animate’ the unused physical remains through arcane energy.”

 Fen scoffed at the suggestion. “The philosophical nonsense used by arcanists to justify their own assault of the Balance with impunity.”

 Erevan begrudgingly agreed with the wizard but added, “You must admit, Alaria, that the accounts we’ve heard from the good sergeant do not make these creatures sound like skeletons or zombies.”

 Alaria nodded her silent agreement before taking another long sip of her elfvine.

 “Unfortunately not.” She admitted. The presence of a necromancer who would assault this town in such a manner was not a possibility Alaria wished to give any credence. Of course, she thought, the possibility of a priest of the Plague Mistress was equally unwelcome.

 Haelan returned shortly thereafter. He was quiet, pensive. Significantly more subdued than Alaria had ever seen him. Even fear or sorrow would be more welcome, the wizard admitted, but the daelvar seemed singularly distracted in his thoughts. He politely asked for some ale and a received a mug along with a small bowl of the vegetable laden broth and another hunk of crusty bread.

 Fen raised an eyebrow at Erevan. The full-blooded elf did the same to Alaria. She shook her head, determining to let the daelvar priest have his meal in peace.

 The peace did not last long as the door to the inn began banging loudly. Just about everyone in the common room jumped at the sudden disruption. 

 Erevan was pleased to see the halfling did not dive under the table.

 After a cursory glance out the front window, the door was opened to reveal the satyr, Festus. The ranger goat-man came bounding into the inn’s common room rubbing his hands together and smiling broadly. “Ok. Ah, wonderful! You’re up already, Stormrider. We ready to go?”

 Collecting their things, the “Defenders of the Tower” readied to leave. Several of the common folk with their weapons prepared to join them before Festus spoke up.

 “Not you all. Borsem says you should remain here to defend the inn. The Stormrider’s company and those already at their posts will be meeting the enemy tonight. Be ready should we have to retreat. The square will be our fallback position. If you hear battle outside, don’t come running. We’ll use the Platter [dm’s note: which sat along the perimeter of the town square] as a last fallback if the battle goes badly. Until then, the sergeant requests you all get as much rest as plausible.” 

 Erevan, Fen, Alaria and Haelan trailing behind, still silent, left with the satyr and made their way along the sloping switchback road up to the town’s defense perimeter in the “upper town.”

 Sergeant Borsem waited for them there. Two dwarves with lengthy beards, one blond and one russet, and another two townsfolk clad in studded leather awaited them.

 Introductions were made as the sun sank below the western horizon. The deep purple and blue of night fell over the companions.

 The upper town, Alaria noticed, was a curious construction. The buildings were all built along the steep hill/small mountain’s slope. The buildings were the stone construction of the lower town, tall and wide but not deep. Their upper windows and several of the doorways had been boarded up.
 
 At the edge of the buildings a makeshift barricade of overturned tables, shelves and other furniture was ‘fortified’ by some stones and hastily sharpened branches and trunks pointing further up the road.
 
 The road ran along in front of the buildings, only blocked from the steep incline down to what she presumed was ‘the lower town’, but a few small trees, scrubby undergrowth and a short stone ‘curb’ that didn’t even come up to Haelan’s waist. 

 “Going to want to watch that.” Alaria said to no one in particular.

 Haelan and Duor peered over the curb. “That’d be a good call, boss ‘Stormrider’ lady.” The dwarf mentioned with his usual sarcastic humor.

 Duor was in a particularly good mood, having found others of his kind to relay his own, somewhat altered, tales of heroism and valor. The warrior-looking blond one, decked out in platemail and wielding a finely crafted broad sword, was Kordun. He and Kurn, who wore only a chainmail jacket and had a curious-looking crossbow nocked seemed adequately impressed and relayed their own tales of bravery from the passed two weeks. The four, Festus was sure to be a part of their conversation though he understood little of dwarves or their ways, shared a skin of ale the satyr had brought with him. The skin, Fen noted, was already half empty.

 The company sat in wait. Haelan remained silent. Whether he was praying or meditating or fearing for his life, none knew. The only interaction he’d had was with Coerraine who explained his god-granted field of protection should extended the entire width of the broad roadway. The halfling had nodded his understanding at the paladin but said nothing.

 Borsem and Coerraine conferred with Alaria as to their ‘plan.’ Alaria nodded her understanding and agreed with the course of action. They would do what damage they could. ‘If’ the battle went badly, they would retreat with all speed to the square to regroup. In the event all looked lost, they were to get into the Silver Platter and defend it.

 Alaria was told to act as she felt appropriate. Alaria took more than a little umbrage at the presumption of the sergeant to tell her what to do…even though it was to do what she felt best. She said nothing for fear of upsetting Haelan and then chastised herself for her own hubris. 

 Duor clapped the daelvar on the shoulder. “Not to worry Hilltender. Dwarven ingenuity will prevail this night. We’ve got a bit of a surprise in store for any nasties that come this way.” The dwarf then took a position in one of the building’s un-obscured doorways with Kurn. Both dwarves had their respective crossbows nocked and ready, a pail of burning pitch between them. 

 Coerraine had assured the dwarf that he would remain close enough for his field of protection to encompass the dwarf. The paladin quietly apologized to Alaria that he must make Duor a priority in the coming battle.

 The magess nodded her understanding and assured Coerraine he had no reason to apologize. She had every intention of remaining close enough to the paladin to be within his blessed field.

 Erevan took up a position up on one of the roofs of a building near the barricade. He had a small metal pail of burning pitch precariously placed next to him. The elf swirled an arrowhead in the bucket from time to time to keep the dark substance flaming. He’d pull the shaft from the pail and blow out the flames on the tip of his arrow. Well assured in his prowess with the bow, the elf sank into mental repetitions of the spells he had prepared. A magical assault was sure to be their first, and he hoped most effective, offense.

 Fen had positioned himself beside a clutch of thin birch trees and bushes. The magic of his sacred cloak swathed him. It masked him from practically all view unless one was staring directly at him. 

 Even then, Alaria noted, the druid’s form was ‘sketchy.’

 Alaria whispered the detection incantation and took a moment to shift her vision. 

 The air about the druid, a priest of Orea itself, was again charged with the strangely mysterious energies of his ‘Ancient Holy Order.’ The intricacies of the energies lost to her sight and understanding. She stood behind Borsem, Coerraine, and the two human townfolk in the middle of the road.

 Haelan stood silently at her side.
 
 The wizardess found herself praying to the Blue Star that the daelvar would find security and strength in his faith in the coming hours…and use it to great effect.

 To Alaria’s horror, she noted the coiled mass of shadow near the druid. Its two red eyes glistened in her magical sight. 

 The shadow snake seemed no larger than the one they had encountered at Rhea’s glade in Welford. One for observation, according to Rhea, the wizard recalled. She also realized that they had neither the time nor resources to deal with the creature. Hope your master enjoys the show. Bastard!

 The night crept on, painfully slow. The green lesser moon, Sorilorr, was again nearing its fullness. The smaller satellite was nearly at its zenith despite the fact that it had only risen two hours prior. The silver greater moon, Arinane, was little more than a sliver. It lumbered its slow course, still low in the eastern sky. The mix of green and white light shone down upon the group, save the dwarves bathed in shadow of the recessed doorway.

 The sound of something bounding down the road, as well as the odor, assailed the assembled ‘heroes’ before any creature was seen. The sound was one of claws scraping and scurrying along the stone-paved road which turned abruptly, almost one hundred and eighty degrees, a short distance ahead of the barricade. The road continued to slope further up the mountain. It was obscured by the buildings of the upper town and trees and undergrowth that rose up behind the buildings. 

 “Here they come.” Said Borsem not too loudly.

 Fool, thought Fen, the creatures would know they were there by their scent for living flesh long before they would hear the young soldier.

 Not two heartbeats later, one of the creatures rounded the switchback into view of the company. It was bent, hunched over, charging along on all fours. Its feet and hands were oversized with long digits ending in obvious claws. Its head had no hair. Greyish dead-looking skin seemed to cling to the impossibly thin frame. Its maw was also oversized for its head/face with sported two bulging eyes, the whites or which were almost entirely bloodshot. A pointed unnaturally long tongue hung out of its fang-filled mouth. 

 The creature paused a moment to look at the assembled treats before it. The swollen lengthy pukish purple tongue licked, not just its thin lips, but encompassed its entire face. The thing roared an inhume sound.

 Another appeared. Then another appeared. Another. There were five in total on the road. They began crawling slowly toward the barricade. They made sounds that sound like maniacal laughter and bounded one over the other, scrambling in a mass of grey skeletal horror toward the barricade. None, however, presumed to leap ahead of the first creature which had rounded the bend in the road.

 Haelan, next to Alaria, made a small sound and gripped, shakily, his pinecone-headed mace in both hands. His magical small round shield was strapped securely to his forearm.

 Enough of this, Alaria thought before raising her hands high and shouting the syllables in the language of magic. The energies flowed freely around her, her hair and golden robe swirled in the shifting ionized air.

 “_Everx imberil rex!” <mage spell: Burning hands_>

 As her lips closed, flames of violet and bright red surrounded her hands for only a moment before bursting forth and arching over her allies and the barricade to crash down on the closely clustered creatures.

 Howling, hoots and snarls burst from the collected ghouls as the fire rained down on them. The ‘leader’ shot forward and missed the the entirety of the arcane assault. Another leapt to the left and clamped onto the stone wall of one of the buildings immediately before the barricade. The other three were caught in the burning magical fire.

 All of the creatures charged forward three of them trailing violet and red flames as they came. The licks of magical fire passed off of them, though scorching black patches of flesh were evident on them. One in particular seemed heavily damaged but came up behind the others.  

_“Everx zaar!” <mage spell: Magic Missle_ > was shouted from somewhere over the heroes and a bolt of blue-green energy flew down to strike the lead ghoul. 

 The elf cursed that the creature was shunted to the side in mid-charge, a small sorch burst evident on its shoulder, but did not slow and in two bounds was leaping over the barricade toward the soldiers.

 There was a dull thud as Coerraine slammed the butt of his spear into the ground in front of him before raising both shield and spear for the expected attack. Immediately, a circle of golden light burst forth from the paladin’s position. The sliver of light passed by Alaria and Haelan to fade somewhere behind them. It washed to the left and right, lighting up for an instant, the two dwarves in the doorway and the cluster of birch trees where, Alaria assumed, Fen still hid. The light spread forward and seemed to fade as it washed over the barricade.

 The ghoul who had avoided Alaria’s _burning hands_ by jumping onto the wall now leapt after its ‘leader’ and easily cleared the barricade toward the dwarf, Kordun. As the creature cleared the barricade, it was awash in golden light and shrieked in what all assumed to be pain as wisps of smoke began to  trail off of it in midair.

 The lead ghoul, similarly, began to smoke and hiss as it passed into the paladin’s protection field. Its arms seemed to extend from its body, like taffy, to reach for the Redstar Knight, while its body stayed well beyond the reach of his spear tip which gleamed with golden righteous power.

 The odor was already overwhelming. The mental bolstering from Coerraine’s circle of protection was all that kept Haelan from wretching and fleeing for his life. But he stood his ground, unsteadily, grasping his mace and watching in horror as the entire group of creatures continued to advance, regardless of whatever it was the paladin’s field was doing to them.

 One of the townsfolk did, in fact, become ill and incapacitated by the noxious fumes emanating from the creatures. His fellow townsman took a defensive position in front of the striken man as the remainder of the creatures leapt over the barricade and began to sizzle and smoke within the paladin’s protection.

 A bolt of green lightning flared across the road and stopped in front of the two normal men and Sergeant Borsem. In an instant, vines and roots leapt from the ground and ensnared two of the ghouls. They were bound tightly within the living coils and the creatures shrieked in defiance.

 Not wasting a moment of the opportunity, Borsem and the standing townsman began hacking into the trapped creatures, though their swords seemed to do very little to the greasy looking unnatural grey flesh.

 Fen raced forward, his spear tip seemed to glisten solely with the green light of the lesser moon and he stabbed vigorously into the creatures within the field of writhing entangling flora. 

 Bolts tipped with flames from the pails of burning pitch shot out from the building doorway as the dwarves and satyr let loose with their weapon. Two more rained down from Erevan’s position on the nearby rooftop. Several made their marks but none of the creatures fell.

 The one ghoul, heavily burned from Alaria’s attack, made a swipe at the druid. Its arms also stretching, seemingly impossibly far from its body.

 Fen deftly twisted and turned to avoid both elongated hands of claws. The half-elf twirled his spear above his head like a propeller, incanting as he did so a bit too loudly.

 While Alaria did not feel an assault from the primordial words, just far enough away, but Borsem and the townsman did seem effected and distracted by the cryptic forbidden tongue of othe druids.

 Fen could not be concerned, the abominations must be eliminated. The Balance must be defended, it was the prime directive of his order.

 At the completion of his spell, the spear’s leaf-shaped blade was ensconced in a ball of fire and the druid struck, getting uncomfortably close to the undead creature. The full force of the druid’s attack, coupled with magical flame caused the creature to shriek in defiance and then go limp. It smoldered as it slid off of the end of the druid’s spear.
 
 Without waiting a breath to savor his victory, Fen whirled about to renew his stabbing attacks on the entangled ghouls. He knew the enchantment would not last much longer.

 Borsem and the townsmen (the one who had been made ill had regained his feet) joined the druid in his assault. Again, their weapons seemed unable to pierce the undead skin.

 Another round of fire-tipped arrows and crossbow bolts flew at the creatures from Erevan, Festus, Duor and the Shafton dwarf, Kurn.

 Haelan still stood shaking.   

 “Haelan, the men’s weapons! Call up Faerantha’s blessing! All of our weapons!” Alaria commanded. The mages assumed the silver end of her staff might have some effect, but a bit of divine “juice” couldn’t hurt.

 Snapped from his fear-striken inaction, the Hilltender nodded and bumbled. “Yes. Yes, Faerantha’s blessing. Yes. Of course. Um…Dei…Deisa Fuh-Fuh-F’rantha…um…” The halfling’s large brown eyes scanned the scene before him.

 Coerraine jabbed and dodged at the lead creature. He smacked away raking claws with his shield and no attack had managed to pierce his defense though he was still unable to get in a solid strike on the ghoul.

 The dwarf, Kordun, was similarly going -for-tat with the other ghoul which had leapt from the building wall. His broadsword, despite the dominating everpresent green light of Sorilorr seemed to gleam with a white glow, as if only the light of the silver moon were touching the blade. 

 The two ghouls entrapped by the vines began to snap the green cords, slowly freeing themselves as the potency of the druid’s spell began to wane.

 “Haelan! NOW!” Alaria shouted. Her own mind was reeling through the spells she’d prepared and looked for an opening in the various battles occurring before her where her magicks might prove useful.  

 The first of the entangled ghouls broke clear of the vegetation and made a swipe with its claws that raked out at one of the townsmen still trying to keep the creature’s contained in the enchanted plants.
 
 The strike tore through cloth and armor, completely disemboweling the man and he dropped with barely a sound in a great spray of blood.

 “Ferdrik!” shouted the other man in panic. His friend was dead before he could even hear the cry.

 Bollux, thought Alaria. Waiting for the “right moments” would only get them all killed.

_“Everx zaar!”_  the wizardess exploded. The speed with which the energy raced around and through her surprised Alaria, herself. A corner of her mind smiled at her apparent increasing aptitude with the power.

 Two shards of violet-blue energy darted forth from her outstretched arm. Each flew up and around her companions, one to land on the lead ghoul embattled by Coerraine, the other streaked up and over the plate-clad dwarf to strike his foe. Both struck true, barely faltering the creatures but disorienting them enough to allow both the paladin and dwarven warrior to get close enough to land solid blows.

 Another volley of flaming bolts flew at the creatures. Two struck. Three missed, bouncing and skidding harmlessly on the cobblestones.

_“Deisa Faerantha, dicteus beneficia spiritos y tiem paras_ .” _<cleric spell: Bless>_  The divine invocation seemed to echo through the battle area. A honey-colored glow burst into view surrounding all of the weapons present except for the druid’s spear (which maintained its greenish sheen) and Kurden’s broadsword, awash in white light of its own. 

  Erevan was surprised to see that even his bow flared with the momentary divine light. The halfling was obviously increasing in power, the elf thought as he nocked another arrow from the pail of flaming pitch.  

  A momentary breeze flew across the companions. It dispelled the rancorous odor of the undead, filling their senses, instead, with the scent of summer rain and pine trees. In the wake of the cleared air, Haelan was washed of his fear and filled with the divine peace of his goddess’ favor. A look of fervent determination came over the Hilltender. 

  “’Bout bloody time, hairfoot!” Duor shouted across the field of battle. 

With their newly empowered weapons, Borsem and the remaining townsman (with assistance by Fen) were able to destroy the two ghouls.  

Coerraine and Kordun, with another peppering of flaming arrows, dispatched the leader and final ghoul. 

  For a moment, all stood tense and waiting, half-expecting the creatures to leap up again. Instead, the gaunt grey frames remained fallen, hissing quietly as they unnatural bodies continued to give off wisps of smoke within Coerraine’s protection field. 

  A moment later, the smoking stopped as Coerraine relaxed and released the defensive power. 

  “That…was…LOCKHORNS!” raved the satyr from the doorway. He pranced and clip-clopped out onto the cobblestone road. “My first battle with the Stormriders did not disappoint. HOOHOO!” Festus skipped around the other heroes on the street with a broad smile on his face. “Imagine the songs that will be sung of the ‘Heroes of Shafton’!” 

  Alaria and Coerraine scowled disapprovingly at the satyr’s exuberance in the face of the dead townsman. 

  The satyr, not losing his smile, looked at the mage and paladin. “C’mon…That was lockhorns.” 

  Borsem, who consoled the remaining man (the fallen’s brother), Bret. “The threat is not over, Festus. But it is a good start.” 

  The bodies of the ghouls were dragged over to the barricade. A couple were tossed over the sharpened spikes as a warning, though Coerraine seriously doubted that other ghouls would care. 

  Erevan readied to descend from his vantage point when his ears twitched at a sound. 

 The elf sniffed the air.


----------



## steeldragons

A band of clouds moving between the high peaks shrouded the green moon, the slender curve of the silver moon provided only the most minimal light. The white light glimmered across Erevan’s pale grey tresses, giving the elf’s hair the otherworldly appearance of liquid silver.

 “Make ready! More of the creatures are coming.” Erevan called down to his companions and turned to see three more ghouls clambering up onto the slate roof of the neighboring building. The elf’s almond shaped eyes widened in horror and he drew arrows with fluid speed.

 Even to the elf’s enhanced vision, the unnatural creatures barely appeared as outlines of dark space marginally cooler than the night air. His first arrow flew harmlessly between and passed the blurry images. I need more light, Erevan thought.

_“Liet!”<mage cantrip: Light> _ shouted the elf as he made a throwing motion with his arm. The elf felt the energy of the simple enchantment rise through his arm and fly from his fingertips. In a moment, a ball of yellowish white light burst at the roof’s edge.

 Erevan cursed that it had not landed upon the face of one of the creatures as was his intention. But the sudden burst of light did give the creatures pause and the halted their advance for a moment as the harsh new light ignited in their darkvision.

 “Orcass.” Duor muttered staring up at the rooftop where the light shone.

 “Erevan get away from there!” called Alaria. Her hand went to the crystal orb in her pouch.

  “_Yaix ar Yomarus, benfica Faerantha urmu_”. <cleric spell: Light> Haelan chanted near her and the área of the héroes was encompassed by a soft golden glow, like the coming light of dawn.

  The dwarf Kurn was running to the barricade and sprinkling it with the powdery contents of a large pouch. “Hurry! Hurry! Make ready, friend Duor!” the russet bearded dwarf called.

 Duor returned to the doorway where the all but spent pail of burning pitch laid. Only enough to light one more bolt, Duor noticed with disappointment. This had better work, he thought.

 “Back away, make for the square!” commanded Sergeant Borsem. He and the townsman, Bret, began making their way back to the switchback to the lower town.

 Festus followed, backing away with a knocked arrow, awaiting the other companions’ retreat before he would fully flee.

 The dwarf fighter, Kordun waited for his brother to throw the remains of the pouch’s contents on the barricade and then the two of them raced back down the road, pausing some thirty feet behind the daelvar priest and mage.

 Coerraine cursed himself for dispelling his protective field. The paladin would not be able to summon Celradorn’s grace in such a manner til the following day. The Redstar Knight waited until the dwarf had nocked a smoldering dart into his hand crossbow and then they too moved away from the barricade.

 The odor fell upon them again. Thankfully, the residual effects of Haelan’s blessing kept the smell from overpowering any of them.

 Then, to the horror of all present, more ghouls began to crawl around the bend up the road from the barricade. Two. Then Four. Ten? More!

 “Yeh said there were twelve!” Duor protested loudly to Borsem. The Bridgetower guard made no reply.

 They moved slowly. They snarled and howled and ‘laughed’ in that maniacal sound. Some climbed over each other as they came. Some jumped up onto the wall of the building next to them and slowly crawled along the wall itself. All had the sickly grey flesh and long purple tongues licked fang-filled maws. Some were still in the tatters of villager clothing. 

 Alaria noticed, with disgust, that two still have the shredded remains of brown cowls around and small stone amulets on chains around their necks…the poor “survivors” of the smith god Dunric’s shrine further up the mountain, no doubt.

 “Haelan, come on. We need to regroup.” Alaria said calmly. It was all she could do not to bolt in panic herself at the increasing numbers of undead that rounded the bend and made their way toward the barricade. With expert training, she steadied her mind in preparation to conjure the powers of the Ihs Repahl.

 The Hilltender stood, now resolute in his goddess’ power, all trace of insecurity and fear had left him. He seemed to be concentrating and refused to take a step back. 

 “C’mon yeh idiot hairfoot!” said Duor. “Dwarven ingenuity will win the night. Save yer prayers fer later. Lest yeh wanna be a bushy-toed candle.” The dwarf gripped the halfling by the shoulder and shook him from his place. 

 Haelan looked annoyed but did begin moving back.

 Erevan had taken Alaria’s advice and was bounding along the rooftops back toward the switchback. The rooftop ghouls were given chase at full speed. Thankfully, the fleet-footed elf maintained his perfect balance while the creatures scrambled and slipped, knocking slate tiles free that crashed loudly to the ground below. He was well ahead before turning to face them on the last building before the road curved back and down to the lower village.

 Two arrows left his bow.

 One bolt stuck with enough force to send one of the scrambling ghouls near the edge of the roof  down upon the sharpened stakes of the barricade below. It was not dead…or, well, destroyed (it was already ‘dead’, technically speaking)…but it thrashed and howled unable to free itself from the impalement.

 The other struck the leading ghoul in the shoulder but did not deter its advance.

 With the howls and thrashing of the impaled ghoul, the rest of the now quite large group of carnivorous undead surged forward. Several fell upon the still living creature, others tore with claw and fang into the recently defeated ghouls. Two landed upon the corpse of the townsman Ferdrik and ate hungrily, fending other would-be feeders away angrily. The bulk of the creatures bounded, climbed and clamored over the barricade with their bulging bloodshot eyes firmly fixed on the still living flesh on the road before them.

 “Now, Duor! Now!” Kurn cried.

 “A little magical fire would help too. If you would, boss lady.” Duor said offhandedly to Alaria. 

 The magess caught his meaning, though she expected the wooden furniture that comprised most of the humble fortification would take some time to catch. With a casual thought and flick of her finger a single dart of flame shot toward the barricade.

 Duor, who had been puffing patiently on the smoldering bolt on his crossbow, took aim and fired the flame-tipped bolt. 

 The dart and the flicker of magic fire struck the barricade simultaneously and the entire wall of stakes and furniture and bodies erupted into a veritable wall of fire!

 Alaria, indeed all of the companions, reflexively jolted at the (unexpected for several of them) burst of flames and heat.

 Ghouls shrieked and flared around. Even the ones on the body of Ferdrik ignited in the rush of fire. They whirled and capered and rolled around on the ground as the cursed fire ate into their undead bodies.

 A few of the creatures attempted to leap over the flames, arriving scorched and smoking on the companions’ side. The bulk of the creatures were writhing in the cleansing fire. A total of four of the creatures were crawling slowly toward the heroes. Their advance was halted as their twisted minds attempted to gage if the living flesh before them was assailable or if they needed to lick their burning wounds.

 “HOOHOO! Let’s hear it for ‘dwarven ingenuity’!” laughed Festus.

 Alaria, again, found the satyr ranger’s apparent delight to be distasteful. They were, quite obviously to the R'Hathi, far from safe.

 “Not so fast, satyr.” Kordun said solemnly. 

 As if in response to the dwarf’s comment, the flames subsided. Much of the barricade was still on fire, but the “wall” of fire had diminished greatly to show a half dozen ghouls still waiting on the other side, halted before the flames.

 “Firestone powder burns bright and hot, but very quickly.” The dwarf explained.

 “Which is why…” Kurn said. “we have a back-up. If you would, friend Festus…when the rest of the creatures begin to approach.”

 Four ghouls before the barricade, six behind. The ones in front of the companions howled down the road in defiance and began to bound forward.

 “Ehm. Ya think they’re close enough to the flames?” the satyr said, now sounding nervous.

 “That would seem to be my part.” Said Haelan self-assuredly.

The halfling took a single step forward to stand between all of his friends and the rapidly approaching four ghouls. He did not raise his mace, nor his shield, but instead grabbed the silver chain that hung around his neck and withdrew the amulet engraved with the pinecone symbol of Faerantha that normally hung beneath his short green tabard.  He held it aloft and the amulet and halfling himself seemed to pulse with holy power.

 “Begone ye foul boils upon the Hill. Affronts to the Harvest Mother, all. Ye cannot assail Her power. BEGONE!” the daelvar intoned. 

 The whole area around the companions again filled with the scent of pine trees and honey, summer rain and fresh wheat bread. A golden glow glimmered in an instant about the cleric, his raised amulet, indeed the very air. The glimmer became a flare and Haelan stood in defiance of these atrocious creatures, a three-and-a-half foot tall ball of golden sun.

 The charging ghouls skidded to a halt, cowering from the divine energies swirling before them. The holy light burned. The celestial odors assailed their deviant senses. It was pain. It was an inner fire that assaulted their darkened souls. It was HOLY!

All four of the ghouls raced with all speed back toward the significantly less painful fires of the barricade. There they cowered, trapped between the scorching flames and this divine honey-colored sun.

 Haelan stood immobile. The blazing grace of the Hill Mother flowed through him. He was enwrapt in Her divine bosum. Haelan knew, beyond knowing, that he would never falter in the face of the undead again.

 “Um. Now would be good, goat-butt.” Duor said in quiet awe to the satyr who stood beside him with a small clutch of red gemstones in the pocket of his sling.

 The satyr, broken from his own awe, “Huh? Oh right. Right!” The satyr swung his sling several times, the simple leather thong whirling into a blur before he released one of the straps and a handful of small red crystals flew with exacting purpose onto the dwindling flames of the barricade.

 There was a moment for doubt that the crystals had made their mark as they clattered down among the burning wood. But, only a moment.

 The entire barricade, the trapped ghouls ‘turned’ by Haelan and the ghouls who’d yet to dare the fiery mound exploded into a ball of fire. The likes of which Alaria could recall seeing only once, in a demonstration spell by her master, some time ago.

Burned and burning, scorched and blackened wood and limbs of grey flesh flew in all directions. The force of the blast knocked in the boarding on the two buildings closest the barricade. Hair and tabards, beards and cloaks blew behind the companions.

 Haelan was sent flying back from his hairy feet. The daelvar priest was halted, or more accurately ‘caught’, against the stalwart thighs of the paladin.

 Alaria was knocked back to be caught by the dwarf, Kordun, who smiled broadly.

 “And that, friend Festus, is dwarven ingenuity.” Said the russet-bearded Kurn with a smile to rival his brother’s. 

 For a moment the companions stood, staring spellbound at the remains of their assailants. Then, a melodic if somewhat strained voice came down to them.

 “Ehm. That is indeed impressive, but…A LITTLE HELP UP HERE!?” Erevan called.


----------



## steeldragons

Roused from their collective shock at the explosion. The companions lept into action.

 Alaria nodded a thanks to Kordun as she regained her footing and again grasped the orb in her pouch, pulled it forth and began to concentrate on the levitation power. The crystal immediately sparked to life, blue and white light swirling within it. The levitation glyph appeared a moment later and two moments later Alaria was floating slowly up toward the rooftop.

 The winds swirling around her whipped her robes and hair, Borsem and the dwarf Deepshaft brothers simultaneously, but silently, understood why this beautiful sorceress was called “the Stormrider.” 

 Erevan had shouldered his bow in preference for his slender elf-made long sword as the two remaining ghouls had closed. Eaiser for casting as well, a free hand, was the elf’s secondary thought.

 He winced as an elongated clawed hand raked through the black shirt and into his upper arm. The preternatural cold sank into his veins. The elf was acutely aware of the stiffening of his blood and muscles and joints, even before the pain. Thankfully, his elvin immunity to the ghoulish paralysis asserted itself and he dodged to avoid an impossibly large mouth of pointed fangs.

 The second creature was holding back…it bobbed up and down on its haunches as if looking and waiting for a moment to eagerly pounce. The ghoul jumped as a small dart clattered on the slate tiles near him. Unfortunately, he did not realize a second full length arrow was also winging its way and struck deeply into his shoulder. The creature shrieked.

 Duor and Festus quickly reloaded their hand crossbow and short bow, respectively, and took aim again at the creature on the slanted roof.

 Erevan’s long sword skated along the greasy grey flesh and the elf cursed to himself that the daelvar’s blessing had long since faded.

 Alaria then rose into view, being sure to keep herself a good fifteen feet from the rooftop. The creatures had shone their capacity for long leaps and strides.

 “Erevan, back off!” the mages said loudly.

 “Back off?” the elf questioned. He was in his last five feet of rooftop before the end of the line of buildings. Besides, he knew, if he moved back, the ghoul would push forward.

 “Do it!” Fen’s voice came from somewhere behind him.

 Then the curious sound of the half-elf’s secret language assailed the elf’s sensitive ears and weird energy wrapped itself around the elf. A burst of light popped into view on the attacking ghoul’s face. The light was gone in an instant, but the undead creature was obviously dazed. _<druid ‘cantrip’: “Flare”>_

 Erevan turned to see the druid, standing upon a sturdy branch on a tall tree not five feet from the edge of the building. 

 Alaria began to evoke.

 Erevan made a running dive for the tree branch where the druid stood. The carrot-topped half-elf caught the elf by the arms and pulled him up to the branch beside him.

 “Imagine meeting _you_ here?” the druid smiled at the elf.

 For the second time that night, Alaria spoke the words of burning power. A part of her mind was again congratulating herself on her wisdom and capability.

 Violet-blue flames fanned out before her, catching both of the ghouls on the roof. The slate tiles insured she’d not inadvertently set the building ablaze.

 The ghoul who had been engaging the elf near the edge flailed and rolled and fell to the street below. The other creature was severely scorched and shrieked again as another arrow struck it at the same moment as the flames. It hopped back several times and tumbled over the peak of the roof to fall, presumably, to the other side of the building. 

 Immediately, the dwarf Kordun, Festus and Borsem raced to get to the back of the building.

 Erevan looked deeply into the half-elf’s green eyes and quietly said, “Thank you_, kiili_.” <_translated from elvin: a term of endearment roughly translated as “dear one” or somtimes “beloved.” Much more emotion relayed than the fairly common and familiar term “kiiri”which loosely means “cousin.”>_

 “Thank you all.” The elf called more loudly to the other companions.

 Borsem and Kordun dragged the scorched body of the ghoul from the other side of the building back around to the road. Festus skipped triumphantly behind as they dragged the ghoul to the remaining flames of the firestone explosion and tossed it on. Coerraine and Duor did the same with the unconscious creature who had fallen to the street and all of the companions watched, exhausted, as the last of the creatures fed the fire.

 “_Now_, friend Festus, there will be songs of the ‘_Heroes of Shafton’_. Let us return to share the good news.” Borsem said with a smile at the satyr.


----------



## steeldragons

The companions returned the Silver Platter. Their arrival was met with skepticism which quickly turned to elation as Festus enthusiastically relayed the events of the night. The satyr’s own efforts were not at all diminished in the telling, neither were Duor’s nor the Shafton dwarves. 

Yet, even still, somehow Alaria and Haelan were toted as the grand heroes of the night. Haelan’s “turning” was particularly detailed and sounded much more amazing than any “wind-riding” the wizard had done.

 Alaria enjoyed the complimentary mug of elfvine (while everyone else was given copious amounts of the Platter’s house ale). But she shortly excused herself from the festivities, she wanted to get as much sleep as possible.

 “Tomorrow, we assail the mines themselves. By sundown tomorrow, Shafton will be free!” Festus concluded to rousing applause and cheers from the locals in their renewed hope.

 “Not before noon.” Amended Alaria with a raised eyebrow.

 Duor leaned over to the satyr when the mage had ascended. “Still thinks she’s the boss.” the dwarf said with intended acid.

 “Well, it’s my experience that mages do enjoy their rest.” The satyr retorted before taking a long swig of his mug.

 Duor noticed the elf, daelvar and paladin’s disapproving glares, before quickly amending, “What?! It was dwarven ingenuity which won the night and freed Shafton from its unholy yoke.”

 None disagreed to the wonderful outcome of the dwarves’ plan. Secveral rounds were drunk to the fallen man, Ferdrik, and many more to “the Stormriders!”

 Erevan left the room of rising celebration for his own rest.

 Fen was soon to follow. None but the Redstar Knight saw the druid’s attempt at an unnoticed exit.

 Haelan, Festus, Duor and Coerraine (against his own wishes but unable to retire while Duor remained), Borsem and the Deepshaft brothers stayed up through the rest of the night to celebrate the elimination of the undead menace. All were sure the kobolds’ hold on the mine would end the following day and Shafton could get back to its normal rountine and business.

 Alaria was surprised to find the common room of the Silver Platter all but empty in the mid-morning. Two townsfolk and the one remaining Bridgetower guardsman, other than Borsem, slept loudly at one of the corner tables.

 The innkeeper, Rulphus, came over to the R’Hathi magess’ table. His bloodshot eyes told her of a night much later than she, herself, enjoyed.

 Alaria pulled out a few silver coins to pay for the modest breakfast of tea and eggs, which included a slab of bacon she had not ordered. Rulphus steadfastly refused to take her money. She thanked the old man and returned the coins to her purse and poured herself another cup of tea.

 Erevan and Fen descended together. The tone of Fen’s face was significantly lighter than it had been the previous days.

 The magus found it curious the druid would have stayed the night in the inn when he hardly ever agreed to sleep indoors during their stint at Bridgetower. Better safe than sorrow, she supposed.

 “Where’sh th’damned maid?” slurred Duor as he descended the stairs. “Ale! Mor’ale for the heroesh uh Shashtum!” the dwarf said more than little loudly. 
 
 Coerraine followed the dwarf. He looked fit for death.

 The druid reached out to tap the head of the still-drunken dwarf as an unheard word passed his lips.

 “Huh?! Wuh?!” snapped Duor. “Ahhhh, that’s much better. Now where’s the damned maid?”

 “Uh…friend druid…” the paladin was loath to ask for help from the heathen. Thankfully, the Redstar didn’t have to.

 Fen grinned broadly and stroked the handsome blond’s face again mouthing some word Alaria could not discern. Immediately the paladin felt better, more himself. The cloud lifted from his mind and the aches eased out of his body.

 “Ehem. Thank you.” Coerraine said in his usual seriousness to the druid.

 Fen simply nodded, still holding a devious smile.

 The magess took immediate note of the pleasure the half-elf took in making the paladin uncomfortable.

 Haelan bounded down the steps from his room. He hailed all in the room with a “Faerantha’s blessing on you!” The daelvar eagerly ordered a hearty breakfast, twice the size of Alaria’s own. He ate hungrily, making casual conversation between large mouthfuls of eggs and bacon.

 “How’s the weather? We’re going to kick kobold arse today! How’re you feeling this glorious morn, Duor? Coerraine, I trust your god will shine gloriously today.” were just a few of the pleasantries that escaped the daelvar’s hungry mouth.

 Festus came clip-clopping in from the street. Apparently, the drunken night had had no effect on the satyr’s constitution. Something, Duor silently remarked to himself, was imminently admirable about the ranger.
 
 The satyr, more than any other present, engaged the halfling in idle banter about their expected escapades.

 Yes, it could be said, the companions were eager to continue their liberation of Shafton.

 Borsem finally roused, looking the worse for ware, as Coerraine had originally, and informed the companions he would not accompany them. He and “Guardsman Kurtus” (the nearly unconscious guard from the aforementioned table) would be alerting the rest of the town to their safety and then, following a service for the fallen Ferdrik, returning to Bridgetower with all speed to report to the Captain. He had complete and utter confidence in the company to be able to “sweep up the loose twigs of the kobold incursion” on their own.

 Guardsman Kurtus simply moaned at the proposed plan.

 Kordun and Kurn, however, were eager to accompany the party and reclaim their ancestral mines. None of the “Stormriders” voiced opposition to this idea. Duor, in particular, was eager for their company. He eagerly entered into dwarven conversation as to more “dwarven ingenuity” which could be applied to the situation. Festus listened intently but had no idea what they were talking about.

 Rested and sated, flush with spells, confidence, shining armor and weapons, the party left the Silver Platter and strode along the long sloping and switchback road up to the entrance of the lower mine.

 They were led by the dwarves Kordun and Kurn. Duor and Festus followed. Coerraine followed Duor closely. Alaria, slowing her ascent to let Haelan keep up, came next. Erevan and Fen brought up the rear.

 The group paused for a moment at the site of their previous night’s battle. The odor of the ghouls hung over the area like a burning puss. 

 Alaria withdrew the Ihs Repahl and in a breath sent a breeze up the road to remove the utterly disgusting scent.

 The dwarven brothers nodded approvingly. “She is indeed the mistress of the storm.” Said Kurn to Duor.

 Duor gave the silversmith a nodding agreement. “Yeah. She’s pretty special.” Duor smiled. “And especially pretty.” He winked at his distant kin.
 
 <_author/dm note: It is a part of the dwarven culture that all dwarves everywhere are assumed to be related through the ages somehow. This is in deference to the cultural belief that all dwarves are descended from the original “Rocks of Oor”, the dwarves first created in the dawning of the world by the now-lost elder god Oor…It is not far from the truth._>

 Alaria thought it humorous how, it seemed, all dwarves muttered under their beards to each other.   

 The troupe continued up the switchback road and finally came to the shrine of Dunric. The low stone structure was within view of the entrance the the lower mine.

 “I think we’d best clean this place of evil influence.” Proffered Haelan. “Those poor clerics were slaughtered here and, no doubt, consumed by those unholy horrors from last night. We should put their spirits to rest.” The daelvar’s sincerity was difficult to argue with.

 Alaria refrained from mentioning the ghoul priests she’d noticed among the throng from last night.

 Coerraine and Haelan entered the “shrine.” The interior looked more like a workshop, though the tables and tools, other than the stone altar itself, had been utterly trashed. A large hammer and chisel were carved into the stone wall behind the altar.

 “That’s the symbol of the stone god?” Haelan asked sincerely to the paladin.

 “It is indeed, friend Hilltender. He is a humble god of humble folk. Miners, craftsmen, masons and carpenters call him Lord. Dunric is well-honored in my homeland.” Coerraine replied.

 The Mostralian Redstar and the Hilltender said their respective prayers for the lost holy men. The rank of the ghouls was heavy, still, in the modest workshop/chapel. Haelan laid a blessing upon the space. The foul undead odor was replaced by the scent of pine trees. 

 “The Shafton folk can re-annoint the space when they are ready.” Haelan said with uncharacteristic solemnity. “Let us finish this task.” He said cheerily. “I have a hankering for the Wyvern’s Wing’s mutton pasty.”

 The Redstar Knight clapped the Hilltender on the shoulder. He smiled in spite of himself at the daelvar’s simple innocent desires and silently wished he might share them. “Yes, let us go, friend Haelan.”

 The dwarves were already lighting torches at the mouth of the lower mine. With them, the spellcasters had no need to expend valuable energy to magically light the way. Among themselves, the dwarves and satyr chuckled at the “poor humans’ lack of useful sight.”

 Haelan, understanding the exchange, thought badly of the dwarves and satyr. After all, it wasn’t their fault they were born human.

 Kurn hugged the right wall of the impressively built mineshaft. “Now,” he instructed, “the kobolds are known to inhabit the second and third levels of the mine, but there may be other dangers. And with two weeks, there’s no telling what they’ve had time to doooooooooo…..” his voice trailed off as the russet-bearded dwarf with the first torch fell into a pit, ten foot long and as wide as the corridor.

 “KURN!” Kordun burst and raced forward, pushing passed the satyr and outlander dwarf. He had taken the middling position, against his better judgement, to light the way for the human’s in the middle of the marching order.
 
 The light of Kurn’s torch was seen as a flickering glow, easily fifty feet below. Kordun’s impassioned calls received no response.

 “He’s either dead or unconscious.” Duor said quietly to Festus. “Me coins is on the former.” There was no mirth in his statement.

 Alaria, wordlessly, stepped forward. She held the crystal orb in her hand. Wind immediately whipped up around her and she stepped off the edge o the pit trap.

 She returned a few moments later, the body of the russet bearded dwarf floated before her, carried on a whirlwind of his own. She had the winds all but “throw” the unconscious dwarf at his brother’s feet. 

 “Thank Manat your brother is not prone to heavy armor as you are, Kordun. Else I’d have not been able to bring him back to you.” The wizard said plainly.
 
 Her mind raced. They were barely thirty feet into the mine and already one of their number might be dead. She was not beyond her capacity to utilize the Ihs Repahl, by a long shot, but she did not want to make this kind of retrieval a habit. Alaria was determined to never enter the ‘spell sleep’ again.  

 Haelan raced to the unconscious dwarf even as Kordun began wailing the loss of his brother.

 “Still yourself, Kordun. He’s not dead!” said the daelvar with more than little irritation. The Hilltender’s companions were shocked to hear such a tone come from the ever-cheery halfling.

_“Beatius Faerantha, beneficia spiritum con u guda riviatus.” <cleric spell: Cure Light Wounds, “Beautiful Faerantha bless your loyal follower with Your power to heal.”> _ Honey-colored light surrounded the daelvar’s hands that were placed upon the dwarf’s chest.  The odor of pine trees filled the air around him.

Kurn coughed and sputtered. He inhaled deeply and looked up in amazement at his borther and the halfling priest. 

The “wee” of an arrow whizzed past them and 'thunked' in the mostly dirt path on the other side of the pit. A rope dangled from the end of the shaft. Festus gave it a few good tugs. The arrow did not dislodge from the ground. 

  “Any chance, Stormrider, you could float us all across?” the satyr said smirking.  

 “You test my patience_ and _test my prowess, Ranger Hornshod?” Alaria said plainly, with no hunour evident. 

 “C’mon. Peace, Magess.” The satyr retorted with all amenity. “If we all crawl the rope across, while the good Redstar secures the rope at this end, can you magic him across?”

 Alaria burned at the presumption of the satyr. She immediately raised a wind through the entrance of the mine and in an instant all of the party, the smaller ones lifted off their feet, Fen and Coerraine and Erevan dragged towards the mouth of the pit before being lifted and deposited safely on the other side.
 
 Alaria, herself, floated over to the other side of the pit and set herself down lightly. The winds dispersed quickly. The blue and white light swirling within the orb faded as she returned the orb to its pouch.

 “I suggest, friend _ranger_, that you and our dwarven companions be more careful in the immediate future.” Alaria said bitingly, directly toward Festus.

 Festus and Duor took her meaning and assumed the lead positions.

 As the company again fell into line, this time Kordun in the front but behind the dwarf and satyr, knowing they would not require the light. The slightly rejuvenated Kurn toward the middle, walked with Haelan and Coerraine.

 Alaria took a moment to breathe and lean against the mine wall.

 Erevan looked at her, concerned.

 “I can’t do that again.” Alaria admitted quietly. “Not today.”

 Erevan nodded, in serious understanding. He and Fen waited with the magess before she righted herself and the three followed the flickering balls of flame deeper into the mine.


----------



## wolff96

Now that was an epic battle.  Awesome.


----------



## steeldragons

With painfully slow care the party continued into the Shafton mine which, the revived Kurn explained was, “the lower mine.”

 Between Duor, Festus and Kurn’s brother Kordun, three more traps were discovered before they even arrived at the first cross-chamber. One, a series of simple bent branches with rows of sharpened stone tips haphazardly tied to it, which snapped down from one of the walls to the floor startled the entire party. Duor assured he had done so on purpose and no one was injured.

 "Primitive. But effective." Kurn said, almost as if in approval.

 The party cautiously stepped/through over the six branches firmly attached to the floor.

 At the first cross chamber, Kordun deemed it safe enough to light one of the lanterns that hung on a hook. There was an overturned table. The maps and sheets of engineering computations and diagrams were strewn throughout the wide circular area. Three other passages led off from the chamber in four cardinal directions. They had entered through the passage to the west. 

 An odor they were all too familiar with lingered in the chamber, though was significantly weak to not attack the senses, simply unpleasant.

 With careful inspection, Erevan and Fen concurred the “ghoul-stank”, as Duor had deemed it, was stronger in the passage to the south. Kordun explained the initial kobold incursion had, initially, come from the south but in the lower levels of the mine. There was a shaft with a lift, however, down that passage that took one directly to the third level.

 The passage to the north, according to Kordun led up and wrapped to the east, eventually connecting with “the upper mine” which was accessible from outside the mountain on the north face. It also had passages that sunk deeper into the mountain, but several of them were long closed-off either because their ores had been spent or the tunnels had become unstable. “The right one, though, would take us down…if we were careful. Might be a good ‘back door’ way down.” The dwarf miner offered.

 The passage directly across from the one they had entered would lead them straight down to the second level, “…insofar as any mine passage is ‘straight’,” Kordun chuckled. On the second level, he added, there would be the lift to take them either down to the third level, or up into the upper mines.

 As the party debated their direction to descend, a rustling or scurrying noise came toward them from the eastern passage.

 Alaria, Duor and the wounded Kurn backed away from the opening.

 Erevan and Festus nocked their bows and took positions to either side of the passage.

 Coerraine and Kordun immediately leveled weapons and moved to stand before everyone. To their collective surprise, Haelan took a forward position between the warriors, prepared to call upon his Hill Goddess again to ‘turn’ any undead the instant he saw them.

 Unfortunately, what came into view was no ghoul…nor any kobold, but a multi-legged creature, oddly insectoid. Two huge multi-facetted eyes perched atop a rounded ‘head’ which sported a series of writhing tenatcles around a circular maw. The slimy green and pukish purple segmented body moved with alarming speed as it came into the chamber, attracted by the light. 

 Also unfortunate, and disconcerting to many of the party, the creature was not on the ground, but skittering along the ceiling of the passage. A portion of its body scurried out of the passageway and, with a cursory ‘look’ around the room, began to climb up onto the naturally arching wall/ceiling of the chamber. 

 “AH! That’s not a ghoul!” cried the Hilltender as he all but fell backward over his own blond-topped feet, leaving Coerraine and Kordun in the front.

 “Orcass! A bloody Crawler.” Kordun burst. “Kill it, quickly. Don’t let the feelers touch you!”

 The creature let out an inhuman sound as arrows sunk into it from Erevan and Festus. Kurn’s crossbow bolt clanked harmlessly against the stone beside it.

 “Looks like a bug. Big…BIG bug! Can you talk to bugs, Fen?!” Haelan asked, half-inquiry half-plead.

 Releasing the front half of its body from the wall, the crawler twisted and swiped down at the possible meals before it. Erevan thanked his elvin “grace” to avoid two of the ‘feelers.’ 

 Kordun, in his attempt to get near enough for his broadsword to aid the cause, received an unexpected swipe across his exposed face by one of the twitching and wriggling tentacles. The dwarf fought the paralytic enzymes that sunk into his skin with almost immediate reaction. He was able to muster a groan of defiance before succumbing to the creature’s potent natural poison.

 He stood immobile, within easy grabbing reach of the crawler’s several front legs. All he could do is watch as three of the creature’s suckered feet attached themselves to him and pushed the dwarf over into the mouth of the passageway.

 The crawler maintained its advantageous position on the ceiling, however, expecting to be able to glean some more of the juicy treats it had found…or at least scare them off of its already captured meal.

 Coerraine now moved in, jabbing from a distance with his spear and landing a good strike on it. A thick green fluid began to ooze from the wound.

 This distracted the creature enough for Festus to move forward and begin to attempt to drag the incredibly heavy, plate-clad, dwarf away from the passage. The satyr strained with all of his might but was hardly able to budge the dwarf.

 Another crossbow bolt from Kurn did manage to sink into the creature’s apparently very soft under-flesh. It wheeled about on the ceiling once again, it’s paralytic feelers stretching out for anything they might encounter.

 Erevan, daringly, ducked beneath the swinging creature and grabbed another of Kordun’s legs. Between the elf and satyr, they were able to drag the immobilized dwarf back into the chamber a bit.

 Coerraine attempted to stay between them and the crawler. His spear swipe clattered off of the creature's shell-like carapice that armored its back and sides.

 Fen had moved forward now and took jabs at the creature, intending to be more distracting than damaging.

 Duor remained near the magess, feeling things looked well in hand.

 Noticing its meal being dragged back into the chamber, the creature now scurried its whole length out on the wall of the chamber and came to the ground. It charged toward the creatures attempting to take its honestly won prey.

 Alaria’s eyes widened to see the thing was easily eight feet long. Why had they left the damned ferret back in the Silver Platter stables? This thing would be right up its ally, the wizardess supposed. 

 Fen was smacked with one of the tentacles and did, himself, haltingly become paralyzed.

 Coerraine blocked the flaring appendages with his shield.

 Unexpectedly, the creature used the shield to climb up and push off of the paladin. Its sheer bulk forced the startled Redstar back a few steps.

 Haelan made a swing with his mace, but his reach fell just short of the writhing body that flashed before him.

 “Look wohwahhh!” Festus managed to get out as he unceremoniously dropped Kordun’s leg and drew a short curved sword in a flash, just in time to sever one of the wriggling feelers from the crawler’s face. A greenish goop spurted out onto his breastplate. He was disgusted, but not paralyzed.

 Erevan similarly dropped the leg he had been dragging and leapt back, avoiding the creature again. In a single motion, his bow was off his back, drawn and released before the elf’s feet again hit the ground. The arrow sunk painfully into the back of the creature’s second segment.

 It shrieked a small sound again and decided the small morsel was not worth the pain. It sped its way in a serpentine motion through the remainder of the chamber, up on the southern wall and disappeared into the south passage.   

 Everyone stood ready for a moment before a cough broke the tense silence. 

 Kordun coughed another couple of times, slowly regaining the use of his limbs. The embarrassed dwarf gave a gruff thanks to the “point-ear” and “goat-man” and cursed his own foolishness at being incapacitated by such a disgusting lowly creature.

 “Musta been some kinda demon crawler or something to break through my dwarven constitution.” The blond bearded dwarf supposed in his own defense.

 “Musta been.” Duor nodded in all serious agreement.

 Fen was also soon to recover. He stretched and worked his shoulder joints as the last of the toxin was diluted in his system.

 “That was unpleasant.” He smiled at the companions, his gaze lingered on Erevan as he reassured everyone, “I am fine.”
 
 With a‘wicked’ looking grin and sparkle in his bright green eyes Alaria had not seen in a while, the druid made a flourishing bow toward the eastern passage. “Shall we?” 

 “Well, between ghoul-stank and a slimey squid-faced centipede-thing, we’re not going south.” Haelan said in all seriousness.

 “It was a Carrion Crawler.” Kurn amended.

 “Well, we’re not ‘carrion’!” the halfling relied with indignation.

 “I believe, friend Hilltender,” Kurn explained, “They are so called for _creating _carrion, not consuming it.”

 Haelan thought on this for a moment before understanding dawned. “Oooohhhh…Ewww.” The halfling cleric shuddered a bit.

 “Whatever the reason, let us hope our efforts against the thing have not alerted any other denizens of this place to our presence.” Alaria said seriously.

 The rest nodded their agreement. Everyone took up their marching positions and the companions ventured into the eastern passage.


----------



## steeldragons

Duor and Kordun pressed glove and gauntletted fingers to their moustache-covered lips as they neared the “lift-room” Kordun had told them was around the bend. A passage continued out of the circular area, smaller than the last chamber where they’d fought the carrion crawler, with another two passages leaving it and the shaft with the lift. The platform of the lift was not currently on this ‘floor.’

 Near the shaft, two kobolds sat, lazily, near the lift controls. Both had short spears resting casually on the floor. They spoke with each other in their tongue between yawns (it was, after all, only mid-morning outside the mountain, nearly the “middle of the night” for the nocturnal kobolds.)

 The sentries, according to Duor, were playing some obscure game with cards and thrown bones.

 The language was a series of ‘yips’ and ‘yaps’ intermingled with the occasional ‘bark’ and ‘hiss’. 

 A curious tongue to be sure, Alaria thought, as the group listened. She understood, now, why Duor (and presumably all dwarves) referred to the kobolds as “yappers.”

 Deciding there was “no real threat”, the party charged into the chamber, completely surprising the sentries.

 Coerraine and Kordun, with some help from Festus’ short bow, easily laid the creature low before they could even get their weapons.

 “Was that really, necessary?” Fen asked.

 The party all looked at the druid with surprise.

 “These aren’t undead, Fen.” Alaria said.

 “No. They are not. They were a simple sentry guard from whom we probably could have gleaned a good bit of information as to the rest of their guard posts. Their numbers? Their traps? Any other creatures we might expect to find.” The druid responded impassively.

 Alaria felt thoroughly “scolded”, though that certainly was not the tone directed at her. “Fen is correct.” The R’Hathi admitted.

 The dwarves disagreed, but everyone else agreed the next sentries they found would be “subdued” or “captured” under the auspices of collecting any relevant information.

 Coerraine thought for a moment and added, “We are protecting the mines and livelihood of the people of Shafton. We are not butchers.” The last sentence was directed most pointedly at Duor. 

 “Aw, c’mon, Goldilocks. Yeh not goin’ soft on me are yeh?” the dwarf protested.

 “There is a distinct difference, my lord Charge, between ‘defense’ and murder.” The Redstar said solemnly. “My oath and duty is to your well-being. Not whole-hearted slaughter.”  

 “Well then, you’ll leave the slaughter to us then? Way to keep yer shiny golden gauntlets clean.” Duor retorted with obvious disdain. 

 Haelan began praying rites for the kobolds before being rudely interrupted by Duor, the other dwarves similarly looked at the Hilltender in disapproval.

 “Aw c’mon! Not you too?” Duor burst. “Need I remind you _all _that this is our mission! The yappers are the_ invaders_ here. This mine is _not_ theirs! There’s not tellin’ what evil they’ll bring to the countryside if they’re allowed to stay!”

 Alaria found herself conflicted. Duor was, of course, correct…but so was Coerraine. They were not here to slaughter…simply to re-take the mine. Make it safe for the common people of Shafton to again get the mine working…to aid in the defense of Daenfrii, with what limited time they had before winter set in.

 “Duor is correct.” Alarai said quietly.

 “But, boss lady, I…wait…What?” the dwarf said somewhat surprised.

 “Complete your rite, Haelan.” Alaria said first. Before Duor could object, she continued, “We are here to free the mine. We are here to remove the kobolds…”

 Duor crossed his arms across his chest and looked at the paladin and cleric smugly.

 “But we are _not _murderers.” Alaria concluded. “Perhaps there is a way to get the kobolds to leave without having to kill them.” She offered.

 Erevan’s eyebrow raised slightly. “What would you suggest, Magess?” the elf said.

 “We will not kill needlessly. But we will take prisoners.” Alaria suggested. “We will learn what we can, as Fen suggested, of the creatures’ entrenchment…and see if there is some way we can end this without unnecessary bloodshed.”

 “Pah!” Duor spat. Kordun and Kurn similarly spat their disapproval.

 “Need I remind you, good dwarves,” Alaria said directly at Kordun and Kurn, “that your presence here is by our assent.

"That your very life, Kurn, the life of your brother, Kordun, indeed the lives of all of Shafton has been released from the curse of the ghouls because _we_ have deemed it so to aid you. If you disagree with our methods, you are welcome to return to the village.” Alaria concluded before switching the hand which held her staff and moving toward the passage toward the south that led, quite sharply, south and down.

 The two Deepshaft brothers were adequately chastised. Dwarven honor was not something either took lightly. They each sincerely apologized to Alaria and the others and made vows, appreciatively, to aid the companions in any way they could...however the party felt best. They were at their command.

 Quietly, the party again fell into their allotted positions and began down the southern passage. 

 Duor lingered, a scowl upon his face.

 As Festus passed his friend, he said quietly to the cowed dwarf, “Say what ye like of compulsion or payment, friend Duor, but she_ is_, most definitely, the boss lady.”

 “Yeah, that she is.” Admitted the dwarf.


----------



## steeldragons

The second level proved more difficult to assail than the first. Several rooms containing several kobold guards, each, were over come. Alaria had had to expend a few minor spells. Haelan had to use up another cure spell to reinvigorate a particularly lucky strike upon Kordun. All were shocked when Coerraine was able to heal _himself,. _after a particularly nasty battle in the third chamber they’d encountered. It was an added/new gift from the Golden Defender, the Restar Knight explained.  The chamber was “new construction, and definitely not dwarven made” according to Kordun.

 By the time they came to the passage that led down to the third level, news of the interlopers had definitely made its way, by routed defenders, to the heart of the kobold force. 

 The party had four captives thoroughly bond and followed by Duor and Kurn, who nudged them along in ront of the party with crossbows to their backs.

 With Kordun, Kurn and Duor translating, they had learned that there were easily fifty of the creatures…some quick math led Duor to amend there were only forty now living. Their “chief” had recently moved in to the third level…and they were in the process of bringing the tribe’s treasure also. Only then would the females and younglings be brought to the tribe’s new warren. Their shaman was back at their old lair with the non-combatants.

 “_But yooooou’ll be sorrrryyyyyy when the shaman comes to our new warren.” <translated from Kobold_> One of the captives had attempted to intimidate his captors. 

 “Ain’t yer warren, yapper. It’s _OUR_ mine!” Duor growled.

 “Only thirty-six, if yeh don’t count this lot, left in the fightin’ force.” He grinned evilly at the captive kobolds.

 The rusty red and orange scaled creatures, no taller than Haelan, with reddish-brown patches of fur on their shoulders, forearms and shins, bore teeth from their dog-like snouts at the bullying dwarf. Their slender tapering tails twitched back and forth in aggrevation most of the time. But any threatening motion or word by the dwarves led them to whine (not unlike puppies, Alaria thought to herself) and the tails curled, noticeably, between their legs.

 After a couple of feeble attempts to lead the party into trapped areas, which were thwarted by the dwarves time and again insisting the kobolds enter the passage or room first, the little scaley-dog-like creatures defeatedly brought the party to the main guard chamber To _“Talk to Cap’n. Him help us, not you.”<translated from Kobold>_

 If it weren’t for the fact they were evil invading goblinoid creatures, Alaria admitted to herself, they’d be kind of cute.

 The “Cap’n” was a particularly red kobold, slightly larger of build than the others. He wore one of the human Bridgetower soldier’s helmets. Since the canine snout did not all for the noseguard of the helm, Cap’n Yarp wore it backwards, reasoning (quite well, for a kobold) that the noseguard would provide a nice security for the back of his neck…though the whole of the metal hat had to constantly be nudged up, as it continuously fell into his eyes.

 Yarp strode, most defiantly, between his troops (two rows of five kobold soldiers each) to stand before the party when they entered the chamber. He wore a simple armor of leather and mismatched metal plates, most over sized for his frame. A none-too-impressive short sword hung at his side. The whole of his retinue held spears pointed at the party. 

 Slowly, he raised a four-fingered slender hand tipped in small claws…in a show he understood to be a symbol for “halt for talk” to the big folk.

 Clearing his throat, he entered into negotiations with, what he believed to be his fluent “Common” tongue.

 “Yous bringing us back.” Yarp began. “We like. Now yous leave us. No more’s bloody-hurt.We lets yous go.” He shifted the helmet back up onto his shallow brow. It had fallen to cover one of his eyes during his illustrious address.

 The company, who had all spread out into the chamber weapons at the ready, turned to look at Alaria. Kurn stood by her as her self-appointed translator.

 “No, captian. No more ‘bloody-hurt.’ But you are not welcome here and can not stay. We would discuss…um…’terms’…for your tribe’s removal from these mines with your chief.” Alaria said boldly from behind Coerraine and Kordun. Kurn translated.

 “YIPyapyapyap.” The captain retorted. Many of his soldiers took up the “yip-yapping” sound.

 “He’s laughing at us…or, well, at you.” Kurn translated.

 “You no’s talk umterms with chief. Him no’s talk yous. Him CHIEF! Yous no chief!” Captain Yarp replied. “Gives us us. Gets out. Go’s ‘way! No wants more bloody-hurt.”

 Hmmm, thought Alaria. She noticed Kurn’s finger stroking the trigger of his crossbow. A concerned glance to Duor proved her suspicion, the thief was similarly reading his own hand-version to strike.

 “Kurn, they have a shaman? Are kobolds a superstitious lot?” Alaria asked the dwarf.

 The russet-bearded dwarf looked at her and nodded, though he did not understand why the human wizard cared.

 Alaria had an idea. She reached into her pouch to grip the Ihs Repahl to effect the air around her and called to mind the simplest cantrips to alter the light and sound of the space, much as she had with the were-rats back in Welford.

 To the alarm of several of the companions, Alaria strode in front of the paladin’s and dwarf warrior’s weapons. As she did so, the air swirled about her, raised dust and dirt from the chamber’s natural floor. A rumble of thunder rolled through the chamber and the air about her seemed to flare spark with violet and blue flames.

 “You WILL take me to see _the chief_. I _am_ chief! I will not talk terms with the likes _of you_. Else, we will EAT you all!” Alarias voice roared through the chamber with increasing furosity. On the last syllable, the magess’ eyes flared with violet fire. For good effect on her threat, she had some flames lick forth from her open mouth as well.

 Kurn, in full appreciation of the ruse, translated with affected fear. 

 The whole of the kobold forcec shrank back before the wizard. Several of the back row went running in disorganized chaos out the passage at the back of the chamber, throwing spears and shields in all directions and bumping into each other as they went.

 Cap’n Yarp’s amber eyes widened in complete horror. He all but fell back into the front row of his own troops.

 “Yesses! YESSES!” he yapped and howled like a wounded dog. “Chief will talk to you right now! I go gets him for yous.”

 “No, you will take us to him. Then you get back your men. Take us to him, NOW!” Alaria amended with a dramatic flare to the purple fire bursting from her eyes. Kurn, still feigning fear, translated into kobold. 

 “Yesses! Yesses, take yous him now!” He turned and shirked his way through the shaking soldiers, waving and barking them out of his way with all urgency. “Take yous now. This ways, this ways.” 

 “Woulda rather we killed them all.” Duor said under his breath to Festus. “Nice job though.” He said lightly to Kurn, who winked his thanks.

 Alaria let the Redstar, dwarf warrior and satyr ranger precede her…wouldn’t a chief do that? She figured. The elf and druid followed her, then the captives with Duor and Kurn and Haelan bringing up the rear.

 They were led with much haste and dismissing barking orders from Yarp leading their way through a series of passages. Some, Kordun knew or recognized, others were obviously newly made by the kobolds. The dwarf warrior relayed his concerns that the foolish creatures had made certain areas of the mine unstable to Coerraine, beside him. The Redstar with surprising ability, quietly relayed this information to their “chief”, Alaria.

 Finally, Yarp brought the group into a fairly large chamber. Half of it, it seemed had previously existed, the other side was noticeably less refined in make. A simple slab of stone lay on the floor as a makeshift dais, upon which was a small crude stone throne. A more brown than orange kobold sat upon it. He had a long scar that extended from beneath his large silver crown, also lacking in elegance, over his right eye and across his lengthy snout. He also wore a rusty metal breastplate, the most impressive armor the group had seen since entering the mine, and a cloak of familiar blue cloth…one of the Bridgetower guard’s tabards, no doubt.

 The chief and his attendant guards began barking fervently as Yarp entered with the interlopers.

_“Yarp, you incompetent hatchling! What are you doing!? Guards! Guards? Protect your chief!!!”_  shrieked the chief in utter panic, the sound of which seemed simply another series of barks and yaps to the companions. The chief leapt up onto his haunches on the throne. He was completely prepared to bolt if battle began.

 Yarp dissuaded the guards and motioned for the party to stay where they were. He half-slunk half-skittered on his bare clawed scaley feet to cower before the throne. He yipped and yapped with the chief, explaining what had just happened and that the interlopers wished to speak with him. 

 Kurn could only make out part of the quiet exchange…”Give us back….Magics?!...surface chief…I has no magics!!!...How many?!” He relayed all of what he could hear to the magess.

 The chief yipped and yapped back in mumbled tones. Kurn could not hear what was said.

 Finally, Yarp turned to the party and again cleared his throat.

 “Most esteemdeeded chief of the surface folks. I gives yous the bestest of the chiefs Barper, King of Kobolds of This-here-rocks. My chieffiest chief, this is the bestest chiefs of surface folk…”the captain turned toward the party and looked at Alaria with raised scaley brow.

 Alaria did not immediately reply but raised an eyebrow.

 Yarp twitched his brow up and down.

 Kurn stepped up and whispered that he was waiting for a name.

 “Oh!” started the wizard. “Alaria, my good chief Barper.” She attempted to recover smoothly.

 Chief Barper snapped his clawed fingers repeatedly and waved one of the other kolbolds up to the dais. He shooed Yarp away with his other hand. The chief had yet to sit back down, but maintained his pouncing position to flee to the secret door behind his throne.

 The kobold he’d waved up to the dais wore a simple fabric cowl of plain brown and held a “staff” that would have been no more than a walking stick for any elf or human. It was wrapped in thongs of leather and bore bright colored feathers and small bones in the strapps that dangled from it.

 “I’s is next-shaman, Kiff. I talks fors Chief Barper.” Said the nervously shaking deep red kobold intoned across the wide chamber.

 The chief leaned close to his “next-shaman” and whispered into the creature’s pointed ear.

 “Chief Barper is welcome to the surface chief, Laaaahl-Allll-larrrr-reea.” Kiff said, fairly sure he’d gotten the translation and pronounciation correct.

 A lengthy and tiresome negotiation took place. Alaria had Kurn translate for her, as it seemed appropriate both “chiefs” should have intermediaries.

 The release of the kobold guards was fairly easy to accomplish as a show of “good will” from Alaria.

 It was learned that the kobolds had only come into the mine because something called the “Hargak” had taken over the subeterranean cavern which held a lake where the kobolds had gathered their water. 

 At this, Kordun tried to get Alaria’s attention surreptitiously. He was unsuccessful. Chief Barper took this at an insult and much time was spent regaining the chief’s cooperation. But the news Alaria found most useful. It seemed the miners had broken through to a very large underground cavern, which held a lake a couple of months ago. They had boarded it up after noticing the kobolds coming and going and the unfortunate death of a few miners from “insecure stalagtites.”

 Alaria, again, formulated a plan and requested a recess to the negotiations to discuss things with her companions.

 The chief granted the break and directed the party to a small alcove at the side of the chamber.

 Alaria preposed to her fellows that they undertake the elimination of this “Hargak” which could then mean the kobolds could return to their home. Everyone gets what they want. No one else has to be hurt.

 “’Cept us, of course.” Duor noted.

 The others agreed and Alaria made her proposal to Chief Barper. The chief seemed to consider it carefully…for all of two seconds….and agreed. If they could rid the cavern of the Hargak, they would return to their former lair. “Was nicer than this dump, anywhos.” Translated sub-shaman Kiff.  The sub-shaman was thoroughly impressed with himself at knowing the phrase “dump.”

 So, it was settled. The kobold cap’n would lead the party to the cavern, against Korbun’s protests since he knew where the passage which had been boarded up was.

 As they made their way deeper in the mine Kurn and Duor were ever watchful at their back to make sure it wasn’t some kobold trick. Kordun found a moment to tell Alaria, “You understand ‘har-gak’ in kobold is ‘death-rock’ or, more accurately, ‘rock of death’?”

 Alaria looked at the dwarf warrior, careful not to betray any surprise, “Really, Kordun? You don’t say.” Bollux! Alaria mentally chided.


----------



## steeldragons

They made their way down through a passage from the “throne room”, led by Capn’ Yarp. 

 Despite her protests, Kurn, Duor, Festus and even Erevan kept their various bows nocked and ready.

 “Kobolds are a cowardly lot, to be true.” Kurn offered. “But they can never be trusted.”

 The R’Hathi wizard conferred quietly with Fen and Erevan and Haelan as to their allotment of spells remaining for the day. Erevan, Alaria knew, had not cast anything so far that day, nor had Fen. Haelan had only strength to “call for Faernatha’s Grace a couple more times.” Alaria herself did a mental inventory. She had both of her more powerful spells and one of her first ‘tier.’ She had expended her cantrips with the ruse in front of the kobold captain. The orb, she supposed, she could use for minor effect.

_<author/DM’s note: magic-users in my game get additional spells to their daily allotment depending on their Intelligence score, like clerics and druids get for ‘above average’ Wisdom. As such, Alaria, even though only 3rd level, can cast 2 2nd level spells per day. She’s one smart cookie ._ >

 They marched for what seemed an eternity. Several passages broke off from the main one as they descended. Some were boarded up with painted warnings about “unstable” in Common and Dwarven. 

 Finally, just after another shaft branching off, they came to a large opening. Planks of wood had obviously been placed there, and removed harshly.

 The party walked out into the large cavern. A lake shone with a dull blue-green glow from underwater fungi, according to the dwarves. Small clutches of glowing green and blue and purple moss (or fungus) were scattered around the impossibly large carven. Stalagtites and stalagmites reached down from the ceiling and shot up from the floor, respectively. Several rock formations met at precariously narrow joinings. They formed three, no, four columns throught the area.

 Alaria had never seen the like. Such a site had never even entered her imaginings. For a moment, with the unearthly light reflecting against moist stone and the occasion batch of crystals around the huge cavern, Alaria understood the dwarf love of the underground.

 “Hargak, there.” Yarp said and pointed out into the cavern to a particularly large stalagmite halfway across the cavern.

 The party wandered, awe-struck into the cavern before Kurn shouted a warning.

 The kobold captain had retreated into the passage, passed where the side-passage had been dug and “smiled” at them, if a scaley canine snout could be said to have a smile, as he touched a particular place on the wall.

 “Buh-byessss. Thank yous.” The kobold waved his small four-fingered hand at them as stones rained down almost entirely blocking the passage through which they had just passed.

 “You no-good yapper!” called Kordun. He raced toward the kobold, his broadsword, even in the eerie glow of the cavern glowed with an unnatural white light. He was stopped by the cascade of falling stones. Unharmed but thoroughly annoyed he stood, staring at the pile of rock before turning to glare at Alaria.

 “Let us…go kill a Hargak, friend Kordun.” Fen said, at ease, seeking to break the tension. He flashed a grin at Alaria before strutting nonchalantly further into the cavern. His druid’s cloak gripped onto the natural surroundings as he passed by glowing fungi and cones of rock. One moment, he was swathed in grey, then green, then brown, then grey again.

 Haelan said a silent prayer to his goddess. They weren’t really in a “hill” per se. But what could it hurt, he figured.

 “So…what is a Hargak, anyway?” the Halfling asked casually, also to get the fuming dwarf warrior to relax.

 That’s when the ‘sky’ came down in the shape of sharp pointed stalagtites.


----------



## steeldragons

*It's Raining Rocks! Halleluia!*

“Yeh cain’t be serious?!?” burst Duor from the mouth of the passage, beside Kordun. “They lied to us! They tricked and trapped us in this underground tomb! You think there’s actually a Hargak here?!” Duor raved. The rest of the companions had begun to follow Fen into the chamber ignoring Duor’s rantings.

 Then it was…quite literally, raining rocks.

 The first stalactite slammed down to the ground. It skated across Fen’s grey-green cloak but failed to actually hit the half-elf. Only the camouflaging enchantment of his order’s sacred vestment had kept the druid from being thoroughly skewered. 

 Another fell close enough to Alaria to shake the wizardess from her feet. She laid, in shock, staring at the stone spike that lay on its side near her feet. Why had it not broken apart where it landed?

 Alaria’s shock was doubled to see the rock…bend?!...and right itself upon a series of scrambling legs that shot forth from its “base.” It righted itself and began to make for the nearest pillar of stone.

 “Walking stones?” Alaria wondered.

 “Orcass! Piercers! Take cover!” Duor called as he dodged another of the falling stone-like spikes with a flying tumble to easily regain his footing next to Coerraine.

 The Redstar had raised his shield over him and Duor tucked in close beneath it, hoping the metal umbrella would be enough to block to the rock creatures.

 Fen had slammed his body up against one of the nearest stalagmites. His cloak quickly wrapped around him and he faded from view, appearing to be nothing more than an almost six foot tall extension of the stone. Unfortunately, the piercers did not need to “see” simply sense his body heat. The druid was quickly thrown from his hiding place by another of the stone-like creatures slamming down upon the actual rock formation.

 Another of the creatures fell near Haelan, the brunt of its fall offset by the cleric’s magical shield as he dashed back to the overhanging lip of the passage from which they’d entered.

 A burst of panicked shouts spouted from all of the companions as everyone moved with all speed back for the stone overhang.

 “What are they?!”

 “Where are they?!”

 “How many are there?!”

 “I can’t see!”

 “Get over here, pally!”

 “What can we do against stone ceilings?!” the daelvar shouted as he scurried to a position near the druid. 

 “They are not stone, Haelan. They are alive.” Alaria said in obvious frustration at their current predicament.

 The creatures that had fallen all immediately tried to scurry themselves to the nearest vertical rock and climb up a few feet before bending themselves to reveal serrated circular maws in the center of the “bases”, in the middle of their eight or ten small spider-like “legs.”

 Alaria paused a moment too long and a bit too close, in her observations, and one of the piercers launched itself, mouth and legs first at the wizard.

 She made a reflexive swing with her staff which had the good fortune of connecting with the creature. It was too heavy to totally bat away, but she altered its flung approach enough to receive only a glancing scrape from the thing. 

 Fen, the furthest from the passage entrance, ran looking up and jabbed straight up to catch another of the falling creatures. The preternatural green glow of his leaf-shaped spear tip sunk into the stone-looking flesh. It was significantly more supple than the druid had been supposing. Still, the telling blow faltered the druid as he was forced to shove the piercer off his spear with his boot.

 Erevan fired twice in hopes of slaying the creature near Alaria. One bolt hit the creature and stuck, the other bounced off the curious hide. But his purpose had been attained and the creature skittered only a moment more before falling to its side, inert.

 Kordun at kept his place inside the security of the passage’s lip. Kurn stood next to him, torch in one hand, crossbow in another. He fired at another of the creatures who was attempting to climb up one of the floor-bound spikes of stone. The bolt sunk deep into the creature and it shuddered a bit before falling off of the stalagmite and did not get up.

 Festus sent an arrow up into the mass of stone-looking spikes as he backed toward the passage lip.

 The arrow actually stuck into one of the “stones” that let out a piercing high-pitched sound and dropped to the cavern floor, harmlessly. The creature attempted to right itself as Erevan sent two more arrows firmly into the thing before it faltered and lay still on the cavern floor.

 The satyr had not noticed, as he backed away that another of the creatures who had first falled had gained enough height to fling itself at him from behind. It landed squarely on the goat-man’s shoulder and Festus howled in pain as the sharp “teeth” of the thing sank into his muscles. The weight of the creature pushed the ranger down onto his stomach. His bow skittered across the stone ground, out of his reach.

 The insectoid legs clutched onto its prey strongly as it continued to munch on the ranger.

 Fen stabbed into the creature on Festus’ back, both killing it and shoving it off. He helped the wounded satyr to his feet and the two, the only party members still out “in the open” raced for the relative security of the passage entrance.

 “Fraggin’ murderous yappers.” Growled Duor. “I told yeh we should’ve just killed them all! What are we supposed to do against a killer ceiling?! We can’t even get into the damned chamber and who knows how many of the things are up there? I can’t see them. They just look like other stones.”

 Erevan reluctantly had to agree with the dwarf. They had to be able to see the creatures and even his elvin vision could not tell a heat difference among the creatures. 

_“Liet!”_  cried the elf and threw his burst of magical energy at the ceiling. 

 A puffball of yellow-white light appear on the ceiling.

 Only two more piercers were above them. They skittered about the ceiling, confused and startled by the sudden illumination.

 Of the ones that had already fallen, only two remained alive. These creatures opted to leave the battle, this prey was too strong and had already killed half of their…”clutch.”

 Erevan and Festus, Kurn and Duor peppered the creatures with arrows and bolts. The creatures let loose their high-pitched sound and flopped over inert and dropped from the cavern roof.

 Fen murmured a phrase in the druidic tongue and touched the heavily wounded ranger. Tendrils of soft green light seemed to flow and wrap around satyr’s wound like vines of ivy. The bleeding stopped and the wound closed significantly. Fen helped the satyr bandage the still damaged shoulder.
 
 Haelan did the same to the scrape on Alaria's arm. The magess refused the Hilltender's offer of magical healing, suspecting they might need it in the near future.

 The clustered heroes beneath the lip of the entrance passage warily peeked out from under their stone sanctuary. 

 “Are they gone?” Haelan whispered, as if fearing the piercers might hear him.

 The dwarves and elf scanned the ceiling as far as their vision could within the radius of Erevan’s puffball of light. Nothing moved as far as they could tell.


----------



## wolff96

This whole section with the kobolds reminds me of the old 3.5 module...  Sunless Citadel?  I think that's what it was called.

I loved that module.  

Anyway, really enjoying the story and wanted to chime in with my appreciation for the description of the fight with the "Piercers".


----------



## steeldragons

wolff96 said:


> This whole section with the kobolds reminds me of the old 3.5 module...  Sunless Citadel?  I think that's what it was called.
> 
> I loved that module.
> 
> Anyway, really enjoying the story and wanted to chime in with my appreciation for the description of the fight with the "Piercers".




Well thank ye, as always, Wolff.

I am not familiar with_ any_ 3.5 modules! lol. But I have seen several threads that mention this "Sunless Citadel"...if I'm emulating a "classic" then I can't be doing toooo much wrong. hahaha. I assure you, all of the "Tales of Orea" are completely original/off the top of my head. I don't use pre-made modules for anything but inspiration anymore....though the thought to run "the Stormriders" through the "Lost Caverns of Tsojcanth" had crossed my mind for the future.  

What did you appreciate about the fight with the piercers? Not sure I understand that. But glad you liked it.

Just wait til they get to the Hargak (coming soon)...hope you like that as much.  lol.
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

“Well, how d’yeh suppose we get out of here ‘chief’ boss lady.” Duor said angrily.

 “We still have a Hargak to slay.” Coerraine observed.

 “Oy, Goldilocks. Yeh don’t think rock spikes falling from the ceiling constitute ‘death rock’? We were brought here to be trapped and killed…not do the yappers any favor!” the dwarf retorted, angrily.

 Coerraine pointed toward the tall stalagmite the kobold captain had pointed to. His eyes glowed with the golden light of his gifted vision.

 “That tall rock there…” Coerraine began.

 “The stalagmite? By the lake’s edge?” Corrected and questioned Fen.

 “Stall-ag-whatever. _That_ one and a few of the smaller ones around it are most definitely Evil. Whatever else is in this cavern, there is definitely something to be defeated here.” The Redstar Knight said. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, unfortunately, whatever else those spike-creatures were, they did not register in his divine sight as evil. He mentally said a prayer that the companions had slain all of the things.

 “We go back. Right now!” Duor began to rant again. “We kill all of the yappers and take their treasure…though, honestly, how much wealth could a buncha those no-good-fer-nuthin’s have? I say we round them up and herd them in here so the Hargak can kill them for us!” the dwarf said definitively.

 The rest of the party looked at the wall of fallen rocks and stone that blocked their way back to mine. Then looked at Duor.

 “How would we do that, exactly?” asked Haelan with all characteristic sincerity.

 “This rockslide is a trap and kobolds do love their traps.” Kurn offered.

 “And they said there was more of their clan to come through into the mine.” Observed Erevan.

 “They will reset the trap?” Alaria questioned.

 “They will have to if they want to get the rest of their people into the mine.” Kurn nodded, agreeing with the elf’s observation.

 “Kobolds are almost as good at digging as our kind.” Kordun grumbled. The dwarf warrior’s pride was sorely bruised at being ensnared by so obvious a kobold double-cross. "They will have this cleared away in no time…Once they think we are dead.” He finished morbidly.

 “IF they think we are dead. IF there are others of their kind to come through! THEN they will clear the blockage.” Duor raved. 

 “Then they will find the Hargak gone.” Alaria said plainly. “And we will reap the spoils of our arrangement whether they like it or not. Just because they don’t keep their word doesn’t mean we don’t have to, Duor.” The magess stated in her ‘commanding’ tone. 

 The others, particularly Coerraine, agreed with this…much to Duor’s disapproval. 

 Their wounds bound, their weapons readied, the companions set off for the tall stalagmite near the lake’s edge. 

 On their way to the water’s edge, Erevan noted movement further up the sloping cavern, near the opposite wall from where they had entered.

A small fissure was there. Evident, now that they were closer, it was easily large enough for humanoids to pass through. They were small and scurrying. More kobolds, Erevan noted. The dwarves confirmed the elf’s guess. The creatures scurried into the fissure and no further activity was noted.

 “Let’s go kill some kobolds! Frag the Hargak!...assuming there even _is _one.” Duor enthusiastically proposed.

 Haelan looked nervously at Alaria. Fen conferred quietly with Erevan. 

 “No, Duor.” Alaria said quietly. Coerraine’s heart was buoyed. The wizard continued, “The kobold chief said the only ones of their kind left here were their females and younglings…and the shaman. No doubt there is a limited compliment of soldiers left to guard them. But we will not slaughter those who have not wronged us.”

 “They HAVE wronged us!!!” Duor burst.

 “HAVE WRONGED US…-AV Wronged Us…-onged us…us…” The outburst echoed throughout the vast arched cavern.   

 Everyone looked at the dwarven rogue. Duor cringed a bit as his statement bounced off of the various stone walls.

 “You are _the worst_ sneaky dwarf I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.” Erevan seethed through clenched teeth.

 Duor looked to his two ‘kinsmen’ for affirmation. Kordun was staring at the ceiling. Kurn simply shook his head side-to-side before continuing to march, next to Alaria, holding his torch aloft for the human wizard.

 “What time is it? Should we, perhaps, rest a spell and continue later.” Festus interjected. The satyr did not at all like the level of tension among the group. His eyes, periodically, went to the ceiling to see if any of the dipping rock formations moved.

 “It’s only mid-afternoon.” Duor and Kordun said in tandem.

 Bollux, Festus thought to himself.

 “We can do this, friend Festus.” Said the half-elf. His assuredness seemed as solid as the stone around them.

 Drawing confidence from that, Alaria nodded the companions to continue. They meandered through the veritable “forest” of stalagmites toward the eight or nine foot tall pillar of wet stone the paladin had identified as the “Hargak”.

 As the party approached a ring of smaller pillars that surrounded the tallest one, Coerraine  identified four of the three to four foot tall stalagmites as also emenating ‘evil.’ The air was very moist and as they’d approached, the amount of lichen and moss, both glowing and dark had increased. A peculiar clear-ish slime coated much of the ground and rocks around them.

 Was there more than one ‘Hargak’, Alaria wondered.

 Kordun pointed to one of the small stalagmites and looked at Coerraine.

 The paladin nodded.

 The dwarf warrior stabbed his white-glowing broadsword into the slime-covered rock. 

 Immediately, the entire site went mad.

 The source of the 'stone' immediately “grew” six small tentacles that flailed about in pain. A single large round eye shot open and a “mouth”, which has previously appeared as simple folded of dripped limestone opened to reveal rows of small pointed teeth. A crying screech went up all around them.

 The other three small pillar that Coerraine had identified as “evil” similarly opened mouths and eyes and began screeching. All around the party, tentacles flailed off of stalagmites and whipped about furiously at anything close to them.

 One, beside Haelan, wrapped around the daelvar’s ankle and Haelan was pulled from his feet to lie flat on his stomach with a jolt.

 Another of the small pillars wrapped tendrils around both of Duor’s arms but not before the quick thief was able to draw his enchanted dagger. The ethereal green energy of the blade blended with the green and blue glow of the cavern about them.

 Kurn was entirely surprised and became enwrapped in six tendrils from another of the small pillars, marginally shorter than he was. His face portrayed abject horror to see an eye and toothy maw before the creature sank its teeth into the dwarf silversmith.

 Coerraine, immediately, stabbed at the thing holding Duor. It shrieked and released the dwarf. The echoes of the creature’s cry bounced around the hollow cavern.

 Alaria backed away from Kurn and prepared to cast. Fen, also, was chanting something in the cryptic tongue of his order. Haelan was beginning to pray fervently.

 In a simultaneous moment, a ring of silver light appeared around Haelan <_cleric spell: Sanctuary_>, Fen’s skin appeared to turn into a deep brown wrinkled surface <_druid spell: Barkskin_> and Alaria made weaving motions with her hands. 

 The energy flowed through the wizard, it seemed to her so simple now. So invigorating. She was casting her first “second tier” spell and the “power” that she felt flowing through her body was intoxicating. There was no swirl of air about her. No sparks around her person. No ‘raising’ of power. It was just _there _and it was hers to command.

_“Arakii arachnaeus” <mage spell: Web> _ her mouth said without thinking. Undistracted by the things happening around her, Alaria directed her spell at the large, eight foot tall pillar of “stone” even as it began to bend and move. 
 
A ball of white light burst forth from her hand to slam into the tall grey-green slime-covered “formation.” In a blink, the ball burst and the whole of the pillar of “rock” was practically caccooned in sticky luminescent webbing.  

 The smaller creature’s tentacles, two now circled the halfling’s legs, were immediately expunged from his circle of Santuary. 

 Kordun, despite his plate-mailed form, dodged a couple of whipping tentacles from the creature it had stabbed before the thing slumped forward and did not move.

 Coerraine pulled Duor free from the creature who had entangled him. The dwarf slashed at the nearly four-foot tall creature, severing ends of two of its six tentacles in a swath of eerie green light.

_“STOP!” <translated from dwarven_ > came the deep gravelly voice from the largest creature. 

 The sudden voice caused everyone to pause.

 The exclamation was followed by the sound of rocks rolling over each other.

 The creature holding Kurn released him and began to slink, rather like a slug or worm back toward the tall creature. The wounded creature that had gripped Duor and felt Coerraine’s spear did the same.

 The third small stalagmite also inched its way toward the large creature. The one Kordun had slain did not move, instead oozed out sickly grey fluid out onto the stone, slime-covered, ground.

 “It can talk?!” Haelan said, still secure in his Sanctuary invocation, careful not to move outside of its protective area.

 “Are you the Hargak?” questioned Fen through brown cracked lips in Dwarven.

_“It is what the furscales call me. I do not know its meaning, nor care. Just stop hurting my babies!”_  the web-wrapped pillar of stone said. Its single eye was huge. Its mouth was barely able to open to speak.

 From its attempts to free itself from Alaria’s spell, several thick portions of its previously singular body became apparent. The creature’s tentacles, all presumed, like its offspring had.

 “Babies?!” Haelan repeated in Common…not sure if he got the translation right. “It has babies?” he said looking at Alaria plaintively. His gaze shifted to the “little stalagmites” inching their way along slimey “tails”, that appeared no more than slime covered stones, to go behind the eight foot tall web-wrapped creature.

 “You are the Hargak?” Alaria asked directly.

 The creature looked to the dwarves among the bipeds. Kurn translated into dwarven.

_“That is what the furscales call me.”_  The creature responded after a moment.

_“Please, let me younglings go. I will give you treasure. I will give you whatever you want_ .” Said the spellbound creature.

 “Gonna give us treasure?!” Duor said enthusiastically. “I don’t see a reason to hinder this monstrosity if that’s the case! More than the bloody kobolds did.”

 Coerraine made a move to stab another of the “younglings” as it made its slow approach to its, apparent, “parent.” 

 “Coerraine, hold!” Alaria yelled.

 As if by instinct, the paladin stayed his blow.

 The creature continued to inch its way until it was behind its “mother”….”father”...whatever it was.

 “Kurn, if you please,” Alaria began. The dwarf nodded and translated for the magess.

“You wil leave this place, and take your ‘younglings’ with you.” The R’Hathi wizard looked at her companions. None disagreed, though Duor looked at her somewhat pleadingly. His face was lit by the unreal green light of his dagger. Alaria knew her spell would not last much longer. She assumed the creature knew that as well.

 “You will leave us you treasure. But you will not return here. If you do…we will return and slay you and your children.” Alaria swallowed loudly after the last statement.

 “_Release me and I will do as you ask. Just do not hurt my babies.”_ Said the weird creature in broken dwarven.
 
“Alaria, they are EVIL creatures!” Coerraine protested.

 “It is but a mother protecting her brood, paladin.” Fen said in defense of the wizard’s proposition.

 “And it’s giving us treasure, Goldilocks.” Said Duor irreverently.

 “You will give us your treasure and we will stay here to make sure you leave and do not hinder the kobolds or darken this cavern ever again.” Alarai said again. 

 Kurn translated into dwarven.

 The luminescent webbing snaring the creature faded from view.

 One of its tentacles reached down behind it and threw a large sack toward the party.

_“The furscales were trying to move this through the cavern_ .” The creature admitted. Kurn translated for Alaria.

 Duor eyes nearly popped out his head to see the sack land, opening, to reveal coins and gems and who knew what else.

 “That’ll do.” Said the dwarvish rogue.

 “But Alaria…er…Duor… the creature is evil!” Coerraine protested again.

 “We said we wouldn’t slaughter, Coerraine.” The Hilltender said sternly. “I will not kill ‘children.’ Would you?” his hazel gaze landed firmly on the Redstar.

 Coerraine, despite himself shrank back from the halfling’s gaze.

 “And it’s giving us its treasure…and leaving. That’ll be enough for me, pally.” Duor retorted.

 “It is only trying to protect its young, Coerraine.” Fen offered in an attempt to get the paladin to understand.

 The “heathen’s” reasoning did little to soothe the Redstar’s heart.

 “And we now have more to contribute to Braddok’s raising.” Erevan said matter-of-factly.

 “We will wait and watch, while you depart.” Alaria said to the creature.

 The roper’s eye narrowed, angry to be commanded in such a manner, but unwilling to put its young at further peril. It had already lost one. It would not dare to lose any more from this bunch.

_“The cavern is yours, heroes.”_  It said.

 A piece of the floor, previously thought to be just another slimy stone formation ripped up from the ground. With careful purpose, it slithered itself away from the party. Its body twisted so that its giant eye was fixed on the companions. The three remaining younglings followed in a row.

 “It’s just like a mother duck.” Haelan said innocently, watching the creatures leave.

 Coerraine looked angrily at the cleric. The Hilltender did not notice. Duor was busy counting through the coins and gems.

 “Kordun, if you please.” Alaria said nonchalantly and nodded toward the sack of booty.

 The dwarf warrior took it out from under Duor’s eager eyes. The dwarf thief grumbled something inaudible.

 “I propose,” began Alaria, “We stay here for the remainder of the day.” Her suggestion was met with questioning glances.

 “We must ensure the creature does not return.” Alaria reasoned. “And if the dwarves are correct, give the kobolds time to clear the trap.”

 “And then what?” said Coerraine defeated. “I suppose we’ll go skipping, hand in hand, with the kobolds back to their lair?”

 The acid was shocking coming from the Redstar Knight.

 “No, Goldshield. Then we …_get even_.” Alaria said. The gaze she shot the blond paladin put the young Redstar off his game. He nodded an understanding.

 The companions, collectively, watched as the tall creature made its way among the natural stalagmites and disappeared through another, until them unnoticed, fissure in the cavern wall.

 “Sharpen your blades, boys.” Alaria said to no one in particular. “Tomorrow, we will be fulfilling our end of the bargain…in spades.” Unintentionally, the air around the R’Hathi sparked a bit with arcane enegies.

 Fen and Erevan shifted uncomfortably at the wizard’s obvious anger and malice. Haelan, as well.

 Coerraine smiled. As did Festus.

 Duor along with his dwarven “kin” grinned menacingly.

 The party found a patch of stone free of slime with an overhang, in the event some piercers had been missed, and made camp.


----------



## steeldragons

Despite whatever time it was outside the mountain, the party easily fell into deep sleep, when their watch wasn’t up. Two at a time, just to be sure.

 Haelan flinched seeing something disturb the surface of the water of the lake.

 Thankfully, for all on watch, there was no further piercer attack, not did the roper or its young return. Coerraine confirmed this with his god-given sight.

 The company slowly made their way back up the way they’d come. Erevan and Festus assured them they were following their own trail.

 Sure enough, the dwarves’ supposition had been correct. The passage sat there, open and free of debris as if they had just passed through it.

 “Shall we explore this passage?” Haelan asked, pointing out the side passageway that was just inside the entrance way.

 Again, against her will, Alaria was put in the “command” position. She made a mental note to have the charter from Bridgetower changed as soon as they got back. 

 “No, I think not, Haelan.” Alaria said. “We go straight back to Chief Barper’s throne room. You know the way, Kordun?” The dwarf miner/warrior nodded.

 “And, we take no prisoners along the way.” Said the wizard angrily.

 Fen raised an eyebrow toward Erevan.

 The elf seemed not to notice. He simply nocked an arrow in his bow. “_The less kobolds we have to deal with, kiili, the better.” <translated from elvin_>

 Alaria heard Erevan’s remark and smirked approval. She had “geared up” for the day. She looked forward to again experiencing that magickal ecstasy she’d felt the previous day when casting at the roper.

 Fen nodded an agreement at Erevan. The rest of the party already had weapons ready.

 They moved quickly, following Kordun’s sure lead. The dwarf warrior with his white-glowing broadsword was eager to expunge the double-crossing creatures.

 Still, it was an hour before that arrived at Chief Barper’s outer chamber. The kobold soldiers there were shocked to see anything come up through the passage to the Hargak, let alone humans and elves and dwarves.

 With quick slashes of blades and stabs of spears, the sentries were put down.
 
Between Coerraine and Kordun, they easily shoved the large wooden doors open, to Chief Barper’s horror.

 The kobold chief leapt up onto his throne, as he had at their initial meeting, and began barking and yapping at the top of his lungs.

The six guards around the chamber took up a position around the “dais” of the chief’s throne. 

 The “next-shaman” came scurrying into the room…he paused mid-scurry to look at the party in disbelief before taking a position on the dais beside the throne.

 The chief, again, whispered into his intermediary’s ear.

 “Chiefest Barper bids you good welcome you lived for the Hargak.” The next shaman said shaking.

 Haelan called out to Faerantha to slay these creatures affronting Her hills.

 “_Este nonclim everus shuduntae, Deisa Faerantha!”<cleric spell: Spiritual Weapon, “ Holy Faerantha, bring your justice down upon these creatures!”>_ the Hilltender shouted with amazing, to his companions, presence.

 The appearance of a glowing golden bough of pine, sporting needles along its length, and tipped with a huge pinecone sped across the large chamber and struck three of the guard kobolds.

 The creatures, completely fearful of the magic before them broke formation. The “next-shaman”, Kiff, glowered and began chanting, even as his chief was barking orders at him.

 _“Everx imberil rex_” Alaria said plainly. The magic flowed up and through her outstretched arms.

 Violet and blue flames shot forth and pummelled remaining guards. Their cries buried in the crackling of magical flame. The burst of magical power had disrupted the kobold would-be shaman’s attempted invocation.

 “You tricked us.” Alaria said firmly. Kurn translated.

_“I…no, I…Yarp…he…him fault…” <translated from kobold_ > bumbled the King of Kobolds of This-Here-Rocks. 

 Two more kobold guards entered the room and immediately charged the party.

 With a wave of his hand and an inaudible phrase, vines shot up out of the ground and completely entangled the attacking kobolds. They yipped and yapped their displeasure before the vines sealed their canine snouts.

 They thrashed for a moment and the kobold chief barked his disapproval, relayed by the thoroughly concerned “next-shaman.”

 “Yous nots attack us. We’s alliedances.” Kiff protested.

 “Like hell!” Duor shouted in response before sending a crossbow dart into one of the more stalwart un-charrred guard’s throat. The creature dropped immediately.

 “No’s. No’s! We has deal!” Kiff relayed from the obviously scared chief.

 “’We has deal’_ that you broke!_” Alaria shouted across the hall before summoning her power again and sending two violet-red shards of energy into the chief.

 “Gah!” shouted the eldritch stricken chief and pounced off his seat to land behind his throne.

 Kiff, utterly at a loss as to what to do, made a dash for the other passage. Erevan and Festus took him down in a hail of arrows.

 The kobolds entangled by Fen struggled and tried to cut the vines and roots with their spear tips. 

 The carrot-topped half-elf clenched his fist and the vegetation contracted, completely snuffing the life out of the creatures.

 Five more guards entered the chamber led by Cap’n Yarp. Yarp slid to a standstill, but only for a moment, as his guards slammed into him and the three front-runners fell to the floor on top of each other. The last two, seeing the humans and elves and dwarves, went running away, yipping and howling as they went.

 Haelan flung his magic shield and knocked both of the deserters unconscious, the shield clanging off one then the other before returning to the daelvar’s waiting hand.

 “Chief Barper!” Alaria proclaimed, not knowing or caring if the chief was still in the room to hear, “We have defeated the Hargak. You have no more reason to stay here. I suggest you gather your people and return to your former lair.” She slammed the iron shod end of her staff down on the floor to reinforce the command. It “clattered” loudly throughout the chamber.

 There were only two shaking guards near the throne and Cap’n Yarp with two if his soliders near the passage from which the party had originally entered the throne room.

 A crossbow bolt from Kurn and another arrow from Festus’ short bow left Cap’n Yarp standing by himself.

 “No’s hurts! No’s hurts! Make deals!” Yarp yelled. He threw his short sword to the floor and held up his small clawed hands in an “I give up” pose.

 “_You’s lousy cap’n Yarp! No more’s cap’n!”_ came Barper’s barking voice from behind the crudely crafted stone throne.

_“And you’s lousy chief, chiefiest chiefs of kobolds!”_  retorted the obviously vexed Yarp.

 “Give us yer treasure an’ get OUT!” hollered Duor through the chamber.

 There was the sound of sliding stone. Yarp closed his eyes and bowed his head.

 Erevan and Duor raced behind the throne to find Barper was not there. It was a simple thing for the elf and dwarf to locate the “secret”door. Simpler, still, to figure out how to open it.

 With Coerraine and Fen, their spears at the ready, the dwarf thief opened the sliding stone panel and quickly moved aside. Behind the slab was a small, crudely crafted alcove, Chief Barper was huddling in a shaking ball of fear…surrounded by coffers and sacks and chests spilling over with gold and silver coins, gemstones, potion bottles, a couple of hilts sticking out of the bags. The chief had had the foresight to grab one of the blades from his trove and made a swipe at…well…nothing, covering his eyes to no see to heroes before him.

 Coerraine raised an eyebrow at the druid. Fen burst into laughter.

 Then there was a series of howls and barks as ten more kobolds raced into the chamber.

 “I think not.” Alaria said, plainly.

 Her fingers immediately began “weaving” her magic again and a simple phrase later, the lot of the charging creatures, including the unfortunate Cap’n Yarp were trapped beneath a layer of iridescent webbing.

 Festus began skipping around the trapped kobolds, firing randomly into the mass of bodies and webs. 

 “One little, <pfft> two little, three little kobolds <pfft>…four little, five little <pfft> six little kobolds…” the satyr gleefully canted as he clip-clopped around the trapped creatures.

 “Alaria?” Haelan practically whined at the wizard.

 “Enough, Festus.” The magess proclaimed.

 “Awwww.” The satyr leaned in close to one of the kobolds still alive, “and I was just starting to get my groove on. You should thank the nice lady.”

 “Thanks lady! Thanks you’s! Thanks lady!” cries went up from all of the surviving kobolds within the magical web. Only Yarp’s, of course, were understood in the Common tongue.

 Coerraine unceremoniously dragged Barper out by his blue caped collar and tossed him in front of Alaria.

 The chief cowered before the magess. 

_“What you’s want? What you’s want?! _ ” the chief sputtered. “_Give you’s Yarp?” _he said with a smile. Kurn translated in between chuckles.

_“Hey!” _ protested Yarp from within the webbing.

 “The Hargak,” Alaria repeated, “is gone. You will take what people you have. You will leave this mine. You will NEVER come here again nor EVER harass the people of Shafton again. If you do…WE will come back and NONE will stay our wrath. Do you understand?” Alaria said imperiously.

 Kurn translated, again trying to feign fear in the face of the great wizard.

_“What’s a Shafton_ ?” Barper questioned innocently.

 “Feorn’s Beard! Can I just kill him now!?!” Duor roared.

 “Go! NOW!” commanded Alaria.

 Barper barked and yipped at his guards who were thanking whatever gods kobolds have as the magical webbing faded. The guards initially ran to the secret treasure room only to find a large red-tabbarded human and green-cloaked man, both with spears pointed at them.

 “Oh, I don’t think so.” Duor said with all of the smug-ness he could muster. The dwarf crossed his arms and sneered at the canine-reptilian creatures.

 They darted away, passed Yarp, passed Barper and ran as fast as their little clawed feet could carry them down the passage that led to the cavern with the lake.

 “I suggest you follow them.” Alaria nodded to Barper. The chief held his silver crown close to his head and slunk toward the passage.

 “And what, Barper?” Alaria called over her shoulder.

_“Nevers comes back_ .” The kobold chief said under his scarred snout. Kurn translated and Alaria smiled and nodded to show the chief she agreed with what he’d said.

 Duor turned his attention to counting the surprising amount of loot these kobolds had…with Coerraine over his shoulder and, eventually, Haelan and Kordun also helping.


----------



## wolff96

steeldragons said:


> What did you appreciate about the fight with the piercers? Not sure I understand that. But glad you liked it.
> 
> Just wait til they get to the Hargak (coming soon)...hope you like that as much.  lol.




The description of the monsters and the way you wrote their confusion and the chaos of the resulting fight.  It's kind of an oddball monster -- one of many -- but iconic D&D.  Always nice to see them getting some use along the way.  

The Hargak fight was more interesting to me for the party's reaction than anything else.  The paladin arguing to execute the evil monsters, while most of the rest of the party was willing to let them live as long as they left.  Makes an interesting contrast with their dealings with the kobolds that double-crossed them -- there was no question of mercy or quarter in THAT fight.

Although I'm shocked that they let the chieftan live, in the end.  I was expecting him to buy a crossbow bolt in the back.


----------



## steeldragons

The party descended back to the cavern chamber. Duor quickly found the switch to cause the cave-in again. When they were sure all of the kobolds had come through, Duor set off the trap and blocked the passage to the cavern of the Hargak and the kobolds. 

 Kordun assured them that first order of business when he got some of the other miners was to create another to fully block off the passage. “Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Said the dwarf warrior-miner as he looked around the carved passage. “They’ve done a good bit of damage down here. Prolly have to close off other passages and reinforce others from the yappers’ shabby work.”

 With some difficulty, the party managed to tote the treasure sacks and chests from the roper and kobolds up and out to first floor chamber where they’d fought the carrion crawler.

 Thank Manat for the additional dwarves, Alaria thought to herself. Else it would have been quite the ordeal to get it all up at once.

 Haelan went to stand near the side passage that had the lingering ghoul smell. He seemed troubled.

 “Are we going to go down this way?” the daelvar asked.

 Fen stood near the entryway and looked serious. “We did slay a lot of the creatures. But we have no way of knowing if we got them all.” The druid pointed out.

 It was quickly agreed they would check out the passage. Kordun told them what to expect from the passage, but he and Kurn were assigned to wait in the chamber with the load of treasure. Duor and Festus, despite their volunteering to wait, were ushered into the passage ahead of the party.

 They were only a short distance down before weapons were drawn and spells called to mind when they rounded a bend to see the back end of a green and purple, multi-legged body in the passage.

 Tension eased when they were close to notice, the creature did not move. Its front half was squarely pressed into the floor beneath a ten foot long section of “wall” with sharpened saplings and stone spikes. Green ichor had oozed out and puddled all around the creature.

 “Heh. Looks like it’s ‘_crawler carrion’_, now.” Duor joked, thoroughly pleased with his own wit.

 “HA!” burst Festus quite by accident. The burst of laughter echoed down through the passage. The satyr received several disapproving looks from the human and elvish contingent of the party.

 The odor of the ghouls had not lessened or increased, however. So the readied-party stayed a bit on edge as they climbed around (or in Duor’s case “over”, with a few good stomps on top of the trap) “Just to make sure.” The dwarf defended his actions to the questioning party.

 Festus chuckled softly. He did like the dwarf’s style.

 Shortly after the crawler’s corpse, they came to a small chamber containing a lift that only went down, as Kordun had told them they would. The platform for the lift was lost somewhere in the dark shaft below. None desired to make another descent and after Erevan and Duor listened carefully at the railed pit in the middle of the room, nodded that there was no strange noise coming from below.

 They carried on down a smaller passage that struck out into the darkness heading west, “obviously freshly carved” according to Duor.

 They came across several scatterings of small bones and half assembled skeletons. One half-eaten disembodied head proved to them all that they were kobold remains.

 Duor spat on one skull. “Too bad the rest of yer ilk didn’t share yer fate.”

 Festus relieved himself on another collection of bones. “Maybe you’ll think twice before assaulting Daenfrii and clashing swords with the Stormriders.” The satyr said to the newly dampened bones. He received no reply.

 Alaria continued down the passage, ignoring the satyr’s utterly repugnant actions. She was accompanied by most of the party. Duor gave the satyr a high-five.

 They moved with caution, Festus and Duor back in the fore to seek out other possible pitfalls and traps. After a while of slow-going, they saw the passage ended in a chamber, seemingly much older than “fresh construction” they’d been moving through. There were many bones scattered about. A cursory inspection by Erevan and Fen confirmed that some were kobold, others human.

 As they moved into the narrow passage between the slightly arched walls, they realized they were in a catacomb. Slots in the walls to either side, three high, were carefully carved into the walls in neat rows. Between the slots, some of which contained tattered rags and scattered bones, others were sealed with at least partial slabs of stone which had not been disturbed. Etchings of the”Y” symbol of the goddess Desri and the “X” shaped symbol of hammers and chisels crossed, the holy symbol of the smith god, Dunric, lined the walls between the alcoves of the dead.

 They were elegantly created and decoratively etched. Other sections of the stone walls bore prayers in Dwarven and Selurian writing.

 “These must be the catacombs of the Dunrician shrine.” Haelan said quietly, voicing what many of them already suspected. “Could we have traveled so far within the mountain? I wish Kordun was here.” The Hilltender muttered distracted. 

 The whole area smelled of death only slightly overwhelmed by the “ghoul-stank.” 

 “We should not be here. Let the remaining dead rest in peace.” Coerraine said. “We should complete the circuit. If this is the catacombs beneath the shrine, we should be able to go up and out through here. We can double back through the mine entrance and collect Kordun and Kurn.”

 “And our treasure, pally! Let’s not forget why we’ve been riskin’ life n’ beard through this hell-hole.” Duor said, still mirthful.

 Things then got very serious very quickly.

 Coerraine was tackled by a gaunt grey shape that fell on him from one of the upper slots. The paladin cried out in pain for a moment before the ghoul toxin seeped into his blood from the thing’s bite and froze his muscles and joints.

 “Shite!” shouted Festus in alarm.

 Another ghoul appeared at the edge of their flickering torchlight from further in the catacomb and lunged at the closest warm-blooded body it could. 

 Fortunately, that was Erevan. While the elf was knocked back by the creature’s swiping claws and the chilling pain ripped through his body, the Miralostae’s blood rejected the unearthly toxin and he was able to rip his finely crafted longsword from its scabbard before the ghoul could make another attack.

 “Haelan!” cried Alaria as she stepped back behind the elf. Her mind searched through her remaining spells for something that might help. She had, somewhat foolishly in hindsight, she thought, expended more magic on the kobolds than was probably wise.

 Fen’s spear tip flared with its green glow as the druid angrily stabbed into the creature attacking Erevan. His aim was somewhat off as he fought to stay the rumbling in his stomach form the creature’s foul scent.

 The nimble grey-skinned creature avoided the blow. The other, atop Coerraine’s frozen form, ignored strikes from Festus’ curved falchion and Duor’s missed swipe of his ethereal dagger.
 

 Instead, it chose to rip into the fallen Redstar to get to more of the sweet warm red blood. Coerraine’s eyes teared up in agony, since his body utterly refused to even make a sound.

 “HAELAN!!!” Alaria shouted again at the halfling.

 The daelvar priest had heard her the first time, but was engrossed in mustering the divine might of his goddess. Finally, the Hilltender raised the amulet from around his neck and called up Faerantha’s glory to push these abominations from Her holy presence.

 The medallion flared with the golden light, as it had a couple of nights before, and then burst forth from the halfling in all directions. The area surrounding the party was filled again with the scent of pine trees and fertile soil.
 

 But there was something else.
 

 Haelan could feel the pressing of evil upon him in the deep enclosed space...it “fought” his invocation in a way he had not been pressed upon in his last “turning.”

 The ghouls were all but thrown from the area ensconced in the cleric’s holy power. One behind them. One before. Neither more than ten feet away from the party and the light. They did not dare come closer, but neither did they flee as Haelan (and Alaria and pretty much everyone else) had hoped.

 “There’s…something here…it tries to block Faerantha’s grace.” Haelan said strained. 

 “Well done, Haelan. We just need a bit more time.” Alaria assured the cleric.

 Erevan cast the spell of energy darts and a blue-green shard of energy shot forth from him to squarely strike the ghoul ahead of them. A small scorch mark and wisp of smoke on the creature’s chest was all that remained a moment later. It opened its impossibly long jaw and flared its thick long purple tongue at the party with a howl of defiance.

 Festus and Duor had taken back to their bows for the creature waiting behind them outside the sanctified area. It cried and howled as it also took to the walls, even scurrying up onto the ceiling shrieking unknown curses at the satyr and dwarf. Most of the bolts missed or skidded off the creature’s greasy flesh.

 “Could use some o’ that holy mojo juice fer the weapons, hairfoot.” Duor shouted unceremoniously.

  “It…shall…not…succeed.” Haelan said completely unaware of the actions that occurred around him. The devout daelvar’s mind and faith felt as though under a weight. The strength of the Hillmother would not be crushed by so simple and vile a force. He would not allow it. 

  Fen called forth his ball of flame and launched it from the leaf-shaped spear, like it were a sling. 


It struck the waiting ghoul before Erevan and himself and the creature hopped and scurried up onto the walls and rolled about on the floor for a moment before finally crouching to the ground and staring menacingly at the druid. Its skin was severely blistered and blackened, but it was still ‘alive.’ 

  Then, barely entering the light behind the burned ghoul came a black robed figure. It was lanky and hooded, but bore a skull face-mask that covered the figure’s face down to the nose. Two long fangs protruded down either cheek. The glint of living eyes reflected the flickering light of the torches and Haelan’s holy glow behind the bone eye-sockets. 

  The figure raised its arms and chanted in some language none of the party understood. It was twisted with corruption and dripped with the taint of evil. It was like some inverted form of the Old Selurian used by priests. 

_“Suetssssid maleviiiicaaa, sarap meit suolsss, Endore ssresssstim!” <cleric spell: Curse (reversed Bless) “Curse these interlopers, reap their souls, Mistress Endore.”_ >

  The air around the party seemed to dim. The holy glow of Haelan’s medallion flickered and then went out. The halfling was shaken to his knees, defeated and exhausted. With the loss of the Hilltender’s holy presence, all of the party felt a weight upon them. Not physically, but a weight on their souls, for no better way of putting it. The catacomb seemed darker than before, despite the torches. More foreboding. 

  “Haelan, our weapons! You must bless the weapons!” Festus shouted, surprising himself at his presumption of commanding one of the Stormriders. 

  The satyr was barely able to get the sentence out before the ghoul he and Duor had been targeting leapt back into the fray. The satyr dove/tumbled to avoid the ghoul’s elongated arms that tried to sink its claws into him. The hoofed ranger came to a standing stance between the ghoul and still incapacitated paladin. 

  Duor climbed one of the walls up to one of the second alcoves. He gripped the lip with one hand and re-drew his glowing dagger, which lent its eerie green smokey light to the gloom that had descended on the area. 

  The other burned ghoul leapt straight for the accursed nature priest. One arm extending toward the druid and the other to the elf archer beside him.  

  Its one hand dug into the half-elf who felt the unnatural thing’s poisons course through his body. Unfortunately, his diluted elf-blood did not save him and Fen was able to mutter a curse even as the ghoul’s body came to land upon his spear and impale itself with its own weight. The druid and destroyed ghoul fell back in an unmoving heap. 

  The evil priest of the Plague Mistress raised its arms to its sides and again began to chant. Almost immediately, the bones scattered around the catacomb and even those still within their slots began to jostle and shift positions, pulling themselves together to form warped skeletal beings. 

  Alaria withdrew the Ihs Repahl from its pouch. There was no time for delicacy or creativity. With a thought, wind twirled around Alaria, raising dust and small chips of bone and tattered cloth. In the following second a blast of air moved through the narrow chamber striking the black-robed figure with the force of a battering ram.  

  The lanky figure immediately was thrown from its feet and disappeared into the darkness before them.  Breaking the cleric’s concentration (and Alaria hoped wounding him “at least a little?”) , the joining bones faltered and fell to the ground, inanimate.  

  Coerraine moaned and began rousing himself. His joints still felt like ice, but the creature’s effect was fading. He bled from a large gash in his back and another on his shield-arm shoulder. Weakly, he placed his other hand on his shoulder and through unsure lips murmured a prayer to Celradorn before again collapsing to the floor. The bleeding ceased, but the wounds remained evident and seemed to fester before the eye. 

  Festus was doing what he could to avoid the remaining ghoul’s attacks, knowing he couldn’t possibly stop the thing himself. 

  Duor dove off of the wall of the catacomb and sank his green-glowing dagger deep between the greasy grey flesh of the ghoul’s protruding shoulder blades. It screeched an unearthly sound and fell limp beneath the dwarf who quickly covered his nose  and mouth with hand before becoming physically ill, finally overcome by the “ghoul-stank.”  

 “Haelan, quickly now.” Alaria shouted. “We must get that priest of Endore.” She looked behind her for the first time since the encounter began. “Oh, sorry. Are you ok? Coerraine!? Manat’s Star! Haelan can you heal him?! Fen? Fen!”

 The druid, relieved of his undead burden by Erevan, was still unable to move and looked pleadingly at the Miralostae.

 “Alaria, I fear we are in no condition to mount a hunt.” Erevan said plainly. He didn’t look up from the half-elf, but smiled weakly and nodded at Fen. “_It will pass soon._” He said in elvin. 

 “If he gets away, we will have another horde of ghouls in Shafton in no time. Festus? Duor? You are unharmed? Come with me. The rest of you follow as you are able.” Alaria said in that commanding tone she sometimes adopted.

 None could argue with her logic, though the satyr and dwarf looked at each other nervously. 

 The magess whispered a basic cantrip and light flared from the ironshod end of her staff. “Come on!” she shouted before she took off down the catacomb which ended abruptly at the foot of a staircase leading up.

 Festus nodded, setting his face with a determined look.

“She likes me.” The satyr said with a sidelong wink to the still questioning dwarf. This caused Duor to smile despite himself as the two took off after the headstrong wizard.


----------



## steeldragons

The R’Hathi wizardess, the dwarven rogue and the satyr ranger raced up the narrow winding staircase to come to a closed door of old wood and iron bindings.

 Duor listened at the door and, unspoken, indicated he did not hear any movement. His attempt to quietly shove the door open met with failure. It did not budge. After a quick once-over of the door Duor said it was bolted from the other side. He began to pull slender iron picks and another oddly shaped implement from a pocket on his side.

 “We don’t have time for that.” Alaria said plainly.

 _“Noep.”_ <_mage cantrip: Open_> She said with a sliding motion before her. She hoped to the Blue Star the portal was not magically held or elaborately locked. She detested the possibility she would have to read the spell of opening (before she’d ever had a chance to use it!) from her book, as she did not currently have it memorized.

 Thankfully, there was the sliding sound and a clunk of metal against metal.

 Duor burst into the room with a flying somersault, followed by Festus, with blades blazing. The room was small with two stone tables within. A long side table of wood held various pots and ceramic containers. 

 The priest was not there. Another door led out of the room. It was not barred and opened to reveal another set of stairs, again leading upward.

 The trio continued their pursuit up the narrow stairs.

 They rounded a bend to see an open doorway before them before they saw nothing at all.

 The light surrounding Alaria’s staff winked out and the three heroes stood in almost complete darkness. A trickle of daylight showed the way to the doorway, but only Duor with his dwarven darkvision was able to climb the unlit stairs without tripping at least once. Festus fare well enough with his own vision but Alaria had to follow the wall with her hand to climb the stairs.

_<author/DM note: the priest's Darkness spell only served to snuff Alaria's Light. Thankfully. Else they would have all been totally blind. The priest was working under the assumption the whole party would be coming up with torches, and thus completely blinded.>_ 
 
 The three broke into the main shrine room.

 The dark robed figure was racing for the outer door, weaving his way around the mess of workbenches and overturned furniture.

 Duor immediately drew his nocked hand crossbow and let fly. The dart missed by an inch, harmlessly sinking into one of the overturned tables.

 “_Losec!”_ <_mage cantrip: Close_> Alaria quickly shouted, again mentally praying to the goddess of magic that the shrine’s doorway wouldn’t prove too weighty for her simple closing spell.

 The door, only slightly ajar, slammed shut with a thud.

 The priest stopped in his tracks and turned to face his pursuers. 

 Good, thought Alaria. He thinks he is trapped. In reality, the cantrip had simply closed the door not locked it. If the priest got to it, he could easily push it open.

 Then, their ears were again assaulted with the corrupted tongue of evil and the priest invoked his undead goddess. 

_“Essressstim Endore, Surevvv miclon etne aetuuundshaaaa!” <cleric spell, Spiritual Weapon. “Mistress Endore, attack your enemies with your [un]holy weapon!”>_ 

 Immediately, a skull appeared before the priest, ensconced in dark violet flames. The thing streaked across the shrine. Duor avoided the flaming skull attack by ducking at the last moment behind one of the tables. Festus and Alaria, however, were not so lucky and bloth received blows from the spell as it arced its way through the room before returning to hover beside the priest. His smirk was obvious beneath the skull-mask that obscured the top of his face.

 As if instinctual, Alaria free hand went to the crystal orb in her pouch. With the other, holding her staff, she extended her index and middle fingers as the power coursed through her body.

_“Shaiir shahiir shaiiris” <mage spell: Mirror Image>_  she shouted across the once-holy place. The power filled her with that intoxicating feeling, somewhat less so than the webbing evocation, but she revelled in the coursing energies just the same.

  Her form and, to her complete surprise, that of Festus and Duor flickered and glimmered and suddenly, the priest saw THREE mages, THREE satyrs and THREE dwarves with glowing green blades creeping out from behind a table! 

  The Plague priest flung his arm at them and the flaming skull again flew through the chamber. It stuck one of the wizards which immediately winked out of view and passed through one of the satyrs, which similarly dissolved before his eyes. Soon after the skull returned to the priest’s side it dissolved back into the cosmos. 

  A crossbow bolt landed in his upper arm and the priest cried out in shock and pain.  

  Now two satyrs and three dwarves were charging through the room toward him. 

  His lips seethed with the unholy tongue of his order.   The satyr approached first and cut into him with its curved blade. 

  The priest reached out his hand and tightly gripped the attacking ranger. Red energy flared around the evil priests hand and the satyr cried out in pain before he was easily shoved aside. < _cleric spell: Cause Light Wounds_>

 The priest backed up a step and grabbed one of the long discarded hammers from a bench near him. He readied to swing at the approaching dwarf.

 Alaria pulled the orb from its pouch, ready to use it in her next attack when she heard Haelan’s small voice come from behind her.

_“_ _Beatius Faerantha, benéfica spiritum con u guda rihvahlt!” <cleric spell: Hold Person. “Beatufiul Fearantha, bless your loyal follower with your power to halt/hold.”> _

  In mid-swing at Duor, the priest made a small “Erk” noise from his throat. In an instant, amber colored light surrounded him and seemed to coelesce into a solid form.  The evil priest was forzen in place beneath a veneer of amber. His eyes shifted in their sockets behind the skull mask. He was utterly held. 

  Two Alarias, two Festus-es and three Duors turned to look at the doorway to see an amber glow fade from Haelan’s outstretched arm with a hand pointing at the priest. 

  “Taste the power of the Hillmother, villain.” The daelvar said satisfied in his faith and the power of his goddess. “Wow, Alaria…-as. Made your own party?” Haelan smiled. 

  “It tastes sweet, indeed. I am sure, good Hilltender.” Alaria smiled back. With a thought, she dismissed the illusions so only the originals stood where they were. 

  “It does, magess.” Haelan responded. “I like it.” 

The rest of the party filtered up through the stairwell after the cleric.

  Fen did not appear too well at all. The druid leaned heavily on Erevan. But his face was full of fury toward the undead-goddess’ cleric. 

  Coerraine had seen better days, but at least he was on his feet. He leveled his spear toward the wicked cleric. He knew, despite all of his own wishes, he could not run the priest through where he was stuck, enchanted. 

  At Healan’s instruction, the Redstar was shocked to find he could reach into the amber coating and remove the priest’s mask.  

  All of the party gasped to see revealed the face of the lone survivng “Dunrician acolyte.” 

  All of the party, except Duor, of course. The dwarf simply sheathed his blade and turned to the rest of the party. “I suppose we’re gonna hafta question him now?” the dwarf said, sounding disappointed.


----------



## steeldragons

“You’re a bad bad man, Nervel!” Haelan chastised the evil priest. “How could you leave Dunric for that unspeakable horror?”

 The Endoren priest looked at the daelvar with nothing but contempt from his position, kneeling on the ground in the center of the circle of companions, tightly bound.

 The evil cleric’s voice all but hissed through clenched teeth before beginning to rave, “You insipid imbecile. I was never one of the Smith’s. The Plague Mistress is mine. Forever unending, beyond life, beyond death. Endore will flay your souls from your husks and steep you in the burning juices of Her cauldron. Forever unending, beyond li-…” 

 SWAK!

 The priest became silent and glared at the dwarf.

 Duor rubbed his leather-gloved palm before looking at the disapproving party. “What?! He was gonna g’on with that gibberish fer who knows how long.”

 “Are there any more ghouls?” Fen asked plainly.

 The priest did not answer. He turned away to look at the floor.

 Fen lifted his chin with the blade of his spear until the priest was again looking at the druid. “I do not share my companions respect for those who dabble in the unnatural.” The half-elf said acidly. He nudged the spear tip a bit closer to the priest’s neck.

 The Endoren gaze was filled with hatred as he met Fen’s bright green eyes. “Now that I have your attention. Are..there…any…more..ghouls?” the druid asked coldly.

 “No.” the priest said defeated. “You’ve slain them all. I was going to have to begin all over.”

 “He is probably lying.” Coerraine said sternly.

 “Yeah. We should just flay him now.” Festus chimed in, rubbing the burning bullseye-like red, black and purple bruise on his upper arm where the priest’s unholy spell had hurt him.

 “Why were you here? What did you want with Shafton? What were you attempting to accomplish? To whom do you answer?” Alaria posed, attempting to direct the scene into a more reasonable light.

 The priest began with a low grumbling chuckle that rose to a maniacal cackle. “You are all fools! What did I want with Shafton?! Who gives two damns about this backwater? I answer to my Mistress who will…”

 “Yeah, yeah. ‘Flay our souls’ n’ all that.” Duor interrupted. “The lady asked you who you answer to. Who’s your superior? What did they want here?”

 “You will not defeat them. They will raze the free kingdoms to the ground. They will bring about the rise of my Mistress’ greatest achievement. You…you have no hope. You can not win.” The priest broke down into more insane chuckling.

 “Alaria,” Coerraine began pleadingly, “if I may? We should just take him back to the village. Let him be brought to justice for the evil he has wrought here.” The blond Redstar Knight turned toward the priest, “Despite my most sincere wish to bring you Celradorn’s justice here and now.” He said firmly.

 “Who is ‘them’?” Alaria asked. Concern was growing within her. 

 The insane chuckling continued as he responded, “They are here…heeheehee…Right now. Watching you. Hahaheeheeha…They are here. You will never win.” The evil cleric’s head lolled to the side and he seemed to be looking at something back behind the party, toward the altar.

_“Arkanivis”_  Alaria said with the last of her cantrips for the day. Manat grant they meet no other trouble this day. For as high as she felt when casting her upper tiered spells, now she felt an equal “low” of impending exhaustion.

 The magess’ eyes turned to peer where the cleric gazed with bulging eyes. Alaria was horrified to see the outline of a serpentine form circling the based of the alatar in the shadows beneath. The shadow snake was much larger than the ones she’d previously viewed entirely wrapping itself around the altar’s base.

 Its red eyes glowed within her arcane vision, staring directly at the party. At her! 

 “We must go!” Alaria said to everyone’s surprise. “We must leave here. Tresahd is watching us.”

 “Heh heh heh hahahahah ahhhheeheehee…You can not win.” The evil cleric cackled. 

 “Bring him.” Alaria said backing her way toward the doorway. She could not turn her gaze from the large serpentine form. “The villagers deserve justice…and I suspect they will let you carry it out, Coerraine.”

 The party all left the shrine into the afternoon. Clouds had come over the mountains and shrouded the day in a hazy grey. 

 “Festus and Duor, go back up into the mine and fetch Kordun and Kurn.” Alaria suggested.

 “Fetch?!” Duor burst in indignation.

 “If you please.” Alaria said annoyed. “I am sorry, Duor, you are correct. Would you please go get your kin and meet us in the village at the Silver Platter.”

 “That’s a mite better.” Said the dwarf, all smiles. “C’mon, Goldilocks. Gonna need yer brawn too.”

 With that, the remaining party members descend back down the switchback road into town.

 They were met with uporoars of cheers and applause from the villagers who saw them before noticing that they had the “acolyte” Nervel in black robes bound with them.

 When the dwarf brothers with Duor, Coerraine and Festus came down some time after them and all was explained of their time in the mine, the Hargak, the expulsion of the kobolds and their subsequent capture of the evil priest. 

 It did not take long for a “council” of the remaining townsfolk agreed to have Coerraine put the cleric to death. Coerraine carried out his appointed position with neither ceremony nor remorse. 

 The rest of the evening was celebrated with the heroes illustrious return and success.

 Kordun and Kurn were equally toted as heroes of the mine.

 The companions offered them a modest share (10%) of the collected treasure. The dwarves eagerly and thankfully accepted their tithe.

 The following day, two of their horses hitched up to a wagon laden with chests and sacks of coins, gems, weapons and other tidbits, the heroes sat back out for the keep of Bridgetower.

 Alaria thought hard, in between detecting magical items among their treasure. Identifying them would have to wait until their return to Bridgetower. How would they raise the rest of the funds they required? Counting in Captain Rynthis’ fees of 1,200, they still had about 2,000 left to go. 

 There were now only thirteen days til their appointed deadline to raise Braddok


----------



## steeldragons

First, I hope everyone (who celebates the holiday) has a great Thanksgiving week/-end/holiday. I am hoping to have some time for a real post at some point before Thursday. If not, then we'll continue over the weekend.

But for now, here's a few loose ends that, if I hadn't been rushing out of the cafe at the time, would have been wrapped up at the end of the last post.

As always, thanks for the interest and reading about this lil' group from Orea. Have fun and happy gaming (gobble gobble)
--SD
------------------------------
Later in the evening the party returned from the mine, Sergeant Borse returned from Bridgetower with 10 guards, 2 Daughters of Gilea, another Redstar Knight and a cleric of Celradorn.

The Celradorn cleric came with a scroll on which was a Cure Disease he used on Fen. 

Coerraine's paladinic "disease immunity" kept him from having to worry about the "ghoul fever"/transformation...But, Haelan being Haelan, insisted on tending his wounds with some "Blessed" water (not really official "holy water"...but I thought it was creative. So I awarded a couple of extra hit points to help him get back up to snuff.

Between the Daughters of Gilea and the Celradorn cleric, they were able to take care of the rest of the party's scrapes and bruises. So everyone, upon their return to Bridgetower is up to "full" on the HP-ometer and disease free.

Normally, the traitor priest would have been hung on the gallows-tree outside of town, near the cemetery.  But given the whole "undeath" connection/thing. It waas decided decapitation and burning was more wise.

Now...the fun stuff...BOOTY! 

All told, the party collected:
1,700 gp in assorted coins and gems/jewels
a pearl necklace - itself, worth 200 gp.
a jeweled broach/clasp of amber and jet worth 75 gp.
a pair of statuettes, apparently a set. One a serpentine dragon of onyx. One a golden topaz snake-like creature sporting a "mane" and wings of feathers. Alaria supposed they might be bookends. But they could stand as just decorative statues of their own. The set was worth 550 gp (200 for the onyx, 350 for the topaz)

MAGIC BOOTY! (note, none of this stuff other than potions was able to be identified until the group made it back to Bridgetower) 
3 potions of extra-healing
1 potion of neutralize poison
1 potion of Strength
a ring of protection +1
a bracelet of 5 small amber-colored spheres (a bracelet of beads of force) 
a short sword +1 (the blade with which Chief Barper had made his pathetic attempt at an attack...yea, sometimes the DM rolls a 2, too. 
3 arrows +1
1 arrow, thicker/larger than the others, that contained a strange enchantment they could not pinpoint.
1 longsword +1
1 curved dagger/knife of a curious dull dark-grey/"black" metal. The resident mage of Bridgetower -whose name escapes me at the moment- was able to discern the metal as either "adamantite" or "star metal" (assuming they are two different things), both are exceedingly rare. It gave off a curious dweomer that couldn't be entirely identified. Though it was determined does +2 to hit and damage despite whatever else it might do.

With this bountious...um...bounty. The party returned to Bridgetower.

Gathering the 1,200gp promised by the Captain. The group is at a (purely wealth) total of 2,725 (check my math, though  I'm terrible at math when the papers aren't in front of me) of the 5,000gp they need to raise Braddok. With, well after returning to Bridgetower, 12 days to go until their deadline. 

It was suggested by some party members, with reluctance, that a few of the magic items be "sold" back at Bridgetower to increase their funds.

Anything else/questions/comments/stuff I'm forgetting? Let me know.
Cheers.
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

The party, washed and refreshed from their travel, entered the grand hall of Bridgetower. On the dais in an elegantly crafted chair of dark wood sat the Lady Elhianne. A larger higher-backed chair was empty beside her.

 She appeared a vision in a gown of sky blue silk trimmed in delicate swirls of white lace, resembling clouds. She wore a single ring set with a large sapphire on her right hand. A simple band of gleaming silver circled her head to contain the twirling blond hair that cascaded passed her shoulders.

 Alaria found herself envious of the woman’s natural beauty and elegance. The R’Hathi mage felt plain before her. She had expended a few cantrips to remove the dust of the road from herself, Coerraine and Haelan. Erevan, of course, was ever-graceful. The elf never seemed dirty or haggard, Alaria noticed distinctly. Duor, even with magical assistance, still seemed ruddy and road-wary. Festus had washed himself and changed his travel cloak for the blue and grey striped cloak of the Bridgetower guard.

 The companions strode through the hall with their heads high and bowed at various depths before the Lady of the Tower. Servants scurried in the wings to either side, setting tables for the evening meal and lighting the candles and sconces that lined the chamber.

 “Hail and well met, heroes.” Elhianne said with a broad sparkling smile. “We are so glad to attend your triumphant return. The news brought by Sergeant Borsem was most troubling. I trust all is now resolved?”

 “It is, milady.” Coerraine responded to Alaria’s mild surprise. “The foul curse of Shafton has been lifted.”

 “That is wonderful news, sir Goldshield. My husband sends his apologies he cannot meet you, as was his desire. He is in conference with his lieutenants at all hours these days. The battle has been joined at the south edge of Miralosta, as he tells me. The Lordmage’s forces are all being filtered and deployed through Bridgetower and my lord Captain is kept very busy. But we would be most gratified if you would dine with us, this evening and relay the whole of your adventure.”

 “We thank you, Lady Elhianne, for the honor and gratefully accept.” Alaria returned. “We would offer you these spoils of our adventure, gifts for you and our lord Captain, in gratitude for Bridgetower’s abundant aid.”

 She turned and nodded at Festus who then walked forward with a small velvet pillow they’d “borrowed” from the ante-chamber. Upon the pillow was the string of pearls and the topaz feathered servant statuette. 

 Elhianne smiled and took the pearls into her hands. “These are lovely, Alaria.” The lady’s eyes took in the lustrous beauty of the necklace and the fine craftsmanship of the statue of the curious creature. 

 “My lord and husband has told me of your quest to reclaim your fallen companion. It is a most noble cause which I would be thankful to hear fulfilled.” Elhianne paused for a moment before replacing the pearls upon the pillow.

 “The gratitude is ours to give, Stormriders, for your aid to our home and lands. I cannot, in good conscious, deprive you of such valuable jewels when they could aid your cause in no small way.” Elhianne nodded to a couple of guardsmen standing near the dais.

 Two guards came forward. Each lugged a handle of a chest of lacquered dark wood set with a silver clasp between them.

 “If you will indulge my conscience, I bid you take this in exchange for your gracious gifts.” Elhianne finished.

 The guards lifted the top of the wooden box to reveal it filled with gold coins. [600 in all]

 “Truly, my lady, the graciousness of Bridgetower knows no bounds.” Alaria said in breathy surprise. <_author/DM note: I believe the response from the players was something along the lines of “Lady Elhianne ROCKS!” “Bridgtower is AWESOME!” and other, less polite but similarly complimentary, exclamations_> “Our thanks, lady.”

 Elhianne smiled, happy to see her intended gift (which had now become a trade) to the worthy troupe well-received. “Now, let us sup and you will tell me all of the exploits of your great adventure. Your time here will be short, I suppose and I do so enjoy your copy.”

 With that the party sat and dined and extolled the Lady Elhianne with their time in Shafton. The Lady listened eagerly, fully enraptured with the moments of heroism and danger. She was especially taken with the telling of Haelan’s turning the ghouls and impressed with the compassion of their decision with the monstrous “Hargak.” She visibly jumped when Festus slammed his hand upon the table at dramatic moments as he relayed the incident with the falling piercers.

 Near the end of the meal, the Lady of the Tower took a moment to instruct a servant to take a plate of venison and potatoes to her lord husband in his office. She turned to Alaria. “Else he would never eat.” She said with soft smile in that “one woman to another” kind of way.

 Duor, none too subtly, asked Elhianne if she knew anything about the “dragon treasure” in the Feldmere.

 Elhianne laughed politely. “Alas, master Duor, my schooling does not extend into such things. I have heard the songs and tales, of course…as have all in these lands. But to aver their veracity is beyond me.”

 Erevan asked the Lady if she knew of anyone in Bridgetower or Dragonwing Vale who might be interested in the “trading or purchasing” some of their other teasures, including those of an arcane nature.

 Elhianne thought for a moment. “Hmmm. With this, perhaps I can help you. In Bridgetower, now all is concerned with battle and weapons and other unsavory things. I fear trade has all but stopped, even in the short time you have been away. There has been no traffic from outside of Daenfrii since shortly after your first coming to us.

 “However, my sister, the Lady Dauphinne <”doh-fin-eh”> maintains a position in the Lordmage’s court.” She turned to Alaria again, as if to say to her alone, “She is married to one of the lieutenants in the Lordmage’s personal guard. He is a noble sort, if not as handsome as my Rynthis.” Elhianne concluded with a wink.

 Clearly, thought Alaria, the Lady Elhianne was sorely in need of the company of other courtly women. 

 The Lady continued to the table at large, “She does enjoy collecting items of art and beauty and has a small talent for sorcery, herself.”

 She turned for another aside, this time to Coerraine, “Which practically all of the court does, of course.”

 Elhianne returned her attention to her plate and concluded with, “Yes, Dauphinne may be a good place to start.” She took a dainty forkful of the glazed carrots that remained on her plate. She chewed delicately and swallowed before continuing.

 Haelan listened attentively while reloading his plate with more meat and bread that sat before him.

 “There is also an archivist in the Keep, Felton. He was tutor to my sister and I…and before us, I am told, the belated Dragonmagess. Merciful Mother bless her. He is quite knowledgeable in all manner of topics and no doubt would know who in the Vale might be of service to you.”

 She took a sip from the gem encrusted goblet before her. A servant immediately appeared and refilled it with the sweet golden elfvine before she set the goblet down.

 Alaria also took a polite sip from her unadorned goblet. “If I may, my lady…” Alaria began.

 “Alaria, call me Elhianne. Please. It has been long since I’ve had a lady of quality in my company. We are near as sisters, I feel, and would not have titles between us.” The lady said unexpectedly.

 Alaria was surprised but managed a polite smile. “As you wish, my…eh…Elhianne. I am honored.

 “But, if I may and it does not trouble you, what became of the belated Dragonmagess?” Alaria felt this information may be relevant for them in the future. The wizard hoped it would be well-received, being the closest thing to lady-like “gossip” she could think of…Not to mention Alaria, being Alaria, was simply curious.

 Elhianne put down her fork and exhaled. A look of pity crossed her face. “Oh, Alaria, it is a sad tale.”

 “If it upsets you, please do not…” Alaria tried to back track, not wishing to sadden their gracious hostess.

 “No. No. It does not. But it is a lamentable tale. I was only a girl. Nearing my tenth birthday. The princes were only seven and five. My father was a captain with the Vale guard and we lived just outside the Keep in a fine townhouse. It was a glorious time in Daenfrii. Late spring. The fields and gardens were filled of blooms, the air was sweet and clean with their perfume.” She chuckled to herself. “Whether that is entirely true or the rosy shade of childhood memory, I do not know.”

 Elhianne took a moment to take another sip from her goblet before continuing.

 “Well, the Dragonmagess, as of course you know, was a formidable wizardess. She had a beauty and a strength…as all of the Dragonmages do, of course. With such compassion and kindness. Dauphinne and I were raised among courtly women. We are distant cousins, you know? Three times removed from the Dragonwing line…on our mother’s side.

 “But I digress…That day, the air turned bad. Sulfur and smoke filled the senses and burned the eyes. The Keep all but erupted in flame and everything turned to chaos.

 “It seems a demon had been summoned forth by one of Daenfrii’s enemies and sent to lay waste to the Vale.” The lady’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she slid back into her memories of the dark day. 

 “Within the Keep, all of the children and ladies were herded from one chamber to the next, climbing higher and higher in the great tower. We raced ahead of the creature…we ran so fast…until we came to the grand hall…it bellowed through the whole Keep…”

 The party did not interrupt as the lady again composed herself with a long sip of elfvine. 

 “The thing, whose name even now I will never dare to utter, left death and burning in its wake. It crushed through the gates. It decimated the waves of guards, whether they bore arms or spells. 
 Our father fell…” the lady’s story trailed off. 

 “Elhianne, I am so sorry.” Alaria offered. She gently placed her hand on the Lady’s. It quivered beneath her touch.

 Elhianne smiled at the magess. “Many died, that day, Alaria…so many…

 “We huddled behind the Seat of the Dragon…um…the throne of the Dragonmage in the grand hall…where the Vale’s magical protections are strongest.

 “Selaina [the Dragonmagess] was there. The princes, Montor and Malac had been brought to the hall also with their guard of wizards and warriors. The lordmage, Arganor, was there.

 “She had taken up the Staff of Wyr, of course, and readied to fight the creature.

 “They thundered their way through the halls. I’ve never…the magic she commanded and the power the creature summoned…your hair stood on end. The air was charged with the stuff. I’ve never experienced the like before or since…nor would I ever wish to.

 “The wizards and warriors fell by the handful. Our Lordmage Arganor had expended himself beyond his means and was near death…Selaina…the Dragonmagess…knowing something beyond our ken, used her power to transport all of us, including her fallen husband, out of the hall to the lower courtyard outside the keep gates.

 “It is said, the young prince Montor was the last to be swept up in the arcane whirlwind…naturally. He is the Dragonmage-apparent, after all. They say, the poor little prince watched his mother fall.

 “In that final moment, the creature made its final assault, wishing to end the line of Dragonwing there and then…but Selaina would not be felled. She used the dragon magics and the Staff of Wyr to destroy the creature…or banish it.” Elhianned smiled weakly, “It depends on who is telling the story.  

 “The cost of doing so consumed her in the eldritch power and she was lost to us…but Daenfrii and her family…She saved us all.” Elhianne finished, attempting to conclude on a positive note.

 Elhianne and several of the companions took a long draw of their drinks in the silence of the finished tale.

 “So, Arganor was healed. His strength in the aftermath was amazing. Were it not for him, I doubt Daenfrii would be as strong as it is today. He rules, as Lordmage of Daenfrii, until such time as Lord-prince Montor takes up the Staff of Wyr and fulfills the destiny of his birthright.” Elhianne added, attempting to move the conversation back into the “now” and out of the tragic day.

 Haelan’s voice broke the silent hall. “Is there any more of that delightful mince pie?” 

 “More ale here.” Said Duor in a commanding tone.

 Festus, also looking to lighten the mood, stood and raised his mug. “Indeed. More ale! More elfvine! A toast to our most gracious Lady! To our most esteemed Lord Captain. To Lordmage Arganor and the line of Dragonwing! To Daenfrii!”

"To Daenfrii!" the hall resounded in cheer.

At this, all stood and raised their glasses (except Elhianne, of course, as she was included in the toast). The rest of the evening proved most light and they spoke no more of the belated Dragonmagess.


----------



## steeldragons

That night, Alaria was roused by a very apologetic page-boy. It was Rynthis’ manservant. Alaria realized through sleep=filled eyes that she recognized the young man. Captain Rynthis was requesting her presence in his office.

 “What is the hour?” alaria said sleepily as she grabbed her traveling cloak to wrap around the sleeping gown she’d taken from the armoire in the chamber she’d been assigned.

 “Just passed midnight, mistress. The captain said it was urgent.” The youth replied.

 She followed the candle baring youth through the tower halls to Rynthis’ office where the large oaken doors stood ajar.

 Rynthis sat at his desk engrossed in the parchment in his hand. The desk top was covered with papers. The chamber lit by scores of candles that burned low, nearly spent. He lifted his dark circled eyes from the parchment and smiled weakly.

 “Thank you, Timothy.” He said. The exhaustion was evident in his voice. 

“My apologies for summoning you at so late an hour, Alaria. But we’ve received word from the front that I thought you needed to hear.”

 “Not at all, my lord. What can I do for you?” Alaria said as she took the seat offered by the captain.

 “The battle at Miralosta’s southern edge goes harder than expected.” The captain began. “They have breached the wood and make their way, albeit slowly, to Ayla Nirai.

 “It seems, by the reports, there are several Endoren priests among the enemy. Goblins and orcs and ogres that are felled and not utterly destroyed have been seen again in the battles. Brought to unnatural life. The elvish sorcerers are being bested by other arcane-casters of obvious power and dark intent.

 “There is one, in particular…the report describes him as bearded and swathed in black robes with a dragon skull upon his head. He is able to wreak much destruction, even from his position at the rear of the advance. He rides upon a war-chariot pulled by two black mastiffs, the size of oxen, with tongues and eyes that lick with flame.” Rynthis looked at Alaria.

The expression on her face was all of the confirmation he needed, but he posed the question anyway.

“Is this the dark wizard which you encountered?”

 “It is Tresahd. It must be.” Alaria nodded. Concern crossed her face as she thought about the mage who had been keeping her under surveillance.

 “Two separate strike forces attempting to assassinate him were utterly thwarted and decimated. No survivors.” The captain added.

 “I am sorry to hear, my lord. But I am not certain how I can help you?” Alaria said.

 “The newest report, and the reason I’ve called you here, is that the elves noted the wizard, who they’ve dubbed ‘the Black Drake’, breaking from the line and moving east. The concern is he is on his way here…or more distressing, he seeks to enter Daenfrii directly from the wood, behind us. 

"Do you have any insight or knowledge of this mage’s ability? Anything that might give us an edge to counteract his magics? We know he has delivered terrible attacks with fire…and, allegedly, the conjuring of some small demons…but little else”

 “You know as well as I, my lord. If he is conjuring fires, he may well be capable of the Fireball spell. The small spell of Burning Hands, which I myself am capable of…perhaps he can conjure a Wall of Fire?

 “I am sorry, but we did not engage Tresahd when we encountered him on Dragonbone Isle.” Nor did we slay his blasted hellhounds, Alaria thought to herself. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was time to listen to Coerraine regarding the slaying of evil creatures when they were found instead of letting them be. Another, horrid memory came to Alaria’s mind.

 “Captain Rynthis, does the report say anything about him wielding a staff? A staff with a large red gemstone?” Alaria silently prayed to Manat that they did not. She very much hoped the dark mage did not hold the Fire Staff of Nator and/or the Fehs Repahl.

 “They say nothing of a staff, no. Why?” the captain questioned.

 Alaria waved away the inquiry. “Just a thought. It is not important. Something Rhea once told me.”

 The captain, tired though he was, managed a chuckle. “Little the Emerald Lady says is ‘unimportant’. But, I will trust you in this since the reports mention no red stones.”

 “I can tell you, if it is indeed Tresahd, that he is capable of the conjuring of shadow snakes.” Alaria noted, hoping this information would help.

 Rynthis placed a hand on his bearded chin and rubbed. “Shadow snakes, you say? That is something, at least….Do you know what variety?”

 “I am sorry, I do not. Other than Rhea said they were the least of their kind…used for observation, I believe. I fear I am not versed in much of conjuration…nor the use of shade magics.” Alaria quirked a half grin at the obvious fact she would not know about the dabblings of such evil sorcery.

 Rynthis nodded and “hmm’d.” The seneschal was lost in thought and missed Alaria’s attempted humor.

 “Well, if he is making for Bridgetower, what do you suspect of his purpose?” the captain offered.

 “I fear, my lord, that he may well be after me.” Alaria said plainly.

 “Well yes, you…or rather that orb of yours?” the captain posed.

 Alaria nodded. “Yes, the orb, specifically. It is…if I may posit…there was something we heard in our travels before arriving here…but, what do you know about Sharzaak?” Alaria said.

 “Sharzaak? Ah yes, Stenthil told me of his discoveries. Do you really think the goblin army is after the Eye of Arinane?” Rynthis said somewhat skeptically. The idea of the goblin army stabbing so far into the elf kingdom was still quite unlikely to his military mind.

 “If Stenthil’s supposition of the Repahlentim is correct, my lord. I do, in fact, fear that may it be so. If this orb I carry is the Wind Soul…which Tresahd seems very eager to keep an arcane eye on…and the rantings of a goblin captive we once had are to be believed…it may well be that Tresahd is seeking to bring about the raising of the ancient wyrm.” Alaria was fearful to even suggest such a thing.

 The captain’s face became grim as he spoke. “The presence of the priests of the Plague Mistress may well be indication this is correct.” He paused in thought once more. “I can not even imagine the power required to bring about such a feat. Repahlentim or no…but, at this stage, I suspect it cannot be dismissed.”

 “I, too, had hoped for some other explanation. But the evidence that seems to reveal itself to me leads to little other conclusion.” Alaria replied. She realized it was time to share her fears with the rest of the company. 

 “Thank you, Alaria. I have kept you long enough. I will relay your…_our _concerns to the Vale tomorrow and see what might be done.” Captain Rynthis said.

 “How long do you plan to remain in Bridgetower, Magess?” the captain asked as Alaria rose to take her leave.

 “We are under a deadline, my lord. I do not wish to remain more than tomorrow.” Alaria said. Especially is Tresahd is heading this way, she admitted to herself. She knew it was now even more imperative that she get the Ihs Repahl into the safekeeping of the Vale of the Dragonmage.

 “Well, as I hope you know, you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. You are blocked from Tresahd’s serpents here. And, of course, we will do all in our power to keep you and that orb safe.

 “Though, admittedly, the barrier enchantments of Dragonwing Keep are the greatest in the outer realms.” He added.

 “Good night to you, Magess.” The captain said before Alaria could reply.

 “Good night to you, Captain. I am sure the Lady Elhianne would bid me send you to your chambers for a needed rest.” Alaria replied with a smirk.

 Rynthis smiled. “Indeed she would, Magess. You are quite correct. Soon, I promise.”


 The following day, the companions broke fast together and discussed their options and Alaria’s meeting with the Bridgetower captain. Festus was not with them, being put about his duties as a Bridgetower guard.

 “We’re still a couple of thousand short for the raising.” Noted Duor. “I say we go dragon horde hunting.”

 None expected anything less from the greedy rogue.

 “If Tresahd is heading this way, shouldn’t we get the orb to the Keep, as Rhea instructed?” questioned Haelan between mouthfuls of porridge and ham.

 Coerraine concurred. “The Vale is only two days travel, is it not? The wizard is mortal, even if his demon-beasts are not. He will need to stop for rest and we are easily a day closer than he.”

 Fen spoke up about something that had been troubling him since they’d left the Laklans. “With this news of the undead priests among the enemy, I am concerned for the community at Welford Downs. They were experiencing some strange goings on when we left, nearly a month ago. And then there was a presence of the Plague Mistress in Shafton. Can it be coincidence?” the druid posed.

 Several of the companions nodded their agreement that it very well may not be coincidence.

 Erevan posed that perhaps their abilities would be useful, and more of their fee to the Desriite temple to be made, in the defense of his homeland.

 “There’s coin t’be made in war, point-ear, make no mistake.” The dwarf agreed. But continued, “Unfortunately, none o’ that money is on the front lines. And what is...fer mercenaries and the lot...waits til the _end_ of the war to see.”

 “But will there be money to be made in the Vale?” asked Haelan innocently as he grabbed a hunk of bread to wipe the bowl of his porridge. He did not notice the scowl from Duor at being countered.

 “Our good Hilltender has a point.” Fen said. "It seems the Vale of the Dragonmage may be the place least in need of protection for ten leagues."

 Alaria finally spoke up. “We will think on it. For now, we all have duties to attend today and make ready to leave on the morrow. I am prone to wish to continue to the Vale with all speed, as I told Rhea we would. Not to mention, with Tresahd heading this way, it is likely the safest place for us to be.” Alaria proposed. She was a bit surprised how cowardly the last statement sounded. But it was true…and pragmatic.

“We shall take a vote at supper, tonight. Til then,” Alaria rose from her seat with a final swig of tea, “you may find me in the library with Master Stenthil. Good day to you all.”

 The other companions bid their magess a good day in return and one by one set about their business.


----------



## steeldragons

The rest of the day went by quietly for most of the company.

 Alaria, with the aid of Stenthil and his apprentice Devrim, went about identifying the magical items they’d brought back from Shafton.

 Erevan came and spent part of the day helping them and then did a bit of transcribing before going down into the open area of the keep to replenish his quiver. The demands of the troops made the fletcher apologetically tell the elf he would not be able to fill his order for at least another day. 

Erevan took the opportunity to offer his own services as a bowyer/fletcher. With the elf’s aid, not only did he replenish Erevan’s quiver, but was able to finish off two others and complete three partially begun longbows before the dinner bell.

The fletcher, a man by the name of Jurek, was very grateful to the Miralostae and promised him a quiver-full “on the house” once the current situation had abated. Erevan was grateful for the offer.

 Duor took Coerraine to the smith. The paladin’s armor needed repair after his run in with the ghouls beneath the Dunrician shrine. “Cain’t have my personal Goldshield lookin’ shabby in the Dragonmage’s court, now can I?” the dwarf said in good humor.

"I suppose not." admitted Coerraine. "Though I was more concerned with, you know, protecting you effectively." the Redstar amended with some irritation.

 Haelan trailed along with the dwarf and Redstar. He also wanted some work done on his armor, but also wanted to check on something he’d set the smith to before they’d left for Shafton. “It’s a surprise.” Haelan said with his signature broad smile.

 The smith regretted not having the “surprise” done for the Hilltender, but promised it the following morning.

 Haelan agreed that was acceptable. “But I must have it tomorrow morn.” He added.

 “To be sure, little master. By Dunric’s own forge, I promise.” The smith smiled in return and set to looking at the Redstar’s armor.

 Coerraine wanted to give a report to his surperiors, as was customary within the order. He was mildly disappointed to find the Lightlance and all of the other Redstars had been dispatched to the battle in Miralosta (other than the cleric and paladin sent to Shafton).

 The blond Redstar Knight decided to spend the remainder of the day in solitary meditation. The troubling business with the Hargak still weighed upon the Goldshield’s heart and he sought a penance, if his Lord and God deemed it so.

 Fen went and secured the company a wagon and mounts for their journey to the Vale…which assumed would be their next move. With Haelan’s permission, the carrot-topped half-elf took the giant ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet, with him.

 The ferret seemed more than happy to follow the druid. Sniffing her way along wherever they went. At one point, Fen had to chastise the creature for sticking her nose into a bushel of apples at the keep’s fruit vendor. The farmer was more scared of the creature than angry. Fen threw the farmer a couple of silver pieces “for any inconvenience.”

 About midday, the druid’s attention was caught by a particularly blue jaybird. He followed the creature outside of the keep’s walls some distance into a copse of trees, almost completely devoid of their autumn leaves. 

 Buttercream excused herself to sniff and crunch along through the undergrowth.

 When they were adequately concealed from any possible onlookers the jay transformed into the lithe form of Sister Sage.  

 <translated from the Druidic tongue>

 “Greetings, Sister Sage. What can I do for the Mouth of Moonglade this day?” Fen opened, sure to keep his eyes on the ground before his superior.

 “Greetings, Brother Fen. The Lord of Ash sends his regards and his compliments at disposing of the undead threat in Shafton.” Sage returned with all ceremony.

 “The destruction of abomination is tantamount to the Balance. I did no differently than any of our Brothers or Sisters would have done.” Fen replied, though inwardly enjoyed the praise.

 “You did indeed. However, that was not your purpose...Or have you forgotten?” Sage said somewhat more sternly.

 “I am sorry, sister. Events more pressing came to light. The companions with which I travel have their own agendas and, it seems, attending to Bulgruch is not one of them for the immediate time being.” The younger druid attempted to explain.

 “Events shall _always_ arise in the realms of Men, Fen. The concerns of Men are not _Ours.”_ Sage responded.

 Fen was unable to tell if this was a chastisement or a simple statement of fact.

 “It matters not. You have failed in that task. The Bulgruch has penetrated Miralosta. Though it is still somewhat distant from its purpose.” Sage admitted.

 “If I may, Sister, what is the Bulgruch? What is its purpose? At our last meeting, you said Moonglade was close to comprehending.” Fen dared to question.

 “Correct.” Sage replied. “The creature calling itself Bulgruch is a demon…or a demonically mixed being.”

 “A demon! I am afraid, sister, that I am not high enough up the Tree to deal with such an affront to the Balance!” Fen said in some panic. Fen’s eyes rose in surprise. He quickly lowered his eyes again and readied himself for another disciplining at the breach of protocol.

 “It is alright, Fen. You may gaze upon me. It has been determined that your purpose must be allowed to…some sway…as the Willow.” Sage said with more reassurance than Fen expected.

 The half-elf slowly looked up to the woman, sheathed as he was, in the sacred cloak of the order. The crescent-moon-set-within-a-sun symbol of the Ancient Order of Mistwood clasped her cloak. Her leaf-tip spear bore a different shape, but still leaf-like, than Fen’s own. The woman’s large round eyes, a deep chestnut brown to rival any doe’s, seemed to look through her pupil.

 “I thank you for the honor, Sister. What does_ it_ want in Miralosta?”

 “It seeks the destruction of all of the elves it can, of course. But more specifically, the Lord of Ash has deemed me worthy to tell that he suspects the ultimate goal is the Eye of Arinane.” Sage reported.

 “The Captain of Bridgetower and my companions had feared as much.” Fen replied. “But…Sister, are the concerns of Elves any more important to us than the concerns of Men?” Fen questioned, sincerely perplexed.

 “It is not the elves that concern us. Nor their artifact. But what might be done once the jewel is in the hands of evil.” Sage began. “For the elves, the Eye is a powerful magical source, yes. But more importantly, it is an…anchor…a root of their heritage. An artifact of their very being. In their hands, it stands as a symbol of their magic and their kind. It is…innocuous to the Balance.”

 Fen nodded his understanding.

 “To the Bulgruch and the forces of evil behind it, it could be put to terrible purpose. It is feared, not just by the Lord of Ash, but the whole of the Grove itself, that it could cause the toppling of the Balance for unknown ages…perhaps forever.” Sage said. 

 Fen was amazed at the calm with which Sage relayed such dire sounding prophecy.

 “Does it have something to do with the raising of Sharzaak?” Fen pried further.

 Sage looked at the rustling underbrush, nonplussed. 

 Buttercream emerged. Her head covered in dirt and dead leaves. 

 The druidess smiled broadly at the simplistic joy with which the animal chewed on whatever prey it had found. “She will be an aid to your cause, Fen. Treat her well and she will do the same.” 

 “Of course.” Fen answered. He took couldn’t help but smile at the ferret. “But what about…” the druid started as he returned his attention to Sage.

 The Mouth of Moonglade as nowhere to be seen. 

 Fen again grinned at himself and “chitted” at the ferret as he patted his thigh and turned to return to the keep. Buttercream followed unquestioning. Fen's mind replayed all that Sage had said…and what it meant for his future and that of his companions.

"Well," said the druid aloud to his long furry companion, "at least I'm a willow."


----------



## steeldragons

The company left Bridgetower with little ceremony the following morning. The air was crisp and a layer of frost covered most of the rooftops and what few patches of grass spotted the courtyard between the shops and vendor stalls. The breath of horses and humans escaped in clumps of mist in the early dawn.

 Coerraine and Erevan loaded the ox-drawn cart Fen had arranged for them. When the cart was loaded, they covered their “wares” with a nondescript tarp.

 Duor loudly “supervised” the handling of the chests and sacks of treasure. 

 Haelan arranged with Mrs. Pottle the safekeeping of the hen, Elsie. She was not to be used for cooking, only her eggs. Mrs. Pottle was more than agreeable, and noted the whole staff would be made aware of the “Hilltender’s Holy Hen.” He then stopped by the smith’s forge to collect his surprised. He approached the cart half-dragging the large wrapped flat bundle that was nearly the size the daelvar was, himself. 

 When Erevan asked about the item, Haelan proudly unwrapped the item to reveal Braddok’s shield. It was fully restored and burnished with a fresh swallowtail hawk painted over the mended metal in shining black.

 “He did a beautiful job, didn’t he? Braddok will be pleased to have his old shield back, I think. Kinda a ‘welcome home’ present. Do you think he’ll like it?” Haelan asked hopefully. 

 The elf smiled down at the well-meaning cleric. “I think he’ll be very pleased indeed, Haelan. You are a good and thoughtful friend.”

 Haelan smiled broadly.

 Fen came walking up leading the four horses offered to the company for their ride to Shafton in full tack and ready to go. “Have we seen our fearless leader yet this morning?” the druid asked his companions.

 “Said she had somethin’ t’do with the ‘Tower wizard. Ah, there she is.” Duor offered off-handedly.

 Alaria and the wizard, Stenthil, walked slowly across the courtyard. Following their stint of identifying the items from Shafton, the previous day, Alaria had requested any and all information Stenthil had in his library about shadow snakes. She had spent a bit of time perusing the various entries, familiarizing herself with their three different types. The most powerful of which were, the mages had to admit, quite formidable. Alaria found herself sincerely hoping that the dark wizard did not have the power to conjure such a creature from the shadow realms.

 Following that, she had asked Stenthil what means he might have or know about to thwart divinations upon one’s person. In exchange for the ring of protection, the wizard offered to cast an incantation of Misdirection for the group upon their leaving. This, the mage assured, should keep any arcane eyes off of the R’Hathi wizardess for most of the first day of their journey to the Vale.

 He also scribed for her a scroll wth the same spell. Alaria did not have nor desire to use the time to transcribe into her own book that night, but was thankful to have it nonetheless and hoped to have some time to do so once they’d arrived at the village of Farthing Cross at the end of the day (one day out from the Vale). 

 With the reassurance that they could travel at least the day without being scried, the company had decided to make straight for the Vale. To get the Ihs Repahl out of Tresahd’s encroaching reach.

 “Have you decided on a suitable distraction, Magess?” Stenthil asked kindly. 

 The magess instructed the Bridgetower wizard to cast the spell upon one of the few trees that grew in a small patch of yard within the keep’s courtyard.

 “That’ll do nicely.” Stenthil approved.

 She explained the magical ruse to her companions with Stenthil. “I will return into the main tower, where we already know [or rather very much hope, Alaria admitted silently] Tresahd cannot pierce. You all mount and make ready to leave. Stenthil shall cast the misdirecting enchantment and I shall then come out and join you and we will be off.

 “With any luck, if he is watching, it should appear that you are traveling on and I am remaining. Captain Rynthis has been kind enough to agree to let us use something within the keep walls to further the misconception. He is sure Bridgetower would prove enough of a deterent should the wizard make it all the way here before the spell runs out.” Alaria concluded the plan they had all formed and heard several times so far. It was evident to all that the news from Rynthis had shaken the generally unflappable magess.

 Everyone agreed and took their places. As the cart with Duor and Haelan in the seat was pulling away, Festus came running out from the tower in his course patchy traveling cloak. The satyr toted his weapons, bedroll, several full wineskins and a broad smile. He lept up into the back of the cart.

 “Captain Rynthis thinks you should have a proper guide to get you to the Vale with all speed.” He laughed and uncorked one of the skins for a swig. “Let’s hit the road!”

 Everyone was happy for the satyr’s return, including it seemed Buttercream who jumped up into the cart after the satyr and quickly curled herself into a comfortable ball.

 Alaria and Coerraine thought it a bit early to be hitting the bottle but kept all comments to themselves, focused on the unfolding plan.

 The paladin, elf, and druid mounted their horses and all made a good show of saying farewell to Stenthil and Alaria before the magess turned to return to the tower.

 Stenthil made his way to the fruit stand. He lazily picked up and checked out various apples and pears before Alaria entered the tower. Then he darted to the side of the stand and cast his spell upon the tree. The fruit vendor who had been smiling and making morning small talk with the kindly wizard was shocked at the behavior but, figuring wizard business is wizard business and there was no accounting for it, simply shrugged and went back to arranging his display crates.

 Not ten minutes out the gates, Alaria came trotting up on her grey-dappled filly. 

 Coerraine and Erevan rode ahead of the slow cart with Alaria and Fen riding behind. The paladin, of course, rode with shield and crimson shining for all to see. Erevan and Fen were sure to keep themselves hooded, as did Alaria. In the cold morning, covering their heads was no inconvenience at all.

 The sight of a cart with an armed escort moving through Daenfrii these days should raise no notice or suspicion…or so the party told themselves, in case Treshad had any agents in the surrounding countryside. 

 The rising day proved to be bright and sunny, which should make for few shadowy hiding places along the road, they hoped. Alaria’s cursory scan with her magic-sensing sight did not reveal any shadow snakes to her. Haelan and Fen were both prepared to periodically use the invocation of magical detection periodically through their travel to make sure.

 It wasn’t long before they were nearing the Inn of the Wyvern’s Wing. Festus took it as a good time to jump out of the cart and rush in for another try at a “good luck” kiss from the barmaid, Amber.

 “And grab some of those wonderful pasties!” Haelan called and threw the satyr a few coins. An hour or so later, the ranger caught up with the lumbering ox cart and company.

 “It was a bit early for the pasties to be ready”, Festus explained.

 “Yeh get a kiss, this time?” Duor asked.

 Festus easily climbed into the slow moving cart and launched into a long telling of the luscious lips of the woman and glorious skill with which he seduced the barmaid, leaving her in a swoon pleading to satisfy the lusty satyr’s “ample attributes.”

 Haelan blushed visibly despite his cheeks being already rosy from the cold.

 “But I told her I was on a mission of great importance and she would have to await my triumphant return. I told her the kiss would have to do. A heroes work is never done, you know.” The satyr concluded with a leering grin.

 Duor burst into guffaws and said to Haelan, though plenty loud enough for the satyr to hear, “Pah! She wouldn’t touch him.” The dwarf laughed again loudly.

 The satyr took good-natured umbrage and shared the next wineskin with the dwarf. Haelan politely refused.

 The morning passed into midday and midday passed into afternoon. Their progress was slower than Alaria liked, but with the laden cart and an ox instead of horses, there was little they could do to increase their speed.

 It was predetermined that if anything befell them, Alaria should and would bolt for the Vale, with Fen as a protector, with all speed. It was just a contingency plan none had any hopes of implementing. The wizardess had agreed to the _idea _of the plan, but was still concerned. For as much as Alaria’s concern was keeping the Wind Soul out of the dark wizard’s reach, neither could they allow anything to befall their hard-won treasure that was needed to pay for Braddok’s return from the lands of the dead. She was not sure she would be able to abandon her companions (and the treasure) if it became necessary.

 What they could or would do for the remainder of the fee was a bridge they had agreed, with minor objection from Duor who had what Haelan had called “dragon’s horde on the brain”, would be crossed in Dragonwing Vale.


----------



## steeldragons

*5,000 views!!!!*

Woohoo! I know, I know, it's a small thing. But wanted to convey my thanks to any and all who enjoy reading my humble "Tales"...or those who don't enjoy it but are just bored...whoever! 

As a special treat...I hope...thought I'd post some visuals for people.

I give to you Rhea, the Lady of the Emerald Tear a.k.a. "the Green Witch of Welford."

Thanks again for the interest. Hope y'all are enjoying the story...we're ramping up for some fun times to be told about Alaria and the crew. 

Cheers all.
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

The day carried on. The shadows of afternoon were stretching farther as afternoon slipped into evening and the bright, though cool, day was taking on the rosy orange and purple tones of twilight.

 The ox, much to Alaria’s displeasure, was definitely slowing their progress. She was sure Stenthil’s spell had expired by now and Farthing Cross was still not in sight. 

 Festus had “fallen asleep” [passed out] shortly following his liquid lunch of 2 wineskins and laid sprawled out upon the tarp that covered their treasure. His cloven feet were perched comfortably upon Buttercream’s curled sleeping form.

 Fen and Haelan had each used their invocations to search the surrounding areas and shadows for anything unusual. Thankfully, nothing was presenting itself.

 The group had passed a large stark white boulder or finger of rock that jutted out from a field, nothing around it. That, Duor had remarked, was unusual. But a good landmark, he supposed.

 Shortly after the field with the stone, a stretch of clusterd trees and undergrowth came up on their left side (west of the road). While still set a ways off the well-worn dirt road, the trees’ shadows easily stretched across their path.

 This put Alaria at a noticeable unease.

 Shortly after the sky was turning to its evening hues, Buttercream awoke. The ferret stretched and yawnned its pointed snout of slender sharp teeth. She took a moment to sniff the air in the all directions before lazily edging herself down off the back of the cart and sniffing and weaving her way into woods.

 Festus’ hooves thudded down on the cart, jolting the satyr awake. “Who, wuh, where?”

 “Where is she going?” Alaria asked the druid riding at her side, curious.

 “It’s evening. Hunting time. She’s hungry.” The half-elf chuckled in response. “She’ll be fine and catch up with us…if she so desires.”

 Festus gasped. “Where are we?! It’s evening already? We haven’t passed the Giant’s Thumb, have we?!” the satyr blurted with some concern.

 “Giant’s thumb?” Haelan asked dumbfounded.

 “If yeh mean that big white boulder as ways back…Yeah. Lil’ bit ago. Why?” Duor answered, happy to have someone to talk to. The slow plodding of the ox and the long trip in the cart had dulled the dwarf, practically to sleep, himself.

 Festus’s falchion left its scabbard with an audible “shing.” The satyr ducked down, so the top of his head and eyes were just peeking over the side of the cart. His gaze firmly affixed to the woods beside them.

 This caused a great deal of concern and action. Haelan lept to his feet at the sound of the drawn weapon, the daelvar's mace leaping into his hand as he turned, standing on the cart seat to look back toward the ranger.

 Coerraine, also, took up his shield and spear with fluid ease and turned his steed with his legs to face the cart. His eyes turned golden and shot all around them, looking for the unknown threat.

 Erevan simply turned in his saddle to look back at the satyr. His single right eyebrow raised in characteristic questioning.

 Fen edged his horse closer to Alaria, readying to bolt with the wizard, as was their plan.

 With trained ease, a flurry of incantations for offensive spells came to Alaria’s mind. She was determined to aid her companions before abandoning them.

 Duor, in his stupor of boredom was surprisingly slow to react. “Wut?! Who?! What’s the problem, goat-butt?” He didn’t even have the presence of mind to draw a weapon, his hands seemingly glued to the reigns.

 Festus explained with apparent worry. Sounding like he was speaking more to himself than his companions. Concern raising almost to panic in his voice with each sentence.

“We’ve passed the Giant’s Thumb. Ok. It’s twilight. We’re not at the village yet. Ok. Ok. We’re ok. The woods are right here…if I’d known I’d have taken us around. Why didn't you wake me!?! But we’re here now. Ok…and it’s twilight!”

 “Festus, what _is_ it?!” Alaria voiced the deepening concern of everyone. 

 The satyr lowered himself even further, his brow scowling above eyes that just barely breached the top of the cart. He answered through clenched teeth with a hissing growl more than a word.

 “Pixies.”


----------



## steeldragons

*Attack of the Pixies*

“Pixies.” Fen said, not sure if he had heard right.

 “Pixies?” Haelan said.

 “Pixies!?” Duor blurted.

 There was a momentary silence.

 Then the whole party erupted in laughter, except for Festus. Duor was nearly rolling off the seat. Fen, Coerraine and Haelan let out belly-laughed. Alaria politely covered her mouth to cover her own uncontrollable giggle.

 Even Erevan let out a very rare audible chuckle through grinning lips. Both of the elf’s eyebrows were high on his forehead in disbelief.

 “SHHHHH!!!” implored Festus. “You’re goin’ to draw them here with all of that merriment. Laugh all you like, they are wicked little trouble makers. The bane of the wood!” the satyr attempted to stay his companions. This only resulted in more laughter.

 “My good Ranger Festus,” Fen said as his laughter abated, “I would have thought satyrs and pixies would get along quite well…fellow brethren of the wood and all of that.”

 “Pixies are NOT brethren of the satyrs.” Festus retorted with much indignation. “_We _[satyrs] are Children of the Lord of Beasts…like all of the Tauran races! The fayekin are born of the Green Lady. They are precoscious, wicked, cruel little things…though, admittedly, they are sometimes good for a laugh at party…But that’s neither here nor there! We must tread carefully. Duor, can’t this thing go any faster?! Farthing Cross is just over the next ridge. We should see it any moment.”  

 This sent the dwarf into another round of uncontrolled laughter. “Seems our stalwart Ranger Festus is afraid of lil’ fairies! BAHHHHAHAHAHA!” 

 Containing their lessening chuckles, the party continued on at their snail, or rather, ox’s pace.

 “Ow!” said Erevan unexpectedly. His head cocked to the side as his hood fell off of his head.

 This illicited several questioning looks.

 “Something pulled my ear.” Erevan said in answer to the confused looks. He rubbed the side of his head.

 Festus just ducked down further into the cart, as if it might protect him. “You see. It begins.”

 In an instant, the small band was beset by a number of curious things.

 Haelan, who had sat back down during his laughing, kicked up his feet and yelled. “GAH! Something’s in my foot-hairs!”

 Coerraine watched in facinsation as the hair of his steed’s mane was woven into a kind of hammock or basket with alarming, surpernatural speed. The horse seemed not to care until some unseen force seemed to pluck down into the woven hair. It let out an alarmed whiny and shook its head, but due to the Redstar Knight’s control of the horse, did not bolt.

 Duor’s beard mysteriously pulled out away from his chest and began being braided. 

 “Feorn’s beard!” the dwarf exclaimed. “Wut the…Get offa there!” He swatted repeatedly at his beard but every time it returned to his chest, it floated out again and continued braiding.

 “AHHH! Get them off! Get them off me!!!” shriekd Festus in utter panic, swatting and kicking at some unseen assailant.

 Alaria was suddenly aware of something tugging at her waist. She quickly slapped a hand onto the pouch holding the Ihs Repahl and felt something squirming around in the pouch. Then she felt the same thing in one of her spell component pouches on her other side.

 “Fen, what?!” the wizardess said in alarm. She felt the squirming in the pouch with the crystal orb subside. Determining the “pixies” may, unbelievably, prove a real threat, Alaria began to cast her cantrip of magical sight. “_Arkan_…”

 Fen placed a soft hand upon Alaria’s arm. “Allow me, Magess.” He smiled.

 With an unheard enchantment and a wave of his arm, blue flames spread out before the druid and clung to various places around them. One, two, then more small shapes, no bigger than a foot long/tall, became ensconced in the flickering harmless fire.

 One was in the mane of Coerraine’s horse. One flitted around Haelan, next to one at the tip of Duor’s beard (that again released the chin hair as Dur swatted at it again). One seemed to hover before Erevan’s face, though the elf had not complained of anything since his ear was first tugged. One was flitting wildly around Festus. The last stuck its head out of Alaria’s spell component pouch and let out a small sneeze. Six in all.

 “No fun! No fair!” came a small voice before a foot-tall bright blue tiny humanoid of indistinct gender with a flowing puff of even brighter light blue hair and transluscent blue wings became visible just before Erevan’s face. It put its hands on its tiny hips and with amazing speed flitted over to hang in the air in front of Fen. “Ooooo. Green One.” The tiny blue fairy said in apparent awe, reaching forward tentatively to poke at the druid’s sun/crescent moon cloak clasp. 

 With the appearance of the blue pixie, the others appeared to have no qualms with also becoming visible. One bright red, harvest gold, an ivy-like green, lavender and a russet orange. Each had a bdy all one color, genders were nondescript on any of them. Their hair and wings each sparkled with some hue similar to their bodies.

 “I found the First One!” shouted the golden pixie from its lounging place in Coerraine’s mount’s mane. “First Ones is better!”

 “SHHK!” hushed the blue pixie at its companion. “I’s found a Green One. Green Ones is all picty-friends. Green Ones is better.”

 As they flitted and moved around, trails of sparkling light seems to fall off of them and wink out of existence before hitting the ground.

 The lavender one, which had been twirling around Festus brought itself to a landing upon the satyr’s head, gripping a horn in each hand and swaying to and fro. 

 “I found the Horny One.” The aple purple pixie said with great pride.

 “Get offa me!” Festus protested, swatting at his head.

 The lavender pixie took off, avoiding the swat, and placed its hands on its hips. “Bad Horny!” it said in attempt chastisement.

 “What about the Witchy One? Pretty Witchy too!” Asked the orange one as it flitted itself out of Alaria’s component pouch. “Witchy Ones make us all burny!” the orange pixie said in disapproval as it looked at the blue flames that licked around their forms.

 “Actually,” Fen interrupted, “that was me.”

 “Not nice, Green One. Not nice. No fair!” the blue one wagged a tiny finger at the half-elf. Fen couldn’t help but smile. 

 “Fen…” Alaria questioned softly, as if the pixies wouldn’t hear her, “What do they want?”

 “Want? We’s PICTIES!” the blue one began. The green and lavender and orange pixies joined the blue one, now hovering before Alaria. “We wants FUN!” they all said in unison, throwing their hands into the air. Sparkles the color of each pixie shot off their sudden gestures and all of the fairies giggled.

 “But no more burnies!” the green pixie flitted back over to Fen and again wagged a finger at the druid. “Make go away!” the fairy waved its arm, as if to put out the flickering blue flames. It tried blowing with all of its might. Its cheeks became impossibly large and it appeared to get so thin as it exhaled to make Alaria question whether the things had any bones at all. It turned back to the druid when the blue flames continued to lick at its skin. “Make go away!”

 “Oh come on.” Fen said with his charming smile. “Burnies no burn. If you promise to stay visible I’ll get rid of the faeriefire…er…burny.”

 “Faerie Fire Faerie Fire ring around the Faerie Fire” all of the pixies, except the golden one who seemed to have fallen asleep in the horse mane hammock, joined hands in mid-air and chanted sing-songily as they circled.

 Alaria could hardly believe this. She had met the occasional sprite. They were fairly common messengers and servants of the best magical houses. She’d even been introduced to one who accompanied a wizard as his personal scribe and apprentice. But pixies and other of the Fayekin she had only read about. What she was sure about was that they could not dally any longer. The light was quickly fading.

 “I’ll tell you what,” the druid said, seemingly reading the wizard’s thoughts, “you can have as much fun as you want for the remainder of our journey. But we must continue on and you must remain visible and not cause us any harm. How’s that?” He finished flashing his best smile. 

 The other pixies all looked to the blue one. The blue one stared at Fen, one of its solid sky blue eyes squinted in a comical fashion. 

 “How’s that!” it finally said. Again, all of the pixies came together, joined hands and sang and flitted around in a circle in mid-air before the druid and wizard. “How’s That! How’s That! Ring around the How’s That!”

 Haelan giggled at the fairies antics.

 “Oy gods.” Duor grumbled.

 “I told you…” Festus said in a hushed tone.

 “I think we’re good.” Fen said in aside to Alaria.

 Fen dismissed his spell and the pixies spread out to go about their “fun making.”

 The better part of an hour later, Festus sat with his goateed chin in his palm, leaning against the side of the cart. He stared dully into the countryside as the cart rumbled by. His lower goat-quarters were a fluorescent pink. Two of the pixies were humming sweetly as they traced out white, daisy shaped polka-dots along his haunches. His normally wild chestnut hair had been woven into corn-rows and his horn twined with ivy vines and bright violet and yellow pansies.

 Alaria had been granted a crown of brightly colored wildflowers with the occasional pixie flitting up to her state, over and over, ‘Pretty Witchy.”

 Coerraine rode on, carrying himself with as much dignity as he could muster, while his golden locks levitated, straight up, from his head.

The golden pixie had awoken when the faerie fire had been dismissed and taken to braiding and twisting Coerraine’s hair, untangling all of it and doing it over and over again in a variety of styles. It had gotten bored and left the paladin’s hair floating free while it took another doze in the mane-basket it, apparently, had crafted.

 All of the horses’ manes and tails were adorned with braids and twists and clutches of flowers that were sorely out of season, yet bloomed as brightly as if it were the first day of spring. Occasionally two or three pixies would cluster around another’s work and affirm. “Pretty?” “Pretty.” “Yes pretty.” “Very PRITty!”

 Erevan had been awarded a wreathe of ivy and holly leaves.

“Crown for the First One!” exclaimed the green pixie with glee.

The holly poked, uncomfortably into his scalp, but the elf did not complain, understanding as much as Fen that the best way to deal with the pixies was to just let them be. Besides, the elf reasoned, if he removed it, they would just do something else to him.

 For his grumpiness and constant swatting at anything attempted on his person, the pixies had ringed around Duor’s head and caused his face to turn purple and his nose to grow to troll-like proportions. Fen calmed the dwarf, who initially refused to go “not one inch further”, that they would remove the spell before they left.

 “Pixie magic is as fickle as the fairies themselves.” The druid mentioned. He smiled with mild regret when all of the pixies again joined hands and “danced” in mid-air chanting “Fickle Faerie! Fickle Faerie. Ring around the Fickle Faerie!” before bursting into giggles and going about their business.

 Haelan actually played along with the fairies. He let them adorn his foot hair with berries and bright flowers. Change the hair color from one rainbow hue to another. All the while, the daelvar smiled and chuckled with the pixies, egging them on. “Yes, very nice. Oo, I like that one. Yes, very pretty!”

 Duor resisted the repeated urge to smack the cleric off the cart.

 The cart finally crested the ridge and the lights of Farthing Cross glowed into the deep twilight.

 “OK! We’re here!” Duor and Festus said in unison.

 “Not nice Snouty Ugly One! Not nice Horny One!” the pixies protested at first.

 Before Fen could try to “reason” with the fairies, all of their heads jutted up and turned to the southwest.

 “Dark Ones!” called the blue one.

 Six pixies shot off from the party in six different directions. Six trails of sparkling pixiedust of colors to match their respective pixie streamed off behind them as first they, then the trail of sparkles all disappeared from view in a shimmer of the air.

 Duor’s nose quickly shrank back to normal size and his skin color returned to normal. The dwarf felt his nose under furrowed brows. He turned to Haelan, “Is it fixed? Feels a bit big, still.”

 “Uh…Dark Ones?” Alaria said with concern.


----------



## wolff96

Heh.  That's an amusing encounter.  I think my current party would have gotten fed up and tried to kill them all.  

Not to mention that I loved Festus' reaction...


----------



## steeldragons

wolff96 said:


> Heh.  That's an amusing encounter.




That was the idea.  Glad you liked it.



wolff96 said:


> I think my current party would have gotten fed up and tried to kill them all.




Always an option. lolol. Thankfully, my people played along...which was the more wise decision. Honestly, if they had shone up on Coerraine "evil-o-meter" (which obviously, pixies would not) then between the Red Star Knight, Festus' prodding and Duor's general "kill it, take it's stuff" attitude (and attempted "command" of Coerraine), a battle was a distinct option.

But given the general "friendliness" they had for Erevan and, specifically, the "Green One" [druid] Fen, thigns went fairly well.



wolff96 said:


> Not to mention that I loved Festus' reaction...




Yeah, that was great! And not "rehearsed." I granted that Festus, being a ranger of/familiar with Daenfrii, would have knowledge of the pixies location. But I wasn't expecting that! hahaha.

If I were to wager a guess, I would say that Festus was playing off of Haelan's near-phobia for undead (as presented before he "overcame" the ghouls).

But it was hysterical and totally lent to the mood and intention of the encounter. Made for a lot of laughs (those weren't "written in")...which was nice/good after the serious/darkness of the Shafton adventure. Got some extra "Role-play XP" outta that one, as I recall.


----------



## SolitonMan

Hi SD, I just got done catching up on this story hour, and I wanted to let you know I'm really enjoying it!  

I think your character development has been excellent, and I find things that interest me about each of the PCs.  Is there more to Duor than good times and gold?  How did Coerraine end up a Red Star?  Will Braddock choose to return to the realm of the living?  Will Haelan remain his cheerful self as the party faces greater, and darker, dangers?

I also like your use of dialog.  Each character has a distinctive voice (though maybe none so much as Duor  ) and adds a particular perspective to the conversation.  I especially liked the dialog during the encounter with the kobolds in the mine in Shafton. 

How far behind the campaign you're running is this recounting?  And do you expect that we'll have much more to come?  Here's hoping!


----------



## steeldragons

SolitonMan said:


> Hi SD, I just got done catching up on this story hour, and I wanted to let you know I'm really enjoying it!




Great! Thanks for reading. Welcome to Orea. 



SolitonMan said:


> I think your character development has been excellent, and I find things that interest me about each of the PCs.




Cool. Glad you like it. Thanks.



SolitonMan said:


> Is there more to Duor than good times and gold?




At the moment [in the story], um...well...Not really, no. hahaha. Though he does thoroughly enjoy/get a kick out of having Coerraine as his "personal paladin." But he has some backstory that will be coming up at some point...and does "grow" as a character to like some other things...in addition to good times and gold, of course. 



SolitonMan said:


> How did Coerraine end up a Red Star?




Well, that's more a setting thing than any real specific backstory. Paladins (as opposed to titled/landed "Knights") in Orea are not just roving "chivalric do-gooders" (like "Knights Errant"). They are members of a holy order. The Redstar Knights is one of the largest/best known with the largest structured organization spread across the Orean continent...attached/as a recognized branch of the religion/temple of Celradorn, god of battleskill and guardianship. So, when making a paladin PC, the Redstar Knights was the obvious choice.



SolitonMan said:


> Will Braddock choose to return to the realm of the living?




Well, I'm not spoiling/giving this away at point in the story. 



SolitonMan said:


> Will Haelan remain his cheerful self as the party faces greater, and darker, dangers?




Again, remains to be seen.



SolitonMan said:


> I also like your use of dialog.  Each character has a distinctive voice (though maybe none so much as Duor  ) and adds a particular perspective to the conversation.  I especially liked the dialog during the encounter with the kobolds in the mine in Shafton.




Thanks again. 



SolitonMan said:


> How far behind the campaign you're running is this recounting?  And do you expect that we'll have much more to come?  Here's hoping!




This is an old campaign...and yes, there is much much more to go. Not to mention a few other "Tales of Orea" (of different groups/characters) left to be told. 

More to come soon. 
--Steel Dragons


----------



## Azkorra

Hey, just started reading this great story hour and really linking it so far (actually, I'm still on page 1). I'm currently reading about the group's adventure in Shoal and really love your highly evocative description of this village and its inhabitants! 

Keep up with it!


----------



## steeldragons

*An Unwelcome Meeting*

No sooner had the pixies scattered and disappeared then a breeze whipped up out of the west. It rustled through the most stubborn remaining leaves and bare branches of the wood they'd recently passed. 

The evening which had been quickly becoming more and more chilled as the sun finally gave up its final light took on a decided icy feeling.

Alaria shivered despite her thick traveling robe and cloak.

Several of the party members visibly jumped as a score of black birds took wing out of the woods. Alaria could not be sure what they were in the shifting light as the faltering twilight gave way to the partial silver moon.

Ravens, Fen confirmed from the size and shape. 

"Quickly!" Alaria commanded. "Unyoke the ox. Fen, hitch your horse and mine to the cart. I will ride with Erevan. We must make more time. I fear Farthing Cross is not our destination."

"What?!" Coerraine and Duor both questioned.

Haelan looked confused as well. "What are we supposed to do with Mr. Oxybritches?" the daelvar asked.

"Seriously?" Duor muttered under his beard with a roll of the eyes at the halfling. "I've had it up to my fairy-cursed nose with 'cutesy' for today."

Fen, also questioning, but moving to do as Alaria said as the magess looked with great concern toward the woods to their west and south.

"Erevan, be ready with your light spell." Alaria said again. Her tone taking on the commanding notes that they had become very accustomed to before becoming a "company of equals" in Bridgetower.

The elf nodded ever so slightly. His bow was already knocked. He too, felt something uneasy in the wind and the pixies' sudden and seemingly alarmed departure.

"Alaria, I think the long day's travel may be getting to you. We'll be to the town in a few moments." Coerraine offered as kindly as he could.

He looked down upon the lit lanterns and flickering from behind windows below them in Farthing Cross. To call it a "town" was being more than generous, the paladin realized. The collection of buildings, no more than five or six structures, surrounded a large open square at the crossing of the road they had traveled all day and one that seemed to run west to east.

Truth be told, the Redstar admitted to himself, if they did stop at the inn there, they were certainly not in an easily or well-defensible position. 

_"Arkanivis_" was Alaria's response.

She scanned the woods and almost immediately saw what she suspected the pixies meant by "dark ones". Long slender shapes curved and slithered their way among the trees, a few feet above the forest floor. Their shadowy length becoming visible as they passed through momentary moonbeam breaks in the darkness, only to utterly disappear in the thick shadows. Only her arcane detection spell allowed her to make out the violet glow of their serpentine forms as they passed through the trees' shadows and drew nearer.

"Shadow snakes are coming. Two from what I can tell." Alaria blurted.

At this, Coerraine immediately put himself between the cart and Duor (and Alaria) and the woods. An unheard prayer caused the golden light of the paladin's protective field to flare into view for a moment. Its circumference easily encompassed the whole cart and party members. Erevan, still astride his mount, sat just at the edge.

The party had explained to Festus their previous encounter with the shade creatures and dove under the tarp covering the cart's load of trasure sacks and chests. He began rifling through them. 

Duor pulled his ethereal dagger from its scabbard and nocked his hand crossbow, anticipating Haelan's blessing of their weapons that would allow the band's mostly mundane blades and bolts to strike the creatures.

Fen had gotten the ox unhitched and was hooking up his own horse as quickly as he could.

Alaria dismounted in preparation for her horse to be haphazardly attached to the cart as well. Her hand slipped into the pouch holding the Ihs Repahl. She gripped her staff in the other, her knuckles turned white around the shaft for anyone who would have been able to see.

"They are larger than the others we saw. Much longer! They're almost here. Make ready." the wizard apprised her companions.
_
"Deisa Faerantha, dicteus beneficia spiritos y tiem paras!"_ the holy words flew from Haelan's lips.

The reassuring honey-colored glow flickered across the weapons of himself, Alaria, Duor and Erevan. Festus was still under the tarp, but it was presumed his weapon as well was enchanted due to proximity to Haelan. Fen's spear tip did not take the goddess' blessing, as usual. Coerraine's own spear blade already pulsed with the golden light of his Lord and God.

The shadow snakes broked the edge of the trees making straight for the party.

"Now, Erevan. Over the cart!" Alaria called.

Without a questioning thought, Erevan threw his ball of magic light into the air, as Alaria had asked.

With the burst of yellow white light, the two serpentine creatures became easily visible in the magical radiance. Each was easily about ten feet long and a solid two or three feet around. Their glowing red eyes became visible just before their darkness seemed to solidify and become visible to normal sight in the new light source.

"Krikey! What happened to those four-foot jobbies?" called Haelan as the giant snakes became visible.

"Bollux!" was Duor's exclamation of choice before going on to mention, "Gonna need more'n my green dagger fer these ones!"

The creatures swooped straight for the cart only to be momentarily halted about twenty feet away by Coerraine holy field.
_
"Everx zaar!"_ Alaria conjured. The two bolts of blue-violet energy shot forth and struck one of the serpents. A foot or so section of its shadowy form seemed disrupted where the magic missles struck, losing cohesion before it quickly reformed, replaced the darkness, until it looked again like a whole undamaged solid blackness.

The monster let out a defiant hiss. Its opened maw visible by the same unearthly red glow which showed the location of its eyes.

The second creature, recovered from the initial shock of the Redstar Knight's protection, again dove for the cart. It pierced the field with visible golden sparks trailing along its length as it passed through and wove its way through the air straight for Alaria.

Coerraine interceded with a decisive stab of his spear. The paladin was disappointed that these creatures, like their smaller species, did not register to his divine sight as "evil". But no matter, the young blond warrior thought, I know why they've come and who they were sent by.
The Redstar's glowing spear sunk deeply into the creature's side, leaving a visible slice of red light as the creature coiled passed and hissed in pain.

An arrow struck it from Erevan's bow. The bolt, one of the enchanted arrows collected from the kobolds' treasure room also struck the solid looking blackness and held there. The elf, satisfied with the strike, drew another of the limited few magic arrows in his quiver. 

The other shadow snake (which Alaria's spell had struck) also made its way into the protected area and made to float itself over the cart toward Alaria.

At this time, Festus came bursting out from beneath the tarp, the enchanted short sword from the kobold's trove in one had and his falchion in the other. The short sword shimmered with a pale silver light of its own while his falchion glowed with the honey-colored light of Haelan's invocation.

The satyr lept up to strike the passing snake with both weapons. The trailing slices of red light against the creature's shadow form were apparent and the snake, in total surprise and what they presumed to be pain, reared up higher into the air. It coiled around and hissed down at the ranger before making a dive straight for him.

A telling blow from Haelan's mace and a slash of the ethereal green dagger whizzed out from Duor. Both struck, diverting the snake's attack. Duor's blade did not leave a red strike upon the creature but instead seemed to ignite the creature with its green "fire".

Remarkably fast, the whole length of the shadow snake was writhing about in the air over the cart, entirely engulfed in the smoky green energy. An instant later, the creature simply dissipated in a cloud of green and shredding shadow. Its "death-throw" hissing echoed away as the strange ethereal energy faded from view.

"Huh. Maybe we don't need more'n my dagger." Duor looked at the green glowing blade in satisfied surprise.

The snake that had been injured by Coerraine also coiled about to face its attacker. In a blur of blackness, it coiled around the Redstar Knight's horse. Coerraine either dove or fell off from the assault, it was difficult to tell which as he landed in a symphony of clangs and grunts.

The paladin regained its footing and readied his next strike in time to watch in horror, as did the rest of the party, as the horse shrieked, reared and kicked with the serpent around it.

The horse's coat, mane and tail seemed to drain of all color. Its skin began to shrivel and cling to the skeleton beneath as it seemed the entire creature were being aged and desiccated before their eyes. The fearful shrieking and thrashing ended in a moment.

The equine corpse fell over, most completely dead, as the serpent released its prey and wove its way back into the air. It looked down at Coerraine for a moment before twirling around and "slithering" through the air toward Alaria again.

Fen, who had just completed his make-shift harnessing of the riding horses who balked and whinnied in fear, jabbed the slight green-glowing leaf-shaped blade of his spear into the air as the creature passed over him, diving down toward Alaria. The spear blade sank into the belly of the creature and continued to tear several feet of the snake's length as it continued its dive. 

The creature hissed in unexpected pain as its face drew closer and closer to the magess.

Alaria thrust the silver tip of her staff before her, closing her eyes out of reflex as she did so. She opened them when no impact occured in time to see the creature writhe in the air before her to separate and shred into pieces of inky blackness that faded out of view not an arm's length before her staff. 

Erevan's two arrows which had been stuck in the snake fell harmlessly to the ground.

All of the party stood for a moment in tense expectation. Waiting for the creatures to re-manifest. When they did not, Alaria ran over to Erevan's horse and with a helping arm from the elf, swung herself up onto the mount behind him.

"Let's go. Hurry! We're not stopping at Farthing Cross. We make straight for the Vale." the wizardess commanded. Fear was evident in her voice.

Coerraine jumped up into the cart seat. This shoved Duor uncomfortably to the side. The shifting dwarf, further, nearly sent Haelan flying off the cart on the other side. Without complaint, the daelvar's child-like face full of worry, jumped over into the back of the cart with Festus.

"Let's go half-blood! Get outta the way!" the testy dwarf shouted at the druid.

Fen was seemingly talking to the horses in soft tones. "Alaria," the druid eventually said, "the horses are exhausted. They've been ridden all day. I've calmed them a bit and they've agreed to push themselves as far as they can. But I sincerely doubt we will make the Vale without stopping."

"As far as we can go then. We must get ourselves into the protection of the Dragonmage as soon as possible. Stopping here would be folly." the magess said as Erevan swung his horse around to face the cart again.

Fen nodded and relayed this, or something like it, to the horses before running around the back of the cart and jumping in with the satyr and halfling.

"Uh...Alaria..." Haelan said, pointing up the road from them, causing all of the party to follow the halfling priest's fearful gaze.

About fifty feet ahead of the party, a black "bump" formed in the middle of the road. The blackness grew to about the height of a man before the darkness receded to reveal a small dragon skull visor shrouding the top half of a grey bearded face. Cascading layers of black robes hung off of the slightly hunched form that held a gnarled staff of black wood in one hand.

While any details were difficult to see in the rising moonlight, all in the party could "hear" the smile on the figure's lips as it spoke.

"Greetings, Magess Alaria of Ablidon. It is so nice to finally make your acquaintance." said Tresahd.


----------



## steeldragons

"Magus Tresahd, I presume?" Alaria replied, careful to include the polite official title to the dark wizard in unrealistic hopes that perhaps recognizing the presumed pleasantries of those initiated in the Mysteries might spare her and her companions an unpleasant encounter.

"I trust you know why I'm here. I will admit, it has been most entertaining to observe the adventures of your intrepid little harem. I've been impressed with your successes despite your....limited resources. Shame about your Grinlian boy. But as you know, the world can be a dangerous place." the dark mage bantered.

"I warn you, Magus. Stand aside and let us pass. We have no wish to tarry with you." Alaria said with all the confidence and bluster she could gather.

The air was filled with the breathy chuckles from the dark-robed wizard. "No, I trust you do not wish tarry with me. hehheheheh. However, you have something that belongs to me." Tresahd said.

When no reply appeared forthcoming, the wizard continued with his same "casual parlor conversation" tone.

"I have spent much time and energy on your little band, here. And have enjoyed the show, immensely." again it was if they could "hear" the mage's mocking smile.

"FRAGGIM!" shouted Duor.

A bolt from his hand crossbow, Festus' shortbow and two arrows from Erevan shot forward with remarkable speed.

The four bolts flew true only to halt before the wizard, momentarily suspended in the air. Visible ripples spread out from the tips, as if the archers had dipped their bolts into a still pool of water. Then all of the arrows fell to the ground a few feet in front of the wizard, without actually touching him.

"oh boy." Haelan said in a meek whisper.

"I am afraid, my dear, that amateur hour is at an end. You cannot hope to best me in a test of the Art.

"And I have some...pressing issues I must be getting back to.

"Return the Ihs Repahl to me and I will let you be on your way. I will even let you keep the ethereal dagger and that silly flying shield....which originally both belonged to me as well, I'll have you know. But the orb is all I require."

Again, Tresahd paused.

Alaria was shaken to her bones. What should they do? What _could_ they do? Giving the wizard the orb was out of the question. That much was evident. Her hand slipped beneath the sleeve to the wrist on which she wore the new bracelet with enchanted beads she had claimed from the kobold's treasure.

"That would be..._unwise_, child." the dark wizard hissed. The wizard's tone took on a more menacing tone. "Deny my..._request_...at your peril." 

Erevan turned his head to look sidelong at Alaria. The magess slipped her hand into the pouch with the crystal orb.

"I wouldn't..." Tresahd began.

"GO!" Alaria shouted. "_Repleesh!_" she said and the magess, Erevan and his horse disappeared from normal sight.

Erevan starting his mount into a full on gallop, trusting his senses and training to keep him upon the now invisible steed beneath him.

Coerraine took a moment to concentrate on his protective field, it was still in place, as he snapped the reigns and the horses took off straight for the wizard.

Festus, in an attempt at distraction, let loose another arrow from his bow. It sped past where Erevan's horse had been only to again ripple in the air before the wizard and fall to the ground.

The dark wizard began speaking the bizarre language of magic.

Haelan and Fen also began chanting.

"_Everx zaar!_" Tresahd completed. Shimmering shards of white energy sped forth from the wizard. Two struck into the invisible horse, sending it reeling to the ground. One into Erevan. Shot up and curved around to strike firmly onto the paladin's shoulder.

Alaria and Erevan toppled off and over the crashing horse as all of them again became visible. Alaria righted herself and covered her nose and mouth at the awful smell of scorched horse flesh.

"Let's have it then!" said Erevan. The elf was already back on his feet, having gracefully leaped and rolled unharmed from his falling mount.

"_Everx zaar!_" cried the elf tracker. His own blue-green energy shard streaked forth in the direction of the dark mage.

With a casual wave of his arm and a shouted spell, a shield of solid black shadow formed around treshad's hand and trailed before him, blocking Erevan's spell.

Immediately, the evil wizard again began to mutter arcane syllables.

There was a momentary flash of bright green light that faded into the ground surrounding Tresahd. Vines and roots tore up from the ground surrounding the mage and began entangling the wizard's legs and swirled up the gnarled staff. The mage's incantation was disrupted as the vines whipped up to hold his arms.

"Ah, the half-blooded druid. Defending your precious Balance." disdain dripped from Tresahd's words. "What might your companions think if they knew your real purpose?"

Before anyone could react or question this statement, the wizard's voice rose in arcane anger.

"_Beriz arkaniz es theran!" <mage spell: Dispel Magic_> completed the black-robed wizard even as Haelan's golden cudgel of light sped toward him.

Both the enchanted vegetation and Haelan's _Spiritual Weapon _seemed to burst into nothingness around Tresahd before it struck him. 

"And the little Hilltender. How quaint. Your pathetic spirit of clover and cowpies is going to save you, I suppose?"

"Hey! You take that back! I don't make fun of your god!...Of course, evil people like you probably don't have a god, I suppose. But still, not nice!" Haelan said, obviously hurt by the statement. 

"Just pray fer somethin', yeh bleeding idiot!" called Duor. The dwarf only shifted closer to the paladin, knowing his bolts would do nothing to harm the wizard and not about to dare getting close enough to use _his_ ethereal dagger.

The cart was almost upon the wizard. Festus let another arrow fly. His effort was thanked with the same ineffectual result.

"Alaria, we cannot touch him." Erevan said quietly to the magess. "The cart cannot hope to outrun his magic with all of us upon it. You must get out of here with the orb. Quickly now!"

Alaria did not like what was being said, but knew the elf was probably correct. 

She cast the web spell as quickly as she could and was surprised and elated to see the wizard all but cocooned in the milky white strands.

But only a moment. The wizard seemed to make no motion nor say any magic words and the strands of webbing began to fade from view.

"Take this." Alaria said, handing the elf one of the amber beads from her bracelet. "As the cart passes, throw it at him and get on...unless you think you can outrun the cart."

"Now," said the wizard with obviously anger in his voice, "you all die."

_"Xerex rex nossos!"_ incanted Tresahd and a ball of fire began forming before his outstretched hand.

Alaria again gripped the Ihs Repahl, and immediately air swirled around her. She began floating up into the air, five feet, ten feet.

The cart was passing her location and nearing the dark wizard, who was still, more or less, in the middle of the road. 

Alaria concentrated and felt the air gathering around her, she needed this timed properly.

The cart was passing Erevan and herself, the elf threw the amber bead with elvin trademark accuracy.

The bead of force burst at the wizard's feet even as he released the _flaming sphere _which bounded from his hand to burst upon the ground and begin speeding toward the cart. The wizard was blown to the side of the road and Alaria released the winds she'd been summoning.

A small whirlwind momentarily formed beneath and around the flung dark mage and half-carried half-threw him much further into the field beside the road than the initial blast.

"_Repleesh!_" Alaria said again and winked out of view. She then, mentally began directing herself toward the 'town' of Farthing Cross.

Dirt and grass scorched as the two-foot diameter ball of fire rolled quickly toward the approaching heroes and their cart. The horses were entirely spooked by the flames and veered off the road, sending all of the cart's riders bouncing and grabbing onto anything to keep them from falling off the precariously tipping vehicle.

Without Tresahd's conentration, the rolling ball of flame continued straight down the road and quickly dispersed into nothingness.

Coerraine heaved upon the reigns to right the cart and get the horses back on the worn track of road. They sped toward Farthing Cross and through the town, attracting more than one shocked look at the heavily laden cart that did not slow at all.

Haelan took a moment and was heard by the companions (in the cart) to invoke. 

"_Dicteus beneficia spiritos, beatius Faerantha, con u guda sevem fehs!" <cleric spell: Resist Fire, "Bless your loyal followers, Holy Faerantha, with your power over fire!"_> the daelvar priest intoned in a melodic chant. The halfling sincerely hoped it would be a wasted prayer, but just in case another incendiary attack were to head their way.

Nothing more was seen or heard from the wizard, Tresahd, as the party sped through the crossroads and continued on into the darkness of night further into the hoped for security of Daenfrii and the Dragonmage.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria's invisiblity faded even as the lights of Farthing Cross were fading into the night behind them.

Maintaining her levitating state was taxing enough than to try to remain invisible also. She also wanted her hands free should she have to begin casting. The magical winds could only carry her about as quickly as she could run, herself. So the cart with her companions, gained quickly on her position and was soon on the road beside her. Erevan had decided against loading the down further and was easily maintaining pace with the cart along the side of the road.

She turned in midair, continuing to float "forward" to see if she could glean any sign of pursuit.

Unfortunately, it was not long before she could. A dark shape, cloaks and robes flailing behind it, was speeding over the buildings of Farthing Cross and heading straight for them.

"He's coming!" shouted Festus from the cart. He and Fen and Haelan had similarly been watching their backs in hopes of a "clean getaway."

Just then, her mind became hazy.

"Llllllllllar.......ahhhh.....iaaaaa..." the strange sensation but somehow familiar voice was subtly brushing the corner of her mind.

Alaria halted in the air for a moment...not moving took significantly less effort, she noticed. Alaria reached into the small pocket in which she kept a few magical components. She withdrew the small teardrop shaped emerald Rhea had given her. The gem pulsed with an inner light, shining green in her palm.

Almost immediately, Rhea's voice came through clearly and an image of the Green Witch's face swirled into her mind's eye.

"Ahhhh...laria. Alaria! Ah good. There you are. How do you fare? I regret we've been waylaid in Evandrial. But the Dragonmage-apparent has informed me that there is a dark power moving deep inside Daenfrii. Have you made it to..." the Emerald Tear initiate's telepathic voice seemed to trail off.

Even as the thoughts were forming in Alaria's mind to "say" what was transpiring to the telepath, Rhea's face took on a visage of fear and concern. 

"OH! Oh no!" her voice rang loudly. "Hold fast, child! Help is on the way!" Rhea's face seemed to swirl out of existence again.

In the corner of Alaria's pride, she took offense to the reference of "child." But her conscious mind couldn't care less. She was all but out of tricks and didn't know what she could do to "hold fast."

Determined, Alaria cast the wind behind them at the fast approaching wizard. 

Tresahd was momentarily halted by the gusting winds but easily dipped beneath them and continued on.

Alaria redirected them, but such fine control was quickly tiring her. She was forced to land.

Erevan halted and Coerraine pulled up the cart, unwilling to continue on without the R'Hathi before them.

"What're yeh doin', Goldilocks! Drive! Drive! He's coming!" Duor shouted and turned in his seat to look back at the dark mage's approach.

"Oh, Magess Alaaaariaaaaa!" Tresahd called tauntingly. "I believe I've acquired something of yours, now." The wizard made a throwing motion with his right arm and a ball of milky white light shot forth to land half on the rear of the cart, half on the ground.

Fen and Festus were ensnared, as was the left wheel of the cart, in the milky white strands of webbing. The cart was fully pulled to a halt.

"Holy..." cried Duor. To everyone's surprise, the dwarf jumped out of the cart and began slicing at the webs ensnaring the cart wheel with his green glowing blade.

Erevan stopped, raised his bow then lowered it, unwilling to risk one of his enchanted arrows on so nimble a target as the free flying wizard. Instead he spoke the words he knew best, but with a "twist" in his mental casting.

"_Seriz verik og theran._”<mage spell:_ Floating Disc_> the elf thrust out his hand in the direction of the approaching mage with a distinct flick of his wrist that Alaris did not recognize from the spell's "official" casting.

Immediately, a disc of amber colored light coelesced, vertically, directly in front of the wizard's path.

Tresahd smashed into the suddenly solid light disc. Stunned, the mage began falling for earth before regaining his wits and staying his fall. A hand over his face.

"HAH!" burst Haelan. "Take that, meany! Nice job, Erevan!"

"Gotta give it to ya, point-ear. That was good!" Duor admitted with a chuckle, despite his feeling that they were facing their impending doom.

"'Nuv waughs. Gehvus outta here!" called Festus from beneath the magical webs. The satyr then began coughing and choking on the webbing that had magically slunk its way into his opened mouth.

"rrrrrRRRRRRAAAAAAHHHH!" burst the dark wizard. Arcane energies seemed to spark and flare around the wizard's floating form.

He held his staff over his hovering form and shouted words of power Alaria did not recognize.
_
"Imberil zarex korantho!" <mage spell: Lightning Bolt>_ The tip of the gnarled black wood immediately sparked, seemingly drawing lightning out of the still air into it before Tresahd pointed the staff toward the party.

A huge bolt of lightning crackled forth, followed by a rolling thunderclap, very similar to how Alaria's old wand had done. But the bolt was huge! So bright in the early night. It shed light across the open fields to either side as it jaggedly reached for the party before, about halfway toward them, splitting in two! 

One ranch of the lightning crashed into the back of the cart sending chests and sacks and coins and half-elf druids, satyr rangers and daelvar priests in all directions. 

Duor was able to dive away from the cart in time.

Coerraine, who had begun climbing down from the cart to protect their rear was fling aside by the blast like a rag doll.

The other fork of the bolt struck directly on the space Erevan had been inhabiting. Only the elf's enhanced reflexes stayed the full force of the blast, as he dove away. But still, the elf was sorely scorched and flung far into the field (on the opposite side of the road that Duor and Coerraine flew into).

Not knowing what else to do, Alaria invoked another of her second tiered spells.

_“Shaiir shahiir shaiiris” _cried the R'Hathi magess through a shakey throat_. _She was utterly despondent over what had just happened, unsure of the status of any of her fellows and completely at a loss as to what else to do.

The woman immediately split into three distinct images of herself. She gripped another of the force beads on her bracelet.

Treshad "stood" upright in mid-air. He floated at a menacingly slow pace toward where the shattered cart and her companions, some groaning and rising, some unmoving, lay scattered about the road.

"You could have just given it to me. You could have been on your way.  But now, you and all of your menagerie of consorts shall perish. Such a shame. Such a waste of obvious talent, my dear." 

"Consorts?!" Alaria burst in disapproval.

"I assure you, dark one. The Magess Alaria has no consorts." came a booming voice that was both there and not there.

In a flash of emerald green light, Rhea hovered in the air, slightly above Tresahd and between the party and their would-be executioner. A corona of green light shone from her statuesque form. Her high collared cloak billowed out about her. The emerald teardrop upon her brow flickered with a ferocious light that seemed like an emerald fire. 

There was a momentary pause as the Green Witch and dark wizard had some unseen battle of wits. A bolt of green energy finally burst from Rhea's forehead.

Tresahd swatted it away with another shroud of shadow that spread out from his hand.

"Begone mind-witch! You can do nothing here. The orb is_ MINE!_"

"Oh," said Rhea's voice and thoughts calmly to all in the vicinity. "It is not me you should be concerned with, Tresahd. It is _them_." Rhea's head turned ever so slightly to look into the empty air beside her.

The air was only empty for a moment before a great golden light seemed to "slash" threw the very space itself.

The light flared into the image of great reptilean or bat wings spreading to either side. 

In the center of the light was a figure, a great dark cloak billowing to behind, what appeared (Alaria thought) to be a "him."

Suddenly, from behind this new figure, two other figures leapt out of the golden flaring energy.

One, Alaria thought a moment to be an angel. A short bob of red hair flew above a blazing yellow tabard covered chainmail that sparkled silver, a shield upon her arm and beneath flickering sparks of white light surrounding a peculiarly shaped head of a mace could be seen.

The other did not share such a divine like glow, but moved with amazing speed, in a violet tabbard, also over chainmail, a great mane of golden flowing hair behind him and an immense two-handed sword that Alaria just caught the flashing violet light off of two huge jewels in the swords hilt.

"Die, villain! Taste the Mother's Mercy for the likes of ye!" called the yellow clad woman and she made swing at the wizard in mid-air as she descended.

Tresahd flew back away from the swing with great alarm. The white flickering mace-head had narrowly missed him.

The violet-clad golden-haired swordsman landed softly on the ground beside her, swung his sword over his head. A bolt of purple energy sparked up across the blade and shot forth into the wizard.

Alaria could see now, her golden-haired savior was an elf. Broad-shouldered and muscled, moreso than Erevan, less-so than Coeraine, but an elf nonetheless.

Tresahd cried out in disbelief at the attack and floated back as trails of smoke smoldered off of his robes. Could he?...Should he?...

_"Everx imberil rex!"_ the mage called out.

Black and purple flames shot forth from his outstretched hand and flew down at the woman and elf.

The yellow-clad female simply raised her shield and the magical flames burst upon a momentarily visible dome of silver light.

"Next time, Alaria of Ablidon." Tresahd said quickly. "Next time." With a wave of his arm, the wizard's form became enshrouded in a globe of darkness.

"HyAH!" cried the red-headed woman and threw her mace at the ball of darkness.

The mace flew up to pierce the inky cloud.

The darkness immediately dissipated as the silver light of her weapon passed through it.

Tresahd was not there.

The silver-lit weapon quickly returned to the woman's hand. She scowled and muttered something under her breath that Alaria could not discern.

First Rhea, then the blue-cloaked blond-haired man in a white tunic and blue breeches floated down to the ground beside the devestated scene of the cart.

The emerald cloaked psychic came up to Alaria with a reassuring smile. She laid a comforting arm on the awe-struck but still shaken magess. "Don't worry, Magess. You are safe now."

Alaria just shook her head dumbly. 

"Lela, see to the fallen." said the blond man to the woman. Alaria could now see the brightly blazing white budding rose of the goddess Gilea upon the woman's shield.

To the magess' surprise, he did not appear to be any older than Alaria was, herself. And quite handsome.

He turned to Alaria and smiled reassuringly. "I suppose you are this Magess Stormrider I've heard so much about?"

Alaria gathered her wits and bowed her head. "Rhea, I can't...my lords...I can not hope to thank you enough for your assistance. But, my companions? Our cargo is most important...I do not know where to begin to explain or express..." Alaria just stopped, fearing to bumble in front of this apparent master of the magical arts...if he was who she thought he was.

Answering Alaria's thoughts, as usual, Rhea smiled and said, "Montor, may I present to you the Magess Alaria Staver...also known as 'the Stormrider.' Alaria, our Lord-prince, Montor Dragonwing, heir to the secrets of Wyr and Dragonmage-apparent."

Alaria bowed much deeper then fell to her knees. "My lord...I cannot begin..."

"Rise, Magess. I am not Dragonmage yet...and I detest such formality." he extended a hand to help Alaria to her feet.

"My dear, Alaria, you are exhausted. Let us just get you back to the Vale." Rhea said, throwing an arm over the very fragile-feeling wizardess.

"Yes...yes...but my friends. The treasure! I hate to sound so vulgar, my lords. But we need that treasure." Alaria practically wept. She was choking back the feeling she could simply fall apart. She maintained her consciousness as best she could.

"Not to worry." Montor said. With a swipe of his arm over the area of the cart, silver and gold coins, chests and sacks, jewels and the few weapons which had been packed up in their cart began to hover and float about the area. The riches began to swirl in the air as they got closer eventually forming a veritable tornado of treasure that seemed to easily flow into a dull grey sack on Montor's hip.

Erevan, Duor and Coerraine were back on their feet as the Protectress, Lela knelt beside the form of the satyr.

The elf warrior was talking in hushed tones with Erevan, who had also knelt at the gold-haired elf's approach and introduction.

When everyone was, at least, conscious and a step away from death's door. Montor again rose into the air and spread his arms. Alaria couldn't even blink as with apparent and awe-inspiring ease the young Dragonmage again summoned the golden wing-like corona about him and with a hug-like motion, the wings of light swept down to gather up all of the companions.

Alaira watched in amazement as the air around her seemed entirely filled with "rain" of bright sapphire-blue and diamond-white light-drops. She perceived no motion of the air, no movement beneath her feet. Just the momentary "light shower."

When the lights twinkled out of existence before her eyes, she found herself and all of her companions and their four saviors standing within a great open hall of white and silver-grey marbles.

"Welcome to Dragonwing Keep." Montor smiled at the R'Hathi magess.

Alaria smiled back, weakly, at the handsome young wizard. 

"Thank you, my lord." she managed to say...before she feinted.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria only slipped into unconsciousness for a moment before a flash of green opened her eyes. Rhea was smiling in understanding at her and supporting her on her feet. The Dragonmage-prince had not seemed to notice the falter. Alaria mentally thanked Manat for that.

Again, she felt the heaviness in her limbs and the weight of cloudy tiredness on her mind. Obviously, sustaining the various powers of the Windsoul had again taken its toll, though not nearly to the extent of her hurricane at Bridgetower.

The magess took a moment to scan her companions. 

Haelan seemed to be the worse for ware. Lela had already tended him and now Coerraine was murmuring a prayer and laying a hand upon the small scorched daelvar.

The Protectress was now helping Fen to his feet. A shaky-looking Festus stood nearby leaning on Duor. Erevan stood on his own accord listening intently to whatever the golden-haired elf warrior was relaying to him.

"Yes, of course. How rude." Rhea said. "Alaria and company, may I present Silran Staliirosta of the eastern province of Evandrial."

The elf, who stood as tall as Erevan with the same grace and poise and handsome face turned at the mention of his name. He nodded an acknowledgement to Alaria, though betrayed no emotion. His eyes were a cool lavendar, much lighter than Erevan darker violet and seemed to twinkle with a silver light of their own.

"Honestly, Rhea. I don't know where your mind is some times." barked the red-headed priestess in the yellow tabard. "They need further healing and rest, not introductions. This isn't the Midwinter's Ball." the woman scoffed.

She was a stern looking woman. A strong jaw, that reminded Alaria of Coerraine's, hazel eyes that did not bespoke the caring "softness" one might expect from one of Gilea's Sacred Daughters. All in all, she was more "handsome" than Rhea's "beautiful."

"And that is Lela Eth Mitar, Protectress of Gilea. Not to worry, dear, her bark is not nearly as fierce as her bite." Rhea grinned at her clerical companion.  

"These are some of the friends I mentioned at our last meeting." Rhea explained. "We are a few of the Steel Dragons."

"I do not wish to sound heartless, Montor" Silran began, though his handsome unblemished face bespoke no heart to speak of. He strode forward with elvin grace to address the mage in the midnight blue cloak. "I must concur with Lela...in part. We should be getting back. The Council awaits our return...and if we're lucky Carak has yet to find his way into my father's dungeons."

Dungeons? Alaria thought to herself.

Rhea's voice slipped within her mind, *Silran is one of the sons of Seniiris, lord-regent of Evandrial. And Carak....well, let's just say our friend Carak has a knack for getting himself into trouble.* A telepathic chuckle echoed in Alaria's brain. *He's....not quite the upstanding individual your daelvar is.*

"I see." Alaria said aloud. She quickly chastised herself when this statement garnered looks from the wizard and elflord. They returned their attentions to each other without a word, being accustomed to Rhea's often used subtle mode of communicating. 

"Yes, of course. You are correct, Silran." the wizard-prince of Daenfrii replied.

"Keep!" he called somewhat loudly through the great pillared hall.

Before the echo of Montor's voice had subsided, a ball of shimmering white and blue light appeared, about a foot in diameter, hovering in the air at head height in front of the Dragonmage-apparent.

"My lord prince." to voice buzzed from the light. It was at once feminine and masculine...like the response of several people at once with a melodic quality, like a choir.

"Can you, please, locate Celerion and inform him I require his presence." Montor returned to the glowing ball. 

"The Lord Chamberlain is..." began the ball in reply before being interrupted by a much more present voice.

"I am here, my lord." came the voice before anyone noticed the thin slightly bent figure moving at the far end of the huge chamber. 

A small tapping of the twisted staff, banded and shod with various metals that were heavily inscribed with mystic lettering, accompanied the figures slow approach. Celerion wore what appeared to be heavy purple velvet robes, trimmed in gold etched with more runes, and a large golden mantle about his shoulders that gleaned as if it might be crafted of gold itself.

_This_ was a chamberlain in Daenfrii! Alaria remarked to herself in surprise. He was girded more regally than the Primagus of Ablidon himself!

Alaria was confused when first Silran and then Erevan, after staring a moment with obvious surprise on his face, bowed deeply at the waist at the slow, obviously elderly figure neared them.

The man's heard was ringed in a tarnished looking plain band of gold. The shoulder length hair, that at one time might have been a pale gold or sandy brown was now ashen with obvious grey and silver hairs, devoid of the soft or free flowing grace of a young man's hair.

She scanned the face which showed many wrinkles and lines about the eyes and dipping jowels to each side of a thin-lipped mouth hung from thin, almost gaunt, cheekbones. His eyes though...the eyes were a stunning blue-green and seemed no older than Alaria or Erevan, despite the apparent age of the face. 

Only then did Alaria gasp in surprise to notice the man's ears. Tall and... pointed?  Alaria did not think such a creature possible. Every elf she had ever seen or encountered was ageless! Erevan, himself, she knew to be more than a century despite his youthful countenance. How was this possible? This was an elf? An aged..._old_ elf?!

"Greetings and well met, my lord...and toy our Steel Dragons and Stormriders.

"We had not expected you for some time yet, my lord. Though of course, we are pleased to see your healthy return." the aged elf said with no apparent smile or emotion in his tone.

"Greetings Revered Elder. Evandrial will sing to see you well." said Silran to the floor.

"Oh rise, Silran." the Lord Clamberain waved his hand dismissively. "I should think we are safely beyond such unnecessary displays." Celerion said with what might be called mild annoyance as he neared the bowing elves.

"And you, young one? Let's get a look at you." he said to Erevan who did not rise when Silran was acknowledged.

Erevan rose and stared only a moment at the aged elf leaning on the heavily enchanted staff before shifting his eyes to golden etched hem of his robe.

It was the first time any of the companions could think of that Erevan's face did look filled with the awe of the young...even childlike next to the elderly Celerion and, apparently, "mature" Silran.

"Revered Elder, you honor me." Erevan said.

Celerion looked Erevan up and down. A wiry greying brow, lifted slightly on the lined forehead. "Eres'ka Aiiri, is it?" he asked <_Eres'ka Aiiri="House Tracker"_>.

"Indeed, Revered Elder. I am Erevan son of..."the elvin archer began before stopping at Celerion's raised waving hand.

"Be welcomed to Daenfrii, young one. And you all." he said looking at the battered and bruised collection of adventurers. 

"Collecting strays again, are we, my lord?" Celerion said finally turning attention to Montor. The first indication of emotion formed as the elf's thin lips quirked slightly into a small grin.

"Something like that." Montor smiled back. "Can you arrange rooms for them? Call for some Sacred Daughters to attend them and see them fed and made comfortable."

"Of course, my prince." Celerion responded unshaken. "A runner has already been dispatched to the temple. And shall I inform your father of your return?" 

"I'm afraid we must be off again. We shall return as soon as we are able." Montor replied before holding up an arm to the side of gathering. 

Seemingly at will, a circular portal of shimmering rays of amber and yellow light appeared.

Silran took a bow of leave before Celerion and made for the portal. Lela was close behind.

Rhea turned to Alaria, "We will be back as soon as we are able. But for now..." the Lady of the Emerald Tear held out her green-gloved hand to the magess, "I think it would be best." 

"Oh! Yes, of course." Alaria stammered and reached into her pouch to retrieve the Ihs Repahl.

The inner light of the orb swirled in the magess' hand as she passed it to Rhea who, in turn, handed it over to Montor.

"Ah, yes." Montor said, taking the mystic device. The wizard took only a moment to gaze into the orb before handing it over to Celerion. "See this is taken to the study." he said and then turned to Alaria. "Do not fear. There is no power on Orea than can find or harm you here. There is no worry that it will be safe in my sanctum.

"Oh...Keep!" Montor said with surprise. The blue ball of light which had faded away with Celerion's arrival reappeared before the young mage.
"...a coffer if you would."

Immediately, the stone of the floor seemed to turn to liquid, rise and take a rectangular shape, as if carved from the very stone of the chamber, open on top.

Montor opened the grey pouch on his hip and with a wave of his arm, the tornado of riches of the party's treasure again swirled out of the bag into into the open stone box. When the last of the coins and items had passed into the box, the stone again turned fluid and created a lid over the top. 

Then the whole block of solid looking stone began to sink back into the floor.

"Now wait justa kobold-throwin' minute here!" Duor began to object.

"Keep, take that to whatever chambers Celerion gives our guests." Montor said before smiling in Duor's direction. "Will that do, master dwarf?"

"Eh...um...Yeah. That'll _do_ fine....uh...Thank yeh." said the thoroughly small-feeling dwarf.

"Couldn't be going off forgetting that, now could we?" Montor said with a broad smile to Alaria. 

Alaria nodded, somewhat dumbly, at the handsome young man. The R'Hathi magess was quickly being overwhelmed by the apparent magical power of this place...these people. 

"Oh, and Celerion, have Felton set about finding anything he can about a wizard named Tresahd. He's found his way onto my_ list._" Montor said over his shoulder as he headed toward the glimmering portal.

"Very good, my lord." Celerion said and made a nodding bow to the Dragonage-prince's back.

Rhea simply patted Alaria on the hand and went to leave with her companions. Her voice again sounded in Alaria's consciousness.

*Don't worry, Magess. You have done very well. Your companions and the orb shall be safe here. I will speak with you again soon.*

Alaria simply smiled and nodded a thankful reply.

"Did ye believe that?," Lela was heard saying to Silran as they entered the portal. "_Burning Hands?_ The fool thought he could foil the Steel Dragons with Burning Haaannndssss..." the Protectress' final word and a chuckle of disbelief trailed off through the hall as she disappeared into the flickering rays of light.

After Rhea and then Montor passed through, the portal simply closed in on itself, leaving no trace it had ever been there.

Alaria looked to Erevan, who still stared with open-faced awe at the back of the Lord Chamberlain. The rest of the band looked to Alaria then Celerion then each other.

After what seemed a long silence, the chamberlain tapped his staff upon the floor twice, as if to snap the group from a daydream.

"Well then, are we going to stand about like a bunch of open-mouthed cod? No? I thought not." Celerion slowly made his way toward the hall's huge outer doors. "This way. Nevermind your things.

"Rik! Quip! Gather the Stormriders' possessions and come along."

Two teenaged boys quickly scampered from somewhere beyond the pillars and did as the elderly elf had commanded. They wore blue tunics with the golden dragon, wings outstretched, holding a sapphire emblem of Daenfrii emblazoned no the chest and small, flat-topped, blue caps.

"Keep, inform me when the Daughters of Gilea arrive...apprise Captain Tormuk of our new arrivals so he can notify the guards...wouldn't want anyone getting a spear in the face for a night's cup of water, now do we?" Celerion said turning to Alaria with grin and wink.

"...and inform his Lordship, Arganor, I will meet with him shortly. I shall explain the evening's events to the Lordmage, myself." the elf said finally as he neared the great doors.

"As you will, Lord Chamberlain." said the haunting multiple 'voice' from the ball of light before it quickly swirled out of existence.

Alaria and the rest of the beaten company followed behind...still shell-shocked by the evening's battle, subsequent rescue and apparent refuge of this most remarkable 'keep'.


----------



## steeldragons

The band followed the elderly looking elf out of the main hall, down a long hall and up one of several twining staircases they passed.

After going passed three floors, Celerion stepped off the staircase at a broad landing with high arched double doors at the end. THe door sung open silently as Celerion approached.

Duor whispered to Festus, who still lumbered along leaning on the dwarf, "The whole bleedin' place is magic. I'm not sure about this whole thing."

"The Vale and Keep of Dragonwing is entirely enchanted. Protected with barriers from all intrusion and spying eyes. We could not be in any better place, my friend. I assure you." Festus whispered back.

Celerion turned to the company as they entered the large sitting parlor, from which three doors led off. A small but still grandly crafted fireplace with a high mantel burst into warming flames with a wave of Celerion's hand. The mantel was supported by two dragons of stone sitting on their haunches. The various candles and gilded sconces about the large chamber came alight as well. The furniture was all finely crafted with cushions of blue and gold velvets and satins. There was a small coffee table between the seating in front of the fire and another long dining table at the other side of the chamber set with pewter plates and goblets, pitchers with twining serpentine dragons as handles. A shiny golden candelabra sat in the middle of the dining table with six candles, all flickered to light as the party entered. 

"I trust this suite will meet your needs." Celerion began as the company each found and half-fell into the various couches and high-backed wing chairs set about the room. "Those doors each lead to the bedchambers. Two through that one and the privy is at the end of that hall. The servants will bring you meals here, if you wish...or you are welcome to attend meals in the dining hall. If you have any other needs do not hesitate to ask.

"Rik. Quip. You will see to the Stormriders' needs during their tenure with us."

The servant boys nodded without question at their instruction.

"Does my lady Magess require a maidservant?" Celerion asked directly to Alaria.

"Oh! No! No, Lord Chamberlain. Thank you. This is too much. You and your master honor us! Most exquisite. A meal and a bed will suffice for me. Please do not trouble yourself further." Alaria replied as she took in all of the lavish furnishings and tableware.  

"No trouble at all, my dear. You are guests of the lord-prince and I will not have the reputation of the House of Dragonwing's hospitality fall short on _my_ watch." Celerion replied. He leaned close to the magess to say quietly, "Your efforts have averted a grave evil...for a time. Please, do not hesitate to call if there's anything else you require."

"How 'bout our treasure there, Celery?" Duor said bluntly.

"Duor!" Coerraine chastised.

Celerion grinned his thin grin at the dwarf. "You do an aged heart good, master dwarf. No matter how many centuries this old eyes witness, I have never a doubt that dwarfkind shall forever remain as intransigent as the stone from which they were carved.

"Keep! The Stormriders' coffer please." Celerion concluded.

Duor did not reply at what he was not sure was a compliment or insult.

After a few moments, the stone of the floor rippled and rose, becoming again solid as if it were carved from the stone of the chamber. The box was still closed.

Duor stood looking at the magical chest of stone. Nothing changed.

"Well? Open it." Duor said over his shoulder.

All of the company turned to see...or rather not see the Lord Chamberlain. Celerion was gone.

"Wuh? Buh? Hey!" Duor called.

"Duor please, it can wait til the morning." Festus said, obviously still in some degree of discomfort. "Let's get some wine and good food and a rest."

"I'll be dipped in orc fat! How'd we know its all in there? Needs t'be counted!" Duor spat back. "Hey...Keep! Keep? Open the box!"

No blue ball of light appeared. No melodic choir of voices. Nothing happened.

"Bloddy no good magicky..." duor continued to grumble under his beard for some time until the Daughters of Glea arrived and tended the group's remaining wounds.

"Give it a rest, Duor. It's been a long day. You really think a house like this needs our lil' bits of loot?" Coerraine finally chastised.

The servant Rik had poured them all wine while Quip had run out to get a hot meal for them.

They ate and drank for a while. Haelan asked Erevan, somewhat callously, about the "OLD elf."

Erevan had no explanation or reply. He claimed to have never seen such a sight...nor known of the possibility. In fact, the beautiful man seemed somewhat troubled at the idea of aging, in such a manner.

Alaria excused herself to bed shortly thereafter though her rest was initially troubled with nightmares of the dark wizard and shadow snakes. But they quickly faded to thoughts of warmth and security, golden and blue shimmering magics and the starry blue-eyed mage who had saved the day...a living breathing Braddok...and Alaria slept soundly.  

The other companions each teamed up to share various other rooms and the whole company shared warm and secure feelings in their sleep. Coeraine's own sleep was occasionally interrupted by the sleep-grumbling of the dwarf, muttering about "_his_ treasure" and "dragons."

But all-in-all, the company awoke fully healed, well-rested and refreshed. After what could only be described as a "lavish" breakfast, served by the boys Rik and Quip, all were eager to explore more of the wondrous structure in which they found themselves and the surrounding town of the Vale.

Not to mention seeking out the temple of Desri to see about their options for getting Braddok raised. Gods willing, the high priestess wouldn't mind their being a tad "short" and might accept an offer of service for a time.

Duor, of course, was only eager to get the "damned box open" and sent the servant boys, repeatedly, to find the lord chamberlain or anyone who might open it.

It wasn't until the bells for the evening meal that he got his wish...and everyone in the company was shocked at what they found inside.


----------



## steeldragons

A bit of back tracking for story's sake. The actual "play" of this was relatively quick and painless. But for lack of time and a desire to get SOMEthing posted (over 5,600 views! Thanks everyone!) figured this is better than nothing. Not to worry, the action will continue shortly. 
--SD 

<retcon>
The party all slept in quite late in the warm security of the Keep in Dragonwing Vale.

When they roused, each partook of the adequate breakfast and beverages supplied by the serving boys, Rik and Quip.

Shortly thereafter, Alaria sent Quip for some parchment and writing materials. She carefully penned out one letter to the Lady Dauphinne and another to the Shaalir Dolorn at the temple of Desri. Quip took them to deliver.

After this was done, with Duor already complaining about getting access to their treasure, Alaria retired to her room to begin transcribing the spell of Misdirection from the scroll Stenthil had given her into her spellbook. If they were to be moving through the realms, even Daenfrii, she would rather have it at her whim than as a "one time thing" on a scroll.

Haelan, after his sizavle fast breaking, left to wander about the Keep's halls and see what he could find in this magnificent bastion of magic. He returned shortly after noon with a tale of the "wonderousness" of the keep. He'd had a lengthy "conversation" with a door! (the poor cleric had not noticed that the conversation was all his to a "magic-mouthed" door which never responded to the daelvar's twenty minute ramblings. Nor had he noticed the odd looks from servants passing by who said nothing. This was the keep of the Dragonmage, after all. There were significantly more mystifying things, seen by all of them, than a daelvar talking to the door of the lordmage's library.)

Haelan returned to see a thoroughly bored, but restful, Coerraine taking it easy in one of the plush chairs by the fire as Duor chastised the manservant, Rik, for failing to return from his errand with the Lord Chamberlain.

"But the Lord Chamberlain said he would come as soon as his duties permitted." Rik defended.

"And when will that be?! Go get me a chisel and hammer. I'll open this thing myself." Duor ranted.

"I'm sorry, Master Duor," Rik apologized, "but I assure you, you can not get into it that way. Accosting 'Keep' in such a manner is strictly forbidden."

"Forbidden my dwarven bearded arse! I bet it's forbidden! Keeping our treasure for themselves, I tell yeh!" the dwarf continued to rant to noone in particular. The assembled heroes had given up listening to the dwarf over an hour before.

Festus, who still looked somewhat tired and sore, asked Rik to fetch "that lovely Miss Sacred Daughter Abigail. She had some magic fingers....if you know what I mean. heh heh." Thesatyr winked at the dwarf and paladin. Coerraine rolled his eyes before again shutting them. Duor seemed not to hear.

Quip returned with news that the Lady Dauphinne would be happy to receive Magess Alaria for tea the following afternoon. The short note from the Desriite temple said to arrive at sunset the following day..."with tribute."

Shortly thereafter, another couple of servants arrived with trays for their mod-day repast. Salted meats, hard cheeses, course grained bread still warm from the ovens, an array of fruits (several of which Haelan had never seen before!) and pitchers of honeyed mead (for Haelan), ale (for the dwarf) and elfvine and water.

Haelan was half-way through a thick ham and cheese sandwich when he smacked his forehead loudly and practically spat out his lunch. "Faerantha's foothairs!" he called loudly.

All of the companions immediately looked, startled, at the cleric.

"BUTTERCREAM! We forgot Buttercream! We left her out there in the wilds with that nasty wizard!!!" the halfling exclaimed. "We have to go back! Right now! We have to go find her!"

At the commotion, Alaria came out of her room. "What is it?"

Fen was smiling quaintly. "Fear not, friend Hilltender. I am sure the wizard, Tresahd, has no interest in a ferret. She's a big girl. I'm sure she is taking care of herself just fine."

"But we left her. She was ours and we left her. Alaria, we have to go back and find her! We're bringing Braddok back from the dead. The least we can do is look after Buttercream for Gnobby." The daelvar was already gathering up his things. 

Alaria was at a loss of what to say.

"I'll go, Haelan." said Fen, still grinning. At Alaria's startled and concerned look, the druid continued, "She's not more than a day out of the Vale, right? If any one of us can find her, I am sure it is me." the carrot-topped and chinned druid smiled again at the magess. "Don't worry, I do not believe I will attract any attention from the wizard."

Erevan offered to go also, but Fen refused. "A bit of time alone will do me some good. Besides, I already grow weary of this pillar of crafted stone, wondrous though it may be."

Coerraine, to everyone's surprise, also volunteered to accompany the druid before Duor interjected, "Y'ain't goin' nowhere, Goldilocks. We have a treasure to collect."

At this, Coerraine, somewhat defeatedly, slumped back down into his chair. The dwarf, he had to admit, was correct. It would be a dereliction of his duty to leave the dwarf...even in so seemingly secure a place as this. 

The druid left.

The rest of the afternoon passed in relative peace, other than Duor's occasional ranting about getting the Lord Chamberlain and opening their "box."

Finally, as evening was drawing down, the elderly elf Celerion came to the suite's doors.

"I trust you've had a relaxing day?" he inquired.

"I'll give you trust!" Duor blurted, even as Erevan was bowing and Alaria was agreeing and thanking the chamberlain for their peace and solitude. "Open this thing!" Duor commanded.

With a mild frown and a simple request, "Keep, will you open the Stormriders' coffer please."

"Of course Lord Chamberlain." came the symphonic voice from the ball of blue and white light even as it coelesced in the chamber. The stone top immediate became fluid and removed itself from the box, just the sides remained.

First Duor then the other companions peered in.

"What's this?!" the dwarf exclaimed as Haelan pulled the shining new shield for Braddok off the top of the contents.

Beneath the shield and magical longsword was the shortsword (Festus had used against the shadow snake), a pair of boots, other assorted items of wood and cloth, potion bottles, the black onyx dragon statuette and 12 small leather pouches. No coins or gems (other than the statue) that they recognized.

"Lord Chamberlain," Alaria began with deference, "I think there's been some mistake. This is not ours."

"Ah but it is now, my dear." Celerion grinned back. "His Lordship was moved by your quest to raise your fallen comrade. He had Master Gnucklebucks transfer your sizeable and heavy load into gemstones. Each of these pouches (he indicated 10 of the 12 leather bags) contains gemstones in the amounts of 500 gold pieces each. The other two contain coins and gems in the amount of 100 gold pieces each for your own resupply and use."

All of the companions stood agape.

"These items, my lord, deemed as appropriate in exchange for your surender of the Ihs Repahl into his son's keeping. There is one for each of you, which I believe you will find, collectively, approximates the value of the orb."

"We're not getting it back?" Haelan asked in surprise.

Alaria confessed to herself that she had not really thought of that possibility. But in their current state, she had to admit, it was better they not have it since it was, indeed, something of decisive power that they could not hope to protect on their own.

"Would you like it back, master Hilltender?" Celerion posed stoically. "I'm sure the wizard, Tresahd would be more than happy to reclaim from you, given another opportunity."

"Please extend our humblest thanks to the Lordmage, Celerion." Alaria interjected. "The hospitality of Daenfrii shows no signs of  faltering under your watch." the magess smiled at the elderly elf.

Celerion nodded with a grin to Alaria. "Now, this is for you, my dear..."

Celerion set about distributing the various treasures and explaining their purposes. As he concluded, the bells for the evening meal sounded and all of the company agreed to attend the meal in the common dining hall.

Tomorrow they would have Braddok back, Alaria realized as the group made their way through the halls and straiwells noisily chattering with each other about their new "gifts". The R'Hathi magess found herself smiling softly at the idea.


----------



## steeldragons

The Gifts of Daenfrii

For Alaria: the "Staff of Azanna." Create Light equivalent to a torch (from an electrical sparking ball) at will. Acts as a Staff of Striking +2, at all times. Able to add an electrical charge/additional damage to the strike (3d4) up to 3/day (expends 1 charge each, 10 uses before needing recharge). Resistance to electrical attack (attracting and channeling the lightning/electricity into the staff - +2 to saves v. electricity), enough charges for 10 Lightning Bolts (7d6).

Technically speaking, each Lightning bolt uses 3 charges from the staff. But the 10 charges for the "shocking strike" and the 30 charges for the lightning bolts are "stored" separately. The staff is "rechargeable" with a Shocking Grasp (1 charge) and a Lightning Bolt (3 charges/1 use of the lightning bolt power) spells, respectively.

Also has the "typical retraction enchantments" (typical of elf-made magic weapons) so it can/will shrink to a 6 inch long grip when not in use. Altering the size of the staff requires no charges/use of power and can be done at will. It's maximum/standard length is 6 feet.

For Coerraine: the "Mantle of Perception...to enhance your god-gifted sight in the seeking out and expunging of evil." A hooded mantle worn around the shoulders. It appears to be made of golden chain mail but feels like cloth to the touch. When the hood is donned, the wearer can see Invisible creatures/things and is imbued with Darkvision. The wearer is also +2 to saves against/detecting illusions. Each effect lasts as long as the hood piece is up/on the head but can not be used for more than 24 hours at a time. The mantle must "recharge" for an equal amount of time as it is worn/used. So if "up" for 8 hours, it will not work again until 8 hours unworn (the hood down) have passed. 

For Erevan: the "Quiver of Tethiryl." A small quiver (only fits 10 arrows) of white leather with scrolling designs of vines and leaves in silver. Any normal arrows placed in the quiver and left there for 24 hours gain a +1 charge. If unused for a month and left to bathe in the light of a full moon for one night, they become +2.

[EDIT] The arrows are only magical as long as they remain in the quiver until shot. i.e. Erevan cannot make 10 +1 arrows per day and switch them to his normal quiver. Once drawn/nocked, the arrows must be shot or lose their enchantment/have to be recharged.

Arrows that are made +2 may also pierce magical barriers up to, but not including, a Wall of Force (Protection from missiles, Shield, Wall of Fire, etc...) and strike "other worldly creatures" even if they normally require a greater than +2 enchantment.
[/EDIT]

For Duor: some "Special Boots of Elvinkind"...which he did not want to take. When "re-branded" as Boots of "Silence" he was much more willing. Additionally, upon command (1/day) the boots can cause the wearer's tracks/footprints to appear as any sort of humanoid creature.

Haelan pointed out that if they did not enchant the dwarf's mouth as well as his feet, the Silence property probably would not help. 

For Haelan: a smallish bowl that fit comfortably in the halfling's two hands (mortar and pestle) of grey stone speckled with red and green flecks. Haelan remarked how it was "...lighter than I'd expect. But very nice." The pestle had a "scoop" on one side of it, so as to appear to be used as a spoon. Haelan was very polite to the chamberlain but didn't quite appreciate the gift until Celerion demonstrated its power by taking the spoon/pestle, placing it on the sie of the bowl/mortar and simply stating "Shepherd's pie". The bowl immediately filled up with the steaming concoction of chunks of tender lamb, carrots, potatoes and thick gravy. Haelan was overjoyed and immediately began digging into the hot meal.

3 times per day the bowl will produce any foodstuff or "normal" beverage (alcohol, yes. magical potions, no!). It will continue to refill itself until it has produced enough to fill "8 grown men...which, I suppose would transfer to about 4 daelvar", Celerion explained with a grin...or until the eater says he or she is "full."

For Fen (who was absent, so Festus decided to hang on to the druid's gift until his return): a cudgel carved at the "business end" to look like a butting ram. A +2 weapon whose additional powers (if any) were not explained/detailed at this time, since Fen was not there.

Festus, as was previously planned, was to keep the +1 short sword from the kobold's horde (since he'd already used it to great effect against the shadow snakes.). From the Lordmage, Celerion produced a small rolled parchment from one of his golden hemmed robe sleeves. Festus unrolled and read it aloud:_To the satyr, Festus Hornshod, Ranger of His Illustrious Highness' Defenders of the South March~

By decree of His most illustrious Highness, Arganor, Lordmage of Daenfrii, the ranger known as Festus Hornshod is hereby freed of his vows of allegiance to His Highness' forces and the realm of Daenfrii. Ranger Hornshod is free to continue his affiliation with the adventuring company known as the Stormriders, for as long as he is able to aid in their causes, heretofore undetermined.

The ranger is, of course, welcome throughout our lands and will be well-received back into our service if and when he deems fit.

Signed,
Scribe Royal Sefrior,
Secretary H.I.H., Arganor, 
Lordmage of Daenfrii
_​Festus hooped and cantered about the chamber with prolific thanks to Celerion who was at a loss, as the elf had had nothing to do with the letter. Duor and Haelan seemed more excited at the news than the others. But all congratulated the ranger and smiled politely.

It had also already been determined that the +1 longsword from the kobolds would be given to Braddok, along with his shiny new shield, upon his return.


----------



## SolitonMan

Nice items!    I'm looking forward to the raising of Braddok (if, indeed, he wishes to return).  Will that be taking place in the next entry or two?


----------



## steeldragons

SolitonMan said:


> Nice items!    I'm looking forward to the raising of Braddok (if, indeed, he wishes to return).  Will that be taking place in the next entry or two?




It might, rabbit, it might. 

Ok....actually, yes. Definitely.

Well, shoot. Guess it's within "the next two" since I just made another post. 

--SD


----------



## steeldragons

Braddok found himself sitting in a shallow narrow skiv. He looked around to glean something of his surroundings.

There wasn't much to glean. He realized quickly that he was on water as the skiv wobbled dangerously at his slightest movement. 

A thick grey fog surrounded him in all directions. He could make out no banks nor any solid objects to tell him if he were moving or if it was just the fog moving passed him.

He instinctively reached for his sword only to find he did not have it. Nor did he have his shield...nor armor. Only just noticing he was clothed front and back in a pale grey sleeveless shift that flowed down to his ankles, open on each side save for a small strip of connecting fabric at his hips. He blushed despite himself and lack of any observers.

He carefully peered over the edge of the shallow boat, which had no paddles or poles for directing it. He did not see his reflection in the water...though this didn't surprise him with the everpresent gloom and lack of direct light.

He had no way of determining any time or day or night...all he could see was grey fog.

The water was as grey as the air around him. He could discern that the water was flowing in a direction that he should be moving "forward", but he didn't seem to be moving very quickly, if at all.

He blinked in surprise at what he thought, for only a moment, was an unknown man's face within, beneath, the water. It seemed to rise up from the depths, coming very near but did not break the surface, and opened its mouth in what looked like a silent wail.

The swordsman in the skiv heard nothing. He blinked and the image was gone. Just grey water.

He tried to paddle his way along, with his hands, which he immediately pulled from the impossibly freezing water. The dark-haired fighter shook to his core from the cold of only an instant touchign the water.

Time passed and he noticed a shadow some distance beside him, silhuoetted within the fog. It appeared to be another slender shallow boat with a figure sitting within it. 

He called multiple times, as loudly as he could, but received no acknowledgement nor response as the shadowy image floated by and was lost in the mists ahead of his position.

Some time passed and the fogs did break enough to his right for him to make out a desolated landscape. Plains of dark grey and cracked earth studded with blackened leafless trees stretched out as far as he could see. The sky there the same, or was it slightly darker, grey matt that covered everywhere he could look.

To the man's surprise, he could make out some images of black shadowy creatures along the river bank. They crawled and clamored over each other, pairs of red and yellow and green glowing eyes becoming visible and then lost among the tangled brambles and thickets or disappearing behind a skeletal tree. Some seemed beast-like prowling cat-like on all fours, some flitted about on bat wings, though could not or would not pass the edge of the shore. Some were serpentine forms that slithered as easily over land as into the air....something about those reminded him of....something...why did they?

The mists again passed before his view and the shore was lost to him. He was again alone...a man's face passed before his eyes. Familiar with a dark beard...then he saw a woman with dark hair. She was lovely...and familiar as well...but what was her name?

The image disappeared even as a piercing shriek came to his ears. The mists to his left parted momentarily to reveal the opposite shore, some distance away...judging from what he'd seen before, the man guessed he was, more or less, smack in the middle of this rather wide river. The landscape to his left was equally gloomy without being as dark or desolate as the right bank. Smooth fields and hills of grey, what few trees he could make out seemed to have leaves upon them as well, those these too were all shades of grey. A lone spectral figure with a greenish glow to it was upon the shore reaching as far as "she?" could toward his position but even though the figure seemed to float above the line of the shore, she did not breach the land.

The landscape and disturbing spirit-looking thing were again shrouded.

At least, from what he could tell from his limited views of the riverbanks, he was, in fact floating downstream. From time to time, he noticed other shaded figures in skivs upon the river with him, but always veiled through the fog. His calls to these figures received no more attention than his first one.

And, the warrior noted, ever figure he saw that was, actually on the river, passed him by much faster than he, himself, seemed to be moving. He looked over the edge again. A mournful face passed within his view, submerged, passing upstream, it seemed.

He sat back, centered in his shallow skiv and just continued to see what he couod see about him. The momentary breaks of the fog bank revealed either side to him once or twice more, the view was almost entirely the same. The terrain a bit different, but the desolation of the places was the same.

Finally, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed, the fogs broke and he sat, awestruck and horrified at what he saw before him.

The river he was on seemed to fork not far ahead of him and a small isle sat in the middle. Some distance from the shore of the isle, sat a magnificently huge statue (or so he thought) of a seated figure robed all in shaded of grey. A deep hood obscured any features of a face. Indeed, he thought, it was as if there were a field of night stars within the shadowed hood. Only two snow-white feminine looking hands rested gently over the edges of the arms of whatever gigantic chair the figure sat.   

Stretching from some "bottom" behind this massive seated figure and rising straight up into the air until it was lost within the solid pale grey cloud cover in the sky was a width of a screen or fabric of some kind.

The man in the skiv couldn't really be sure of details at the distance, but could make out what seemed to be individual scenes coming into view and continuously shifting within this...tapestry? Just for the part he could see, the man could not count the number of individual scenes from his vantage point. 

He looked down the two branches of the parting river. To the left, it seemed to him, the waters and air became a bit brighter. A soft golden glow emanated from somewhere beyond his vision, farther down the river band.

Glancing down the branch to the right, which he could only do for a moment, the waters and air darkened. There was a slight tinge that was more a flickering orange or reddish color...when there was any light at all. The darkening of the waters and clouds over that part of the river gave the man an other shiver through his body, at once burning and chilling, but wholy unpleasant.

The man closed his eyes and shook his head to remove the weight of the darkness upon his mind's eye.

He was surprised when his skiv came to a sliding stop upon the isle's beach, that made a tinkling sort of sound...unlike any sand the man could recall hearing before...what had he heard before? 

He heard a woman's voice call out a name....was it his name? That lovely dark haired woman came into his mind again...it was her voice! Or was it?

The man gently, cautiously, rose and stepped out of the skiv, making sure not to touch the lapping grey waters.

His bare feet came to rest and sink upon a "clinking" mass of hard cold "beach." Looking down, he realized it was not sand or stones, but coins! Silver and copper mostly, but others as well. Some of metals he did not recognize. Gemstones of every imaginable color and size. There were decanters and platters of shining metal, jewel encrusted goblets, shields and shining hilts of discarded weapons, all just piled up and strewn haphazardly as far as he could see in all directions to form the beach of this island.

He picked up a large round shield. Across its gleaming golden surface he thought he saw the image of a black bird with a forked tail. But in an instant, it was gone. What did that mean, he wondered? What was that bird?

He looked up again to notice the huge robed figure seemed still as far away from his position as when he'd first seen "her."

To the man's alarm, one of the delicate robed forearms lifted from its resting place. 

There was a booming thunder from the clouds far above and a moment later a raven came diving down out of the grey clouds. A huge raven! Impossibly huge. It came to alight on the raised arm. It's eyes sparked and sizzled with white electricity. He peered at the robed figure and then turned its head to peer at the impossibly small man on the beach. It opened its beak, trails of lightning flaring between it, and let out a very raven-like caw. The harsh cry was followed by a thunder that rumbled through the entire landscape...it felt as though it passed through the man himself.

Some instinct caused the man to put the shield on his arm and reach for the hilt of a bejeweled sword hilt within his reach. 

The raven took flight and disappeared, again, into the thick clouds swirling over the island.

The man waited, concerned by something...he didn't know why or what. Another figure now appeared, coming at him from somewhere behind the giant robed figure. This one was definitely a beast of some kind. Black feathered wings carried the massive feline body.

The creature landed directly before the man. The creature looked at the armed man impassively. It was the size of a barn, maybe two barns!

It had a sleek black body of a panther, shining black wings and a head that was, at once, feline and woman with ebony black hair that flowed down about its panther-body's shoulders.

"Put down your arms, mortal. Those do not belong to you." the woman-feline face said. "You have no use for them here, in any event."

Without questioning, and without quite knowing why, the man conceded. 

"Where is here? Who are you, my...um...lady?" he asked.

"You truly do not know?" the sphinx replied. Its voice was at once that of a mature woman with a peculiar cat-like purr rumbling beneath it.

The creature laid down upon the shining beach of treasure. She crossed her forepaws in a very casual manner. "You are in the Grey Lands, mortal. Upon the Isle of Yrgsdrigal."

The man heard this response but it took a moment to actually sink in. "Wait...I'm _dead_?!" the man replied in shock.

The amber feline eyes took on a humored quality. "Yes."

"Well, that's just GREAT!" the man threw his arms into the air. He mumbled to himself and walked in small circles before placing his hands on his hips and again addressing the sphinx who just watched him with her amber eyes. 

"But I can't be...I mean...I'm not...I'm...wait...How did that happen? Who are you? Why am I here?" the man was fully perplexed. Then, realization crossed his face and he added, very softly, "...and...who am I?"

The cat-woman smiled that seemed at once a smile of amusement and pity.

The sphinx slowly pursed its lips and blew in the man's direction. The soft breath sent coins and gems tumbling before it and when it struck the man, his mind was awash with a blizzard of images in his mind.

A crying daelvar? A laughing dwarf? Skrieking harpies...a castle...that was his father's castle! Who was his father?...a druid watching his back...dead elves...a wizard in black...that pretty dark haired woman, again...Why was she crying?...lightning and thunder!...an army before the castle...an ogre with a club...THOOM! Pain! Darkness! Fog...

Throughout the telepathic onslaught, the feminine feline voice echoed in his mind.

"You are Braddok Kar Barforth of the realm Men now call Denil in the kingdom Men now call Grinlia. You are here by the grace of the Grey Lady and Her servants within what you once called 'the world.' 

"_She_ has determined your fate was not completely woven at the time of your demise. _She_ has, and ever shall...see all...You are deemed.._.unfinished_. You time within the realms of Men...rewuires more weaving."

The man looked up at the huge shifting fabric behind the massive figure.

"You may return to that existence you called 'Life'...if such is your desire, Braddok Kar Barforth." the sphinx concluded.

The man, Braddok...yes, Braddok was his name!...He was a warrior...He knew how to use a sword...very well...His ancestral home had been wrongly taken from his father...He had to take it back...He HAD to!...and...that dark-haired woman...something about her...

He clutched his head for a moment as the booming purring voice echoed away and his mind's eye cleared of the images of his former life. 

"Yes! Yes, send me back! I have much to do still. Please!" Braddok replied. He looked up at the giant robed figure. "Thank you, lady!" he shouted.

If the goddess heard or cared there was no indication. Just the even slow motion of the giant tapestry behind her with its ever shifting images rising slowly into the clouds.

Braddok stood there for a moment. He looked around after a time and then back at the sphinx who still laid before him, her eyes transfixed on his position.

"Well?" he said.

"Well what?" replied the sphinx, casually licking a huge paw after she spoke.

"Send me back!" the warrior said exasperated.

There was a rumbling purring sound that rose to a cat-like screech coupling a roaring guffaw. The sphinx laughing at him? 

"You mortals are always so amusing. It has been so long, I had forgotten the humor of your limited consciousness." the sphinx replied. "I do not have such power as that."

"Um...ok. Who do I talk to then? Who _are_ you, anyway? What are you here for if not to send me back?" Braddok asked, sincerely questioning.

"Huh. It has been some eons since a mortal has asked my name." the sphinx answered more to herself than Braddok.

"I am called, as best you could say, _Sinjhal._ I serve the Grey Lady, if that was not obvious.

"I am an...'angel'?..."the sphinx seemed to be asking herself. "No...no, that's not right...an...'avatar'? Yes! Avatar, I suppose, might be the closest thing to your understanding of the metaphysical realms are concerned.

"I am here for your protection, Braddok Kar Barforth...and to keep you... company?...Yes, 'company', until such time as you might be returned...or not."

"Well, I've said I want to go back. How much time do you need? What do you mean 'til such time as I _might _be returned'...?" Braddok asked. He did not like the sound of that at all.

"Until such time as the Shaalir attempt to return you. They have not done so...yet. They may never. But until that time has passed within your 'Living world', you shall remain here...with me." the sphinx succinctly explained.

"Do you know any good riddles? Stories...or jokes, perhaps? It has been rather a long time since I've heard any new jokes."

Braddok crashed down on the coin 'sand', sitting cross-legged and folded his arms. "How much time will I have to wait? How much time has passed on Orea...or...er...the 'living world'?"

The sphinx looked perturbed at his incessant questioning. "It should not be more than a week now...until you might be called. After that, there is nothing to be done." the sphinx said matter-of-factly and bored with the questions.

"As to how much time has passed?" The sphinx raised her head and seemed to sniff the air for a moment. "...a little over a month...by you mortal's experience of time."

"I've been here a month?!? But I was only on the river for..." Braddok's mind trailed off. He honestly could not say how long he'd been in the fogs. He'd not gotten tired nor experienced any hunger or thirst...the ever present greyness of all of the surroundings made the passage of time as days or nights impossible to discern..."...a month?..." Braddok could not believe it.

"So, any riddles, mortal? I can begin if you prefer." the sphinx again asked.
A quintessential cat-like grin formed on the sphinx's lips.

Great, just great, thought Braddok to himself. That 'Shaalir', whatever _that_ was, better get moving.

"Go ahead. No tricks, right? No unspoken trade for my soul or anything like that?" the warrior said, resigning himself to what appeared to be his current fate.

"Nothing of the sort. I assure you." the sphinx replied, again grinning.

"Fine. Go ahead." Braddok looked up at the huge figure of the goddess of death as he half-listened to the sphinx begin her _first _riddle.


----------



## steeldragons

"Is it a clock?"

"No."

"A coin?"

"No."

"An egg! It must be an egg....the answer to all riddles is eggs."

"No." replied Sinjhal once more. "You weren't a particularly intelligent mortal, were you?

"Despite your other, obvious, physical attributes." The sphinx's eyes looked to Braddok's lap, where the loose pale grey fabric had shifted, revealingly. 

"Hey!" Braddok objected and quickly adjusted his shift to cover his privates. "Well, what is it then? I give up."

"You can't give up." the sphinx objected. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Look, I've guessed everything I can think of. I don't have any more ideas."

Sinjhal shifted her body, rising on her hind legs and stretching in a distinctly feline fashion.

"No, matter. It is time. Climb on. I shall return you." the sphinx replied.

"What? Now? But that was your first riddle." Braddok jumped up, surprised. He bounded across the treasure-made 'sand' and climbed up onto the sphinx's back.

Without a reply, the sphinx leaped up into the air and with a few bats of her large black-feathered wings, was soaring over the fog0shrouded path of the river beneath them.

From this vantage point, Braddok could see much more of the terrain to either side of the river. The darker bank was completely barren and broken, sharp black mountain peaks were visible at the edge of his vision. To his [now] right, the grey leafed trees and rolling hills gave way to a massive forest of grey extending as far as he could see.

He turned around to watch as the huge seated goddess and endless tapestry shrank incredibly fast into the distance.

Before them, the mists o the river seemed to go on forever, eventually obscured into the grey clouds of the sky and grey clouds of the fogs below joining at some indistinct horizon.

"My thanks for this, Sinjhal." Braddok called, hoping his voice might be heard above the roaring wind as they passed.

"No need, Braddok Kar Barforth. It is not by my will you are returnnnnned. [that last word seemed to be Sinjhal's voice in chorus with untold others] Hang on!" the sphinx said a nano-second before pitching her trajectory and diving into the mists below. "Fare well, mortal, may we not meet again...before your allotted returnnnnn...." the sphinx's voice trailed off from his mind.

He came acutely aware that there was no longer any form beneath him to sit upon...instead he seemed to be lying...somewhere.

"Returnnnnnn...." the symphony of voices came.

"Returnnnn..." again the grouping of voices was heard in his mind. One, the loudest, was distinctly female...though not Sinjhal's.

Braddok felt cold stone beneath his back. An odor...a menagerie of odors assaulted his nose....sandalwood....and patchouli...some kind of musk...A dull golden glow flickered before his eyes....Braddok realized his eyes were closed!

They shot open. As they did so, his mouth also gaped open to take a long huge gulp of air.

"By the Grey Goddess, Lady of Fates and Mistress of Death, Braddok Kar Barforth, _She_ commands you RETURN!" came the strong raised female voice from behind him somewhere.

Braddok bolted up to find himself sitting on a slab of grey stone....an altar? Uncountable candles burned all around him. Braziers at the four corners of the stone slab smoked pale grey wisps of burning incense. 

"Braddok!" a blond daelvar at the foot of the altar cried and jumped up and down with a disturbingly large smile on his face.

Behind the halfling stood a golden-haired warrior with a red tabard...and an elf with silvery hair glimmering in the candlelight. Amazement was the only expression on their faces.

"Nice t'have yeh back, boyo." came the rumbly deep voice of a voice to his left. There was a satyr standing beside the dwarf.

"Um...uh...yeah...nice to be...uh...here?" he looked around the chamber at the cardinally placed triads of grey-robed priests and priestesses.

There were others in white robes with flowery trimming and rosebud shaped amulets hanging form their necks. To the other side, a rather stoic looking group of figures robed and hooded in dark blues and purples. Their faces marked with a blue mask-like star tattoos.

Something in Braddok's mind recognized the Sacred Daughters of Gilea, goddess of healing and fortitude, and the Witch-priests of Manat, "the Blue Star", goddess of magic. 

Then he saw...her! The pretty dark haired woman he'd seen in his visions from..._there_. She smiled lightly at him. Her eyes seemed to glimmer with unfallen tears....or perhaps it was just the candlelight flickering across them.

"You!" Braddok said to the woman in the purple sleeveless gown.

"Welcome back, Braddok. I...We've missed you." she said with a smile. She moved forward and gave the newly rejuvenated man a strong close hug.

It was just then, Braddok realized he was still wearing the pale grey...loose-fitting shift. He blushed self-conscious.

He hugged her for a moment before releasing her.

"Well...um...thanks for the welcome." he smiled to her and the other strange collection of onlookers. "Did you bring me back?"

"We did!" piped up the cheery looking daelvar. "You didn't think we'd just leave you in that horrid place!...It was horrid, wasn't it? I mean, I don't know....never being dead, of course....but I hope you had a fairly nice afterlife or a while..."

"Haelan. Be still." the elf said, setting a gentle hand on the enthusiastically rambling halfling's shoulder. The elf peered at the warrior with deep violet eyes that betrayed no emotion. "Braddok?" the elf questioned.

"Um...yes. Yes! I am Braddok Kar Barforth. Swordsman of Denil and heir to the Barony of Barforth." he smiled and then paused to see the assembled companions looking at him. Their amazement was slowly turning to concern.

"Please, tell me your names that I might thank you properly for this great honor you have done for me and my family." the dark-haired warrior said.

All of the companions looked with surprise at each other before turning to the dark-haired woman. She backed away and the relief he had seen in her face a moment ago turned to sorrow. 

Then all of them looking toward the raven-haired grey-robed priestess that stood at the head of the altar. 

"I _am_ Braddok Kar Barforth." the warrior protested.

"Yes. You are." said the raven-haired priestess. "Dolorn, fetch Braddok some suitable attire, please. You must take it easy. Your spirit has had quite a shock."

She nodded and a couple of the other grey-robed priests helped Braddok to stand. 

The woman looked at the other assembled people and spoke as if Bradok were not in the room. "His memories shall return. It may take some time. But the Grey Lady has seen fit to have him returned and intact....more or less. You must have fiath and give it some time."

The daelvar and dark-haired woman, who Braddok could now tell from the etchings of her gown to be a wizard, came to Braddok's side as well.

"It'll be ok, Braddok. You'll be fine. Let's get you back to the Keep. We have so much to tell you." the daelvar again began rambling.

"Not just now, Haelan." the woman said to the halfling. She looked again into the warrior's eyes. "As the high priestess said, you must give it time. You will remember us..." She smiled weakly.

Braddok just nodded, somewhat dumbly. He did not know why, but he felt badly...as if he had hurt this woman somehow. But he'd only been alive for a few moments. What could he have done?

"I'm sorry." he said without knowing why.

Alaria nodded a smile in return. "Don't be. You're back. That's a start."


----------



## steeldragons

*Where to Next?*

The party returned to the keep from the temple of Desri with Braddok in tow. Introductions were made and Haelan attempted to give the warrior an overview of their adventures since he'd "been gone."

Braddok listened patiently and attentively. Some things he recalled...or pieces of things. Others were completely "new" to his ears.

When arriving at the mammoth towered keep of the Dragonmage and their lavish suite of chambers, the swordsman asked, "And you...we...live here!?"

"Oh no no. We're just guests for the time being....until we got you back, actually, I guess." Haelan, who had been doing most of the talking, as per usual.

The man had been clothed in a plain grey robe by the temple. Upon their return, Alaria suggested they all get a good rest during what remained of the night. She roused the young manservant, Quip, and asked that he find Braddok some suitable attire. "Breeches and proper traveling boots. A smart shirt or tunic." Quip nodded his understanding through sleep filled eyes and went on his errand.

"And we can go shopping for some new armor for you tomorrow too, if you want!" Haelan proposed enthusiastically.

"Yes." Braddok replied after a pause. "Some armor sounds...right...would make me feel more...myself."

"We'll go with yeh, Braddok." Duor interjected, indicating himself and Coerraine. "Need to stock up anyway if we're huntin' fer dragon treasure." the dwarf smiled broadly at the idea of piles of riches.

"Dragon treasure?!" Braddok said surprised.

"Tomorrow, Duor. We will discuss our options tomorrow. For now, Braddok, I think it best we listen to the Shaalir and get you some rest." Alaria interrupted before any of the other companions could launch into the tales of what might or might not be contained in the treacherous swamps of the Feldmere.

"I think I'd like to stay up for a while, my lady...erm...Alaria. I've been 'resting' for some time, it seems." Braddok grinned weakly at the lovely wizardess. 

"Well," Haelan began with a yawn, "I am happy to keep you company and continue to jog your memory...as long as I can. It is rather late for us." the daelvar priest smiled at his returned friend. "Oh! And we have this!"

The priest went behind one of the large comfortable chairs near the burning fireplace and returned dragging the large triangular shaped shield emblazoned with the black fork-tailed bird.

Braddok's mind swam with dream-like hazy memories of the image he'd seen in the Underworld. The fork-tailed bird....swallowtail!....swallowtail hawk...."Yes! This is the swallowtail hawk! It is the coat of arms of my family!...My family in Denil!" Braddok burst, sounding thoroughly pleased with himself.

Haelan smiled broadly. "I'd hoped you'd like it. I think the smith at Bridgetower did a very fine job."

"Yeah. We had it refurbished fer yer expected return." said Duor, stepping up beside the halfling.

"_We?!_" Haelan protested. But he let it drop. Braddok was back, that was what was important...he mentally apologized to Faerantha for his "pride".

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I'll let you all catch up." yawned the satyr with a long stretch of his arms. "Was nice to meet you, Braddok. I'll see you all in the morning."

"Thank you...em....friend satyr. Good night to you." Braddok replied. He found couldn't recall the satyr's name...nor anything else about him other than being introduced as the company's newest addition.

"I too require some rest." Alaria stated. "I feel tomorrow may be another long day and we've much to discuss and decide. I will take my leave of you, gentlefolk."

The companions all said their good nights to the magess. Coerraine and Braddok both rose from their chairs as the wizard took her leave. 

Braddok questioned his instinctive action, but figured since the paladin had done it, it must have been the right thing to do.

The rest of the men stayed up talking with Braddok for another hour or so. At one point, as Duor was regaling him with his stunning victory against the ogre at Bridgetower, Braddok's stomach made a loud rumbling. The warrior excused himself to his friends and then realized that he was quite hungry.

This, of course, prompted Haelan to grab his new "gift" from the Dragonmage and asked Braddok what he would like to eat? The warrior had no response other than, "Umm....I don't actually know. What do I like?"

"I know! You haven't had any of the Wyvern's Wing mutton pasty before. You'll love it!" without waiting for a response, the halfling touched the pestle/spoon to the side of the bowl and said, "Mutton Pasty from the Wyvern's Wing inn." He then handed the bowl over to Braddok.

To the swordsman's amazement, the bowl was filled with pastry pockets filled with the spiced meat and onions. The odor of fresh baked pastries filled the chamber. Braddok sniffed in deeply and smiled. Yes, he definitely liked that smell.

Duor and Haelan each took one when the bowl continued to supply the things. the three ate hungrily and talked and laughed a bit. Braddok found himself feeling comfortable with these fellows, who apparently had been his "friends." He enjoyed the "new" feelings of comradery very much. 

After a while more the swordsman, having finished all of the food the bowl had to offer, had to admit he was in fact actually tired. 

The companions all retired even as the sky was taking on its pre-dawn rosy hue.

Braddok laid on the comfortable bed and stared at the ceiling with his hands crossed on his chest. Despite being tired, his eyes did not close at all. He was feeling...something...something that made him not want to close his eyes. A cold feeling. He shivered at the unpleasant sensation.

He laid there for a couple of hours, the satyr and halfling were deep in slumber. He waited when he heard others of the companions rise in the outer chamber. Then he rose to meet them...still tired.


The following day, once everyone had risen, the companions were visited by a black bearded gnome in bright and mismatched blue and yellow striped leggings and a green tunic with orange polka-dots. His feet were contained, somewhere, within the bright blue ankle-height shoes with the gnomish style curled up toes...that rose practically to the height of the gnome's knees. 

Haelan was thoroughly perplexed how the gnome made the seemingly soft fabric shoes curl up to such a height and stay there. Gnomish magic, the daelvar presumed.

Perhaps the most shocking part of the outfit was the floppy broadly-brimmed hat the gnome wore. It was nearly as wide across as the gnome was tall of bright pink felt with a large green feather that "matched" his tunic.

He was introduced by the still sleepy looking boy, Quip, as "the Vale's finest tailor, Gnormelligent Quickstitch."

"But ye's can call me Gnorm." the black bearded gnome winked. From around his waist, he withdrew a long ribbon, that seemed to have circled the gnome three times over. He placed the small step-stool he'd brought along and took measurements for Braddok.

"Something in charteuse stars I think would be lovely on such broad shoulders. OO! Or I have a fresh bolt of some lovely pink and orange striped Thelitian silk I got from a trader last month. Can't go wrong with Thelitian silk, me _mudma_ always said." Gnorm suggested, in an attempt to be helpful. _<author/DM's note: 1)"mudma", if not obvious, is the gnomish iteration of "mother"...gnomes finding all things related to the earth, including mud, as highly important/venerated. 2) The Orean Gnomish sense of fashion is something of an...acquired taste for anyone but gnomes. >
_
Braddok looked with some worry to Alaria who had been watching the tailor do his work.
"Something in a pale blue, I think, would be more fitting." Alaria offered to the tailor. "_Plain_ pale blue. Something durable...for travel. Perhaps with the black swallowtail hawk on the chest?" Seeing Braddok smile in thanks and approval, Alaria confirmed. "Yes, with the hawk on the chest. You can duplicate something like this?" She asked the gnome indicating the symbol on the shield.

"My dear, Magess, _I _am Gnormelligent of Daenfrii. I can duplicate anything...as long as it's fabric. hahahaheeheeee." the tailor replied with a smile and chuckle.

The similarity of the tailor's laugh to Gnobert's was...a bit unnerving.

"But very good. Yeer the customer an' the customer's always tight....er..._right._ heehee." the gnome smiled and winked. "A blue tunic with a black swallowtail hawk it shall be." the gnome finished and re-wrapped the ribbon-tape measure about his waist.

"Should be ready before six bells. Will you be picking it up or shall I have it sent? Only 2 silver more fer deliv'ry." he asked as he absently scribbled notes and numbers onto a small pad he'd produced from some unseen pocket.

"We'll pick it up. Have to go into town for some armor, anyway." Coerraine offered for the swordsman.

"Very good, my lords. I bid ye, all, a good day." he made a flourishing bow with his broad-brimmed hat before exiting.

As the gnome took his leave, Fen returned and behind him the giant ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet.

Braddok looked at the half-elf and his eyes bulged open. "You! You're the druid who had my back!" Braddok again burst with satisfied surprise before taking the druid in a big bear hug. "My thanks to you, my brother-in-arms. I bare you no ill will for my untimely fate. The battle was hard won, from what I am told."

"B-Braddok!?" Fen managed to get out before the large man hugged him. "Uh...um...yes. Welcome back. I am pleased to see you...uh...well." he looked over Braddok's shoulder at Alaria and Erevan with a look that said, quite clearly, "what's this all about?"

When the swordsman released the druid, Fen said to the collected heroes with a charming smile, "Seems it worked then?"

"Well, mostly." Erevan replied before explaining Braddok's lapses of memory quickly in the elvin tongue.

"Ahhhhh. That's it then." Fen turned to Braddok, still smiling charmingly.

"And you found Buttercream!" Haelan cried and hugged the fluffy neck of the ferret which made small squeaking noises in admiration and nuzzled the daaelvar priest.

"We have a ferret named 'Buttercream'?" Braddok questioned the others with some disbelief.

"We didn't name her." Alaria replied simply and smiled back at the warrior. "But she's ours now. Or, well, more accurately Fen and Haelan's."

Their company complete, all of the companions noticeably relaxed in each others' company as the servants, Rik and Quip, entered with trays of food for the company's lunch.

Everyone ate and drank casually and discussion of their next move began.

"Seems a no brainer." Duor spoke up through the long drawls of ale from his mug. "We got Braddok back. The Iser Pale is in safe keeping. Adventure and dragon fortune awaits!"

"_Ihs Repahl_." Erevan corrected. "It's called the _Ihs Repahl_. And do we truly mean to leave it here, Alaria? Beyond that, I say we head to my homeland and aid in the defense against the goblin army incursion. That is, no doubt, where we will find Treesahd and could put an end to his wickedness." The elf finished and sipped calmly on his goblet of elfvine. The elf felt himself with an uncharacteristic burning to battle again with the dark wizard and give him "what for."

"Well...I mean...do we_ have_ to, Erevan? He wanted the orb and we don't have it anymore. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. tresahd will probably want nothing to do with us again." Haelan interjected.

"'Cept kill us all, of course." Duor muttered under his beard. "To the Feldmere and fame and fortune, I say."

The idea of meeting the wizard, who had very nearly slain several of them including Haelan, was not something the halfling Hilltender looked forward to. Festus concurred with Duor and Haelan.

Even Coerraine had to admit, the prospect of eliminating the evil of the dark wizard aside, they did not seem in a position to take him on with any hopeful chances of success. But in time...the Redstar, again to himself, shared Erevan's desire for a "rematch." His own feelings, ultimately, meant nothing. He was duty bound to go wherever the dwarf decided...the young Goldshield just hoped the rest of the party would agree and be with them.

Alaria proposed the idea of "wintering in the Vale." She was not in any rush to leave this intensely magical place. There was much here, she was sure, to be learned. "....and with the snows expected in no more than a month, according to Captain Rynthis, would it be wise to find ourselves in a quickly freezing swamp?"

"We could..._I_...I _should_...return to my homeland. I have much to do there." Braddok offered cautiously. The swordsman silently admitted, however, he did have a debt of honor to be repaid to this curious company...his former friends...who had gone to the trouble of raising him from the dead! If he were to retake his ancestral lands, he would do it with honor. Memories or not, his sense of honor was not impaired...if anything, it seemed more intense....more focused.

"But, whatever the group decides. I swear, my blade is yours as long as I continue to draw breath." Braddok added. His gaze had fallen, decidedly, on Alaria when he said "_yours._" Then chuckled to himself before saying, "And even beyond it seems."

Several of the companions chuckled at the jest.

Alaria smiled and nodded. The humor was good. It seemed, to her, Braddok was more like his "former" self. She hoped such attributes would continue to surface and grow...into the man she knew, yet had barely bothered to "know."

"Fen?" Haelan asked the druid.

The half-elf just shrugged as he bit into a large round red apple. "Whatever you all decide. My order has given me no indication where to go from here. Simply to protect the orb. That seems to be done, as far as I'm concerned."

"A vote it is to be then?" Festus said. In aside to Alaria, the satyr leered, "I get a vote now, don't I? I am a member of the company now."

"Of course, Festus." Alaria confirmed, though she was careful not to meet the satyr's gaze.

To stay in the Vale for the winter, there was only Alaria and Haelan.

That not winning, Alaria placed her next vote for Miralosta along with Fen, and Erevan.

Festus, reveling in his newfound freedom, was anxious to get somewhere out of Daenfrii or the neighboring elvin realm with which he was somewhat acquainted. Between himself, Duor and Coerraine's "forced" vote with whatever the dwarf decided and, to _everyone's_ surprise, Haelan, the decision was made.

"Well, if we're not going to be safe here, we might as well _not_ be safe somewhere Tresahd is not!" the daelvar defended his vote.

They would supply themselves and prepare to make for the Feldmere. 

Alaria proposed they remain for a week's time, to gather whatever information they could and give Braddok some time to really "get back on his feet."

Everyone agreed to that.

"AlRIGHT! Dragon treasure hunting wins the day! C'mon Goldilocks. C'mon Braddok. We have some armor and supplies to buy. Leave the brainy types to the research department. Festus, you want to come too? We'll see you lot later." Duor hopped up from his seat, thoroughly satisfied at getting "his" way.

The two human warriors, the dwarf rogue and satyr ranger left for the town (which apparently had no name other than "the Vale" or "Dragonwing Vale").

Alaria, Erevan, Haelan and Fen began discussion of how to go about their researching. Alaria would meet with the archivist Felton at his first convenience. She and Erevan hoped to be able to access the Keep's library or perhaps the temple of Manat, below the actual keep. Haelan said he would consult with the local priestesses of Gilea and perhaps other temples to see what materials they might have. Fen agreed to accompany Haelan, though, himself, had little interest in research and would probably end up wandering the town or surrounding farmlands to see what rumors or myths the local populace might have.

Five days later, the day of Darkveil Night (Braddok's deadline for returning from the Netherworld) the party was entirely prepared to leave the Vale of the Dragonmage.


----------



## steeldragons

Evening fell over the Vale of the Dragonmage in the realm of Daenfrii on the world of Orea.

Bonfires were easily seen from the party's high vantage point in their chambers of Dragonwing Keep. Silhouettes of figures could be seen flickering before the large fires on the hilltops outside of the "town" proper. Within the town below the keep, several other fires had been lit in various squares. The streets were crowded with revelers celebrating the night of the "thinness" between the realms of the living and the dead. 

There was some disagreement some disagreement among sages as to the purpose and origins of the "holy day." For some, the fires and reveling noise was a warning or defense against the return of spirits. To others, the light and noise was to be a beacon for the souls of the dearly departed, to come partake of the festivities. For most of the commonfolk, it was a holiday...a good reason for a party.

The party had decided, venturing off into the world beyond the Vale on the day of Darkveil would be foolish and open them up to potential attacks they had no desire to undertake.

Braddok was particularly at a noticeable unease. The idea that the veil between the living and the dead was at an annual thinness seemed to sseverely shake the man, who had just in the past few days gotten used to the fact that he was again in the lands of the Living.

Not that he believed he didn't deserve to be "here", in the Living Lands. He had an ever-present pressing on his mind...his soul...that he had "much to do." But he was consumed, throughout the afternoon and into the beginnings of the festival, by the idea that he might accidentally "slip" back into the Grey Lands of the goddess of Death.

Several flagons of ale later, with his friends Duor and Festus, alleviated this strange sensation, which Alaria and others had told him was "fear." 

He did not like "fear", at all. he made a mental promise to expunge it from his mind forever...overcome it, as was only logical and he felt honorable, to a warrior of his caliber.

During the past week, he had acquired his new garb, a suitanle long-sleeved jacket of chainmail and a new helmet that was  "plain" by many standards, but had a noseguard and a few strips of black leather flailing out from the tip. He felt a proper "soldier"....and it felt "right" to him.

The mages and priests had uncovered much information about the Fledmere in their week's research. 

Alaria was sorely disheartened by the Lord Chamberlain's response to her request to the keep's library. 

"You want access to_ the _library? The Dragonwing_ family _library?! No, my dear, I am afraid that will not be possible." the aged elf had said.

But the Witch-priests of Manat in the temple below the keep had been more than accommodating...after their "tribute fee" had been paid.

The time in research had not allowed her any time for transcribing spells...but then, she had not had opportunity to utilize those she had gained in Bridgetower. Erevan, however, did take some time to add to his  spellbook, noticeably thinner than Alaria's own.

The greatest resource of information had been her meeting (with Haelan and Erevan in tow) with the keep's archivist, Felton.

"About the mage, Tresahd, as my lord-prince had requested, I can not tell you anything...as of yet." apologized the festitiously groomed and garbed grey-bearded man.

"But of the Feldmere! Oh, that's a horse of a different color." he smiled in self-appreciation.

"Are you familiar with the _Ballad of the Swan Prince_?" Felton asked.

"I know the rhyme." Haelan interjected.

From the questioning looks he received, the daelvar began chanting what he claimed to be a child's rhyme in his homeland of the Free Hollows.
"The swan of white will do what's right
The swan of black will stab yer back.
Around the lake the white swans flow.
Around the lake the black swans grow.
Ev'ry swan in ev'ry lake
A daelvar foot is sure to take."​"You never heard that? It's a children's song? Ev'ry daelvar child knows that rhyme from the first sprouts of hair on their feet!" Haelan protested in surprise that he knew something these other "bigfolk" didn't.

"Hmmm. No doubt a folkloric bastardization of the Ballad." Felton nodded in sincere curiosity.

"The Ballad, itself, was composed, of course, by the great bard, Calidwyn the Spellsinger. It is hailed as one of his greatest works. It was composed in the aftermath of the Battle of Thornfeld in honot of his beloved champion's victory.

"It reads as follows...you'll forgive me if I don't sing it." the sage chuckled to himself. "I assure you, you would not prefer it so."

Alaria smiled in response, waiting for the actual relevant material. The casual attitude of these outlander mages and sages about information that she took as quite serious continued to vex her.

"The White Swan came upon the lake,
A mystic kingdom, his to make.
Six swan knights and six swan maids,
Did swim upon his magic lake.
The greatest realm of purest snow
the Swan Prince made, which few did know.

Until, one day, a swan of ebon wing
Did alight, its song to sing.
With 'guiling eye, charming song
the White swan did, for her, long.

His knights did arm. His maids did wail.
The White Swan heeded not their tale.
Only the Black Swan did he seal.
Only the Black Swan did he weal.
The knights did fall. The maids did call.
The White Swan Prince hid 'hind his wall.

Until, one day, a swan of ebon wing
Did alight, its song to sing.
With 'guiling eye and charming song
the White swan did, for her, too long.

So the Black Swan did gain her home.
So the White Swan was soon o'ercome.
So the kingdom soon was wrought
And the Swan Prince brought to naught.
Since, the kingdom white all gone,
The kingdom black e'er be done. 

When the swan of ebon wing
Does alight its song to sing,
The Silver Prince will come with care
And win the purest kingdom fair.​"Now, the interesting part is that in the days of the Scourge Wars and the days of Calidwyn...it is common knowledge after all..." Felton looked at the transfixed companions. 

"The image of the 'swan' was often used instead of the 'dragon.' Long necks? Powerful wings? Unpleasant calls, to say the least, could be equivicated with the legendary wyrms' dangerous breath...Do you not see?!" He huffed in what might have been aggravation.

The companions shook their heads in a communal lack of understand.

"The 'black swan' of the ballad? It is my supposition, is the symbol for the well-documented dragon-commander of Nor Gorthok, Desaarthal, one of Sharzaak's brood...and a wyrm of indescribable evil by all accounts.

"There is some disagreement in the texts. I have found references that the 'White Swan Prince' might have been a Selurian lord...the Selurians, naturally, being known to be a wholely albino race." Felton said with conviction.

"Others believe he might have been a prince of the Shi...an errant elf lord who cobbled out a realm of his own when the bulk of the elves moved to ShiStaliir...There's really no definitive account.

"But what is definitive, the Silver Prince is no doubt the high-king Elibon, for whom the ballad was composed. He turned the tide of the Scourge Wars and brought unity to the realms of Grinlia...with our lord, the Dragonmage's aid, of course."

Felton waited as all of this sunk in to the inquiring group. He was most assured he had found the answer to all of their questions.

He was mistaken.

"But...then...when does this black swan take daelvar feet?" Haelan asked, concerned.

The archivist's eyes bulged in his head.

"If it is, indeed, the dragon that Master Felton supposes, Haelan. Then I imagine it takes the feet off of anything." Erevan explained.

"Ooooooh." replied Haelan before gulping audibly.

"May we, Master Felton, take a copy of that ballad with us?" Alaria asked.

He also had a map of the Feldmere that he 'gave' them a copy of, included in their fee. "The ruins of Nor Gorthok are, by my accounting and the latest available material, there," the archivist noted a marking of a hill...or was it a mound of rocks?...in the dead center of the Feldmere.

"Our thanks, Master Felton," Alaria offered and nodded a bow of leave, which indicated to the others that the meeting was at an end.

"Gods' Speed to you, Stormrider. May you find what it is you are seeking." Felton replied with a ceremonious nod.

"And not die trying." Erevan whispered to Alaria as they departed.


----------



## steeldragons

The Stormriders to date: an Overview.

*Alaria "the Stormrider" Staver:* human mage (level 4) from the "Wizard Lands" of R'Hath. She is enjoying her foray into the "outer realms" but is uncomfortable with her role (initially formal) as "group leader", foisted upon her. She is hoping that Braddok's return might alleviate some of this pressure and leave to her more personal care of exploring and increasing her power in "the Mysteries" of magic. With the loss (turning over) of the artifact known as the Ihs Repahl, by far her most potent item, into the hands of the Dragonmage, Alaria is looking forward to increasing her spellcraft.

*"Goldshield" Coerraine:* human paladin (level 3) of the god of defense and battleskill, Celradorn, hailing from the southern kingdom of Mostrial. He has striven, with some success, to live up to his homelands standards (as well as his Lord and God's tenets) of honor and duty. It is these standards that have brought him to his "unfortunate" role as personal protector of the dwarf rogue, Duor (following a magical assault in which Coerraine was charmed, attacked Duor and brought him shockingly close to death). He has some qualms with Alaria's seeming willingness to parley, deal or otherwise "allow" creatures of evil intent to go unpunished.
*
Erevan Ryvsorai Aiiri:* elf "tracker" (a fighter/mage, in official "crunch" terms, levels 2/2) of the Miralostae ("Moonwatcher") nation. His homeland is currently under seige by an army of goblins led by some creature known as "the Bulgruch" along with the aid of a powerful dark wizard the company has encountered, named Tresahd. He is concerned for his land and people, but is firm in his devotion to the group, assured that, when the time comes, they will aid in his people's cause. He is eager for a "rematch" with Tresahd and vows to put an arrow between the wizard's ears when next they meet. He has a sincere appreciation for this odd collection of companions, despite his usual tete-a-tete with the dwarf, Duor. He is particularly appreciative of the magess, Alaria, and her greater mastery of the Mysteries than himself. The return of Braddok from the humans' "Land of the Dead" is something that fascinates him thoroughly.

*"Hilltender" Haelan Spurthistle*: a "daelvar" (halfling) cleric (level 4, "Hilltender" is his temple rank) of the halfling "Mother Nature" goddess, Faerantha. Haelan hails from the Free Hollows dale near the human city of Hawkview. Other than Fen and Festus, Haelan is the character "closest to home" and the evils they have encountered on their journey, to date, are of an increasing concern to him. Polite and hceerful, almost to a fault, Haelan is much more secure in his faith than when they started. Still, caution is a time-honored trait of the daelvar...but so is "curiosity" and hairfoot tenacity. He counts all of the company as his closest friends (despite their relatively short association). 
* 
Duor Darkesmythe*: a dwarf rogue (thief, level 5) of unknown origin. As far as the company is concerned, he is from Hawkview. But that has never been confirmed. Duor is out for gold and glory. Make his big name and big fortune to prove all of those "thugs in the Dusk [Hawkview's thieves' guild] what a big mistake they made crossing blades with him. These folks he travels with are a great way to accomplish that. Though he is loath to admit it, they have grown on him some, even the "smiling dimwit Hilltender." He is especially happy with the company of the newest addition, Festus, but still maintains a questioning eye and ear on the druid, Fen. He thinks Braddok is the most level-headed of the bunch and is thoroughly pleased with his "personal paladin", Coerraine. The elf can go back to the woods, far as he's concerned and Alaria gets a bit "too big for her britches" sometimes...but one can't go dragon treasure hunting without a mage, "an' that's fer sure."
*
Festus Hornshod*: satyr ranger (level 3), until recently, of the Dragonmage's Defenders of the South March. Festus is eager to leave Daenfrii and see more action and adventure than his prior tenure involved. He likes Duor's company a lot, anyone who can keep up with him in a contest of drink is "good folk" in his book. But he likes all of the rest of the company just as well, even if Alaria is sometimes a "stick in the mud." They are "_the Sotrmriders"_ after all...and _now_ he's one of them! This "Braddok guy"that the rest are so pleased to have back really doesn't mean anything to him. But if the company likes him...and went to the trouble of raising him from the dead!...then he can't be all bad. 

*"Fen"* (a.k.a. "Faeryl of Enkort"): A half-elf druid (level 3) of the Ancient "Holy" Order of Mistwood, Orea's worldwide druidic organization. He is handsome, charming, charismatic and still something of mystery to many of the other companions. His "missions" as directed from the Ancient Order are currently suspended (as far as he knows). He has grown close to Erevan, in particular, but is thoroughly amused by Haelan and has a good respect for Alaria and the others of the company, including the "new addition" Festus. He is particularly fond of making the paladin, Coerraine, uncomfortable with his rigid religious and social attitudes. He knows he is untrusted by some among the party, but was thoroughly surprised by the raised Braddok's newfound "friendship" (something that was noticably lacking before the warrior's death).  
*
Braddok Kar Barforth:* human fighter (starting/just level 3, after being "raised") who was an original member of the company. He fell during a battle with an ogre and was recently returned to the lands of the living by his companions. He has a limited memory of these people and a curiously lacking "sense" of emotions, but seems to have some connection with the beautiful magess, Alaria, he can't quite describe. Duor and Festus seem agreeable, the Hilltender is over-eager but seems to be nice, the elf and paladin he has little feelings (one way or the other) for, and the druid Fen he recalls from the afterlife as being one who "had his back" in the fight that ended his life and thoroughly appreciates it/the effort. He knows he's missed about a month of time with this diverse company of folk, but is eager to repay the debt of having his "brought back." Braddok has a new-found "focus" since being returned from the dead. He is secure in the hopes he can count on their assistance in the reclaiming of his ancestral family realm of Barforth, a barony in the far off Duchy of Denil in the western kingdom of Grinlia.   

Now...on to the Feldmere.
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

*The Feldmere: Part I*

The party gathered up their supplies and made ready to depart Dragonwing  Keep. For mounts and carts and how they would tote away a dragon's  treasure (assuming they found one) had been given curious little  thought...other than Duor picking up an armful of large burlap sacks.

They had received an overview from Felton of what they might expect to  find: trolls (duh. They knew that!), a tribe of lizardfolk (maybe more  than one), wandering undead. Not to mention the environmental hazards  that traversing a vast swampland would bring: sinking mud holes, flaming  gases, carnivorous plant life had all been documented by the, relatively  few, expeditions that had only scraped the perimeters of the vast 'Mere.

Over the centuries a plethora of folkloric tales had arisen of spirits and hags and unknown monstrous beasts.

Not to mention the possibility that the Feldmere's creator, an evil dragon of reputed power named Desaarthal <_"dez-AY-ar-thal"_>, may still lurk in the ruins of his centuries old stronghold, Nor Gorthok.

The true concern, to Alaria (which she shared with everyone) had to do with Desaarthal's documented connection to the dread wyrm of legend, Shaarzak <_"SHAY-ar-zak"_> as being one of the ancient dragon's children. What they had learned in their time and travels, between Welford, Bridgetower and the Dragonmage's Vale, about the _Ihs Repahl_, along with a goblin's rantings that "Shaarzak will rise", seemed to point to the possibility that the dark forces moving through the land meant to return the mother-wyrm to the living realms. 

But with the Ihs Repahl securely in the hands of the Dragomage-apparent, Montor, they had little concern that the evil Tresahd might bring that supposed purpose to fruition.

They dismissed the boy-servants, Rik and Quip, with the final task to find the Lord Chamberlain, Celerion, that they might offer their thanks and farewells beore leaving. To their surprise, Rik nor Quip returned to their chambers with any news, but Celerion, himself, showed up at their suite's doors.

"Off already?" the aged wrinkled elf asked with a smile. "You've been taking lessons from our lord-prince, eh? heh heh heh."

"Well, let Daenfrii and the house of the Lordmage, Arganor offer you one, last, boon. Follow me." the regally robed elf offered and turned without another word.

They followed the elf down out of their chambers and across the great hall and up into a different tower, one of the many that constituted the Dragonwing Keep.

They entered a chamber that was long and broad. A dais with three steps rose in the middle. A single tongue of stone rose beside the dais.

Celerion went to the "pulpit", for lack of a better term, and instructed the company to go stand on the thirty foot across circular platform.

"Or you certain this is what you want to do?" asked Celerion.

All of the companions, including Braddok, looked to Alaria.

"This is our course of action. I pray to Manat that we meet again soon, good Chamberlain. Perhaps even before the snows fall." the magess responded with a weak smile.

"Where would you like to go?"  asked the old-looking elf. "Keep!" he commanded. Even as the blue-white ball of light swirled into view, Celerion continued, "This is a teleportal chamber. I can send you to anywhere in the known realms. But, I fear, I can not bring you back. Choose your location carefully."

Alaria pulled out the map of the Feldmere that Felton had supplied them. She had no desire to "wander" about the marshlands and checked with her fellows before instructing the Lord Chamberlain to place them in/near the "mound in the middle of the Feldmere, here" which they presumed to be the ruins of Nor Gorthok.

"As you wish." Celerion responded before passing his hand over the surface of the podium before which he stood.

Immediately as he concluded his wave of the arm, an image of light appeared behind him. It was a map of Orea.

The old elf strode up to it, the clacking of his staff on the stone floor was loud as he stepped slowly.

He waved his staff and floated up into the air to touch the region of the Feldmere with his finger.

Instantly, the image changed to be a "close-up" version of the swamplands a half day's journey outside of Daenfrii's borders.

A mound of ruins appeared in the center of the swamp and Celerion again touched it with his finger. The "mound of rocks" became the entire image before them.

Celerion floated down to the floor and returned to the podium, his staff clacking along the way.

"Are you ready, Stormriders?" he asked. 

The companions nodded their accent.

"The gods protect you and keep you heroes. I will pray that we meet again....before the snows fall." he directed this last comment to Alaria and winked a smile.

"Keep?" the old elf said.

"Coordinates are locked, Lord Chamberlain." came the buzzing chorus of voice from the blue-white ball of light.

"To the Feldmere, if you please." replied the chamberlain.

"By your will, Lord Chamberlain." replied the ball of light.

"But what about..." began Haelan's voice as the companions were again surrounded by the teardrops of white and blue and golden light.

Unlike their transportation by the Dragonmage-prince, this teleport did feel like moving, Alaria noted.

Sparkles of gold and blue and white trailed all around them for an instant before the unpleasant sensation of hitting a wall! There was a flash of blue, a falling sensation and then an abrupt (if not damage causing) end.

All of the companions felt bruised, the wind knocked from their lungs. They roused themselves with moans and groans to find they were upon a high ridge that looked down, out over, a vast swamp swathed in thick fog.

Erevan, of course, was the first to recover from the unpleasant teleportation experience. He surveyed their surroundings and, lamentably, relayed, "We seem to be upon the Thornfeld....outside of the Feldmere."

"Ya see," snorted Duor as he roused himself from the jolting landing, "elves cain't do nuthin' right. We shoulda gotten horses. Magic be damned!"

"We had no money for horses, though." Haelan retorted as he straightened the helmet on his brow and took up the pinecone-headed mace which was inches from his grasp.

Typically, the Hilltender did not see the dwarf's scowl in his direction.

"Everyone made it, though." Festus said, instinctively defending his homeland's lords.

With a good amount of gathering up their supplies and weapons, straightening of hair and tunics, the party looked out over the vast expanse.

"Well...this sucks." said Coerraine.

Eyebrow rose and laughs came unbidden at the paladin's unexpected assessment.

"Nothing to do about it," said Braddok hoisting a good amount of equipment onto his own broad shoulders, "but walk. Where's that map?"

Alaria gathered up the map, which had been in her hands during teleportation and had fallen some distance from her on the ground.

Erevan and Braddok consulted the map and surrounding for a time. 

"Hey, ranger here!" Festus piped up robbing his horned head.

The three unlikely warrior-companions consulted the map and surroundings and decided on a course of action.

Taking up a marching order, for which Braddok leaned close to Alaria and murmured, "You stay behind me, ok?"

The magess nodded her agreement and listened with gratitude as Braddok "commanded" the various members of the company into their positions.

Festus and Braddok would take the fore. Coerraine insisted on being before Duor, if he wasn't going to be in the front rank. Braddok deemed the Redstar's more heavily armored form might be unwise beside the otherwise stealthy satyr. So it was Coerraine and Erevan in second rank. Then Alaria and Duor. Fen ("watching my back") and Haelan, with their "pet", Buttercream, would bring up the rear.

"She'll go where she wills, swordsman." Fen offered gently to, what the druid still considered the "fragile" warrior. "Have no doubt, she will aid as as she can."

Assured in their direction, the team wandered into the fell marshes of the Feldmere.


Based on the time they'd been marching, it was nearly midday before the fog-ensconced party was abruptly halted by the ranger's raised fist. The satyr raised a finger to his lips and looked at Braddok. Braddok did the same behind him and the rest of passed it back.

Festus withdrew his shortbow and nocked an arrow.

Erevan, who had had an arrow nocked since they had reached the base of the ridge and entered the soft marshland, drew his bow. Waiting, listening, wondering why they had been halted.

There was a distinct sloshing sound, the elf noted. Which only he or the satyr ranger might have hoped to hear.

The satyr nodded to the elf in the second rank and whispered, "and Duor is you want." to follow him.

Duor passed.

The elf and satyr disappeared into the mists to their left and were gone from view in an instant.

Three instances later, Erevan's shrill whistle of warning came piercing through the mists. 

The party took off in their direction and came to an abrupt halt before a massive beast.

It was knee deep in watery muddy sludge. It had an incredibly long neck and equally long tail. Two arrows were noticeable in its thick, rhinocerous-like hide.

"Stay back!" called Festus from somewhere on the other side of the creature. "CataloooOOMPH!"

The figure of Festus flying through the air into the mist from a swing of the thing's club-like tail.

This did nothing to deter Braddok or Coerraine who charged forth with weapons singing.

With the first strike of Braddok's sword, the long neck swung into the air with a bellow.

The head swung around to the other companions...it was like a wart-hog, but with more ridges and large yellowed bloodshot eyes.

It bellowed in the direction of the approaching companions.

Something about its face...it's eyes...its gaze...it was HORRIBLE! Terrifying!

Alaria shrieked in horror and immediately turned to disappear into the mists surrounding the horrid creature at top speed.

Braddok faced a similar fate. Shouting in obvious fear back into the mists after the wizard.

"Alaria? Braddok! Come back!" Haelan called. He looked upon the truly disgusting face of the creature and shook nearly to his hairy toes, before following the magess into the mists. 

"Dammit all!" called out Duor before firing his nocked hand crossbow. "So glad we brought'cha back, Braddok." the dwarf mumbled under his beard.

Fen immediately began to chant under his breath.

Coerraine struck with his spear and the creature bellowed again as blood flowed from the gash in its side. 

The Redstar knight was not as fortunate to avoid the swinging tail of the thing and was knocked down into the sludge in which he, and the creature, stood.

Two more arrows found their way into the thing's hide from Erevan's bow. The elf, as well as the satyr, seemed immune to the creature's terrifying gaze.  

With an amazing bound, the satyr landed upon the creature's back and slashed viciously with his falchion and newly acquired magic short sword.

"Ahwoooooo!" the thing bellowed in pain into the mist before its mouth was closed and its body encircled with reeds and swan grass that leapt up to entangle it.

Fen clenched his fist and the creatures head was pulled, with a loud splash that covered the remaining companions, including a Coerraine who had beginning to rise out of the muck, in muddy water.

The druid was now the recipient of the monster's hard bulbous tail as he tried to near it with his leaf-shaped spear.

Coerraine rose as the druid splashed loudly beside him. 

Two more arrows from the elf's magic quiver sunk into the creature's neck.

Festus stabbed deeply into its bony back with both of his blades.

"BY CELRADORRRRRRN!" the Redstar Knight invoked as his spearhead sunk deeply into the creature's thickly hided side.

The gripping vegetation loosened with the druid's "smack" and the creature's head emerged from the muddy water and howled into the sky before its whole form slumped over to the side.

Festus leapt off of its back as it fell to land before the paladin and druid raising himself from the muck. The half-elf wiped mud from his face to see the satyr standing, smiling triumphantly.

"Catalobemplas." said Festus, as if that was an explanation.

"Catoblempis." said Fen as a correction.

"Catabolemphas" said Coerraine.

"Estis'phak" said Erevan, matter-of-factly. <_translated from elvin: "Fear face" or "Face of Fear"_>

"Wute'er it was, it's DEAD now! And we lost half the bloody expedition!" Duor raged.

The elf tracker, half-elf druid, satyr ranger, human paladin and dwarf thief looked into the fog from which they'd come.

"Let's go find them." said Erevan, casually.

"Not before we see if this thing had any treasure!" the dwarf quickly corrected.

Coerraine and Erevan rolled their eyes.

"You do that, we'll go find them." said Erevan.

"I have to stay here with Duor, it would a dereliction of du-" began Coerraine.

"YOU stay with the dwarf." said Erevan in annoyance. "WE (indicating Fen, Festus and himself) will go find them. We will meet you back HERE! Do not wander."

So the party set off, split off <_DM's note: "AGAIN?!?! Ugh"_> to find their companions and regroup.

"And we're only four hours into this." mentioned Fen with a calming smile to Erevan.

"_You're not_ that _cute, you know?_" returned the elf (in elvin) with a grin.

"You know I speak elf, right?" replied the satyr, in the Common tongue of Men, as he casually wiped gore from his blade.

Without another syllable, the three disappeared into the fog after their swordsman, magess and cleric.


----------



## steeldragons

The search party found Haelan first, not far beyond the path they had been following.

The cleric was bent over, hands on his knees, huffing and puffing.

"I'm sorry, Erevan, I tried to catch up. Their legs are so long! I....I don't know where they went. I hope nothing bad has happened to them." the Hilltender panted.

Fen placed a reassuring hand on the daelvar's shoulder. "Don't worry, friend Hilltender. We will find them."

"Sure you did your best." added Festus as he crouched down to scan the ground.

With little trouble they came upon Braddok, standing in a nondescript  clearing, surrounded by fog. The swordsman's face was very pale as Erevan broke the mist to see the dark-haired human clearly.

"Erevan?...It...it is Erevan, right?" Braddok stammered. The big warrior was visibly shaking. "Am I dead again? There was this....horror...and now I'm here....and the fog is like..._before_...and...am I dead again?"

Erevan looked at the obviously distraught warrior and said plainly, "No, Braddok. You are not dead."

This seemed to reassure Braddok very little until, shortly after the elf, Haelan, Fen and Festus came into view.

The big man exhaled audibly and shook off the last remnants of his "fear". 

"I don't like fear. I have failed you, my friends. I have failed Alaria." Braddok said with disappointment.

"Do not be, warrior." Fen, again stepped up to reassure. "The creature has an unnatural...well, no...an _enchanted _gaze. There was very little you could have done. Feel no shame." the druid smiled warmly.

Braddok shook his head in understanding before asking, "Where is Alaria? Is she ok?"

"We're...um...working on that." Festus piped up. "Did you see which way she went?"

Braddok admitted he had not. He had raced through the mists in a panic that clouded his still-fragile memory. He had stopped running in this clearing with the distinct horror and panic that he was, again, in the Grey Lands of the dead. 

Festus began, again, scanning the swamp's soft ground around the clearing. Just as he found what appeared to be a small stamp in the soft marsh-mud a woman's cry rose up from somewhere in the fog.

"HELLLLP!!! Braddok? Erevan?! Anybody!" it said.

The, now five, companions followed Erevan's keen hearing to find Alaria up to her thighs in muck and mud. She was desperately trying to reach the edge of the mud-hole, in which she was firmly entrenched, with her staff.

A little of shimmying later, Braddok, led out to his knees gripping Fen's spear shaft, was able to grab the magess and pull her to safety.

"I_ hate_ this swamp." said the R'Hathi wizard as she released Braddok from a thankful hug. "What happened? How did I end up here? Where were you all?!" She bulleted off the questions.

The companions filled her and the warrior in on their way back to find Duor smoking a cigar setting atop the fallen bulk of the fear-beast's large body. Coerraine was leaning casually against its side but jumped up as they returned.

Alaria began to chuckle and laugh into the wind, to some of the companions confusion. Coerraine, Fen and herself were almost entirely covered in muck and mud. 

Expending a few simple _prestidigitations_ to clean up the company, they re-grouped companions again set off in, what Festus was_ sure_ was, the right direction.

The next few days passed with relative unevent.

_<insert Author/DM's 80's-style montage here...>_

*The group forced to go to single file through some particularly close underbrush. 

*Huddled close around a small campfire at night. Keeping two-person watches throughout.

*Running away from a surprise encounter with two large alligators.

*Festus and Braddok slashing through the brambles and grasses with their blades.

* A very nervous Haelan keeping guard with a very calm Fen as an array of strange eyes watched the campsite from the darkness.

* Festus, Duor and Braddok arguing over the map and pointing in various different directions.

* Butercream munching happily on a large snake that the company had not noticed in the brush beside them.

* Alaria, and all of the company, laughing at a satyr covered head-to-hoof in mud who had made a misstep from the path into a pool of mud. The magess performed another _prestidigitation_ to clean him up.

* Erevan and Fen sharing a quiet moment as the others slept. Alert, but comfortable.

</end montage>

 In the afternoon of their fourth day in the Feldmere, they came to the edge of their path.

Festus and Braddok quickly backed up with loud "sssshlunk" noises pulling their feet out of the mire that was before them. They had sunk up to their ankles in a moment. Both of the fighting men backed onto the solid-ish path they had be following.

A mound of solid looking ground was not more than 20 feet before them. Cursory prodding to their left and right revealed the mucky, sinking ground seemed to extend indefinitely in either direction from their position.

Fen strode forward and whispered some incantation of his secretive langauge.

Alaria and Erevan heard certain syllables. They were jolting, but not harmful.

"--../..-/.." spoke the druid.

Alaria, who knew that the language of the Mysteries sounded like nonsense to the "uninitiated" couldn't help but wonder the origin of this completely alien language of the druids.

A five foot wide path of the muddy loam seemed to come together and form something of a causeway for the group that extended across the span to the mound. <_Author/DM's note: Druid spell: a reversed "Soften Earth"_>

The group moved, carefully at first, out onto Fen's magically created ground.

When they'd reached the mound, Erevan strode off to the side and knelt beside what appeared to be a small bump of weeds and vines.

The elf wiped and pulled the vegetation clear to reveal a marker of severely eroded and pitted white stone, like the Selurian's used. The inscriptions on the stone, however were most definitely not Selurian...nor were they in any elvish tongue Erevan or Fen understood fully...though it appeared to them to be similar to elvish.

Alaria set to examining the stone with Erevan.

"It is, perhaps, some proto-elvin tongue?", Alaria posed. "Ancient as the stone seems to be. Not like the tongue we know today. Could it be ShiStaliiri?" the magess posed to the "young" Miralostae elf

Fen seemed distracted by something in the mud they had crossed over.

"What is it, Fen?" Haelan asked with his normal innocent curiosity which had become thoroughly tainted with worry, moreso than usual, in their days within the Feldmere. The poor daelvar seemed always on the verge of a nervous breakdown while Fen had seemed to become ever more serene than normal, if that were possible.

Then it leaped up from its hiding place in the muck surrounding the mound. A serpent, huge by any definition its brown-black scales glistened in the limited light of the afternoon.

Buttercream immediately hunched her furry back and hissed loudly at the snake.

"Bloody hells, I_ hate_ this swamp!" Duor cried out in surprise as a bolt from his hand crossbow flung, sorely off the mark.   

The weapons, which were almost constantly drawn since their second day in the swamps, rose to face the creature.

"Up on the mound!" shouted Erevan. It wasn't a suggestion. The elf shoved Alaria up the slight incline, away from the edge of the mound where the stone sat.

Coerraine and Braddok took positions in front of the dwarf and halfling as the stoutfolk scrambled to climb the mound.

Festus pulled out his shortbow and reached for arrows.

Fen helped Alaria to her feet, sorely displaced by the elf's harsh push, and the two began to climb the mound a bit before turning to take in the scene.

The snake struck with devastating accuracy, clamping its fangs into Erevan's shoulder and reeled back for another attack. It easily avoiding Braddok's sword swing and Coerraine's spear jab. The creature was incredibly fast.

Erevan fell onto his back, gripping the bleeding punctures of the things fangs. The wound burned worse than fire. The elf knew he was poisoned.

He reached back for an arrow from his quiver...either one! But his eyesight faltered and blurred before he could get one on his bowstring. The arrow fell to the mound beside him from limp fingers as his vision darkened.

"_KIILI!_" shouted Fen before occult verse began bursting from his lips.

Alaria, simillarly, called to mind a spell and began to incant.

[EDIT] Festus [/EDIT] let loose with an arrow from his small bow that whizzed passed the creature by a hair.

Braddok blocked a snapping bite from the giant snake, brushing its head aside with a firm "whack!" from his shield.

Coerraine "raced" as fast as he could across the soft slippery ground to get his body between the snake and the prone elf. The paladin noticed Erevan's eyes were closed and what little color Erevan normally had in his face was noticeably fading.

Ten feet of the thing bobbed above the murky mud, staring with purpose down on the warriors that faced it. Which morsel to strike next?

---to be continued---


----------



## steeldragons

Coerraine struck out with his spear. The invocation for a "smite" from his lord went unanswered. 

Despite its "monstrous" appearance, this was not a creature of "evil" merely a creature of nature following its instincts.

Still, divine assistance aside, the spear struck with telling effect.

The massive snake hissed loudly and showed its fangs to the disagreeable meals before it. Then it slunk back into the mud from whence it had come and could be seen winding its way away, a trail of blackish fluid noticeable across the muck's surface as it went.

Fen's and Alaria's spells went off as the creature retreated. It could not be determined if the fans of flame harmed the creature or not...much of them going up in bursts of steam against the brackish water/mud.

But the snake was soon gone from view.

Coerraine immediately poured some of his vial of "anti-toxin" potion into the grey-pale elf's mouth and massaged it down his throat.

<_Author/Dm's note: The party had invested heavily in "neutralize  poison" and "healing" potions as part of their preparations for the  Feldmere. Wise beyond belief. A healing potion for each member, all 9  -including Buttercream at Haelan's insistance- and 3 neutralize  poisons. Haelan is of level to "slow" poisons, but not neutralize them_> 

Fen came rushing up next to the fallen Miralostae. "Haelan!" the half-elf called.

A moment after administration, the elf's face took on its usual color and the labored, almost non-existent,  breathing became smooth again. 

Erevan roused himself to sit up as the paladin then laid his hands upon the fang punctures on the elf's shoulder.

A golden warm filled Erevan.

The wounds closed and the bleeding seemed to fade into the elf's exposed skin.

All of the companions backed away from the mucky edge of the mound before Alaria used another _prestidigitation_ cantrip to mend the elf's black shirt and leather "armor".

"I am in your debt, champion of Celradorn." Fen said matter-of-factly.

"No debt, is there, in the protection of a fallen ally." Coerraine responded with a smile at the half-elf. He was more quoting Redstar doctrine than answering the "heathen" druid. But was filled with a warming sense of purpose, that he had done everything that he _should_ have done. The young paladin was sure of that.

Erevan and Coerraine clasped arms, when the elf rose to his feet.

"My thanks, Redstar Knight." the elf began. Before turning to the druid and muttering, _"You worry too much._"in the elvin tongue.

"My furry satyr arse!" interjected Festus with typical lack of tact.

 The company looked at the satyr in surprise at the exclamation.

"That was a Blackmuck-Viper" the satyr said as if that were an explanation. "A giant one, to be sure...but still, a _blackmuck viper_!"

Seeing the lack of comprehension on most of the companions, Festus continued with surprise and energy, "One of the most poisonous serpents in the known realms! Another three moments, my good friend elf, and you would have been lost! 'On the boat to the moon', as your people say." 

The use of the elvish idiom did reveal some shock to Fen and Erevan.

Erevan looked at Fen.

Fen nodded his agreement.

"For humans," Fen continued the explanation to the others, "its bite is fatal in two breaths."

"Wut 'bout dwarves?" asked Duor.

Fen scowled in the dwarf's direction but did not meet his eyes.

The party crested the small mound and gained a much better perspective of their position...or lack thereof.

The"mound" was all of 20 feet wide and seemed to extend, roughly, 60 feet. The grasse and reeds brew up, tll, all around the base. A few young narrow trees, leafless in the late-ish autumn, and short thickets dotted the top and sloping sides.

The party decided this was far enough to have lunch. Between Haelan's mystic bowl and Fen's capacity to _purify water_, expunging the sediment or plain muddy waters they encountered, the party had little fear of running out of food and drink. 

They'd only brought two days of rations with them, figuring they'd be on foot, at least to Bridgetower where they could replenish. But when the Lord Chamberlain of Daenfrii says "come with me", you don't reply with "Hang on. Lemme just go to market." As Alaria had pointed out the previous day when their limited rations had run out.

They ate heartily from the magical food-producing bowl, which Haelan had decided should serve "Dartha's shrimp puffs" from their time at Shoal.

"Shame you can't get the Tyrisian's Pure Water from that thing." Duor mumbled as he crunched into a shrimp puff.

"I could try when we're done." offered Haelan, sincerely.

"Better you save it for the evening meal, Haelan. Or breakfast." Alaria interjected.

Noone argued that.

The "daytime" glare across the fog-filled landscape that surrounded them was definitely shifting to the west.

"We should continue on." Braddok mentioned as he wiped a few shrimp-puff crumbs from his week-old tunic. "There's only a few hours of daylight left."

The party gathered up their things and assumed their marching order, intent on following the mound and down the opposite side.

As they descended the opposite slop, a sound came from the reeds and weeds around the base of the mound.

Four, then six, then ten lizardmen emerged from the swampy vegetation all around them at the base of the mound.

"Yer kiddin' me!" Duor burst.

"Least they didn't distrub our lunch." responded Haelan softly.

Weapons were already drawn and pointed on both sides. A combat seemed imminent. 

The lizardmen were, mostly hunched. But still large and broad of shoulder. The one standing seemed to top out at seven-feet tall. They possessed, from what the party could see, bone tipped spears and fang-edged swords.

Thick forked tongues flicked out from lizard or snake-like extended snouts and lips. The scales about their head and shoulders seemed much heavier than the rest of their torsos. Thick tails, reminiscent of an alligator or crocodile, flicked back and forth behind heavily-scaled thighs and lightly-scaled shins.

Then a call went up from one of the lizardmen on their flank. It...he?...was hissing and pointing at Fen.

A couple of gutteral growls and hisses later from the standing "commander" and the whole company of reptilian folk disappeared with all speed into the mists of the swamp with so much as a "by your leave."

"What was that about?" Braddok asked his companions, sincerely confused.

"It seems," Alaria, who was next to the druid and stared at him questioningly, "they were afraid of Fen."

"HA! Afraid of the half-blood?! Seriously? Well, not as bad as bein' 'fraid o' _fairies._" the dwarf said pointedly at Festus.

The satyr frowned a return.

"We should track them and take their treasure! Festus, find their tracks!" Duor shouted. 

"We'll do no such thing." Alaria stated plainly. "They left us alone. We will do the same. May the Blue Star grant we not cross paths again."

"But..." Duor began to protest.

"You are interested in the dragon treasure, are you not, friend dwarf?" Fen asked casually.

"Well...yes, but..." Duor tried to defend himself. He thought for a second. "Maybe they know where that is! Dragon..biiiiig lizard...lizardfolk? It could be a lead!"

"Why did they seem scared of you, Fen?" Haelan asked innocently. The dwarf seemed to be able to ignore _him_ easily enough. The daelvar had begun to learn to do the same...though he still felt badly for being rude.

"I do not know, friend Hilltender." Fen answered honestly.

Alaria and Erevan looked at the druid. 

"I r_eally_ don't know!" Fen repeated. "The lizardfolk are a superstitious lot...but not, necessarily, to use your iteration, friend Goldshield, 'evil.' They are capable warriors, to be sure...and we are, for all intents and purposes on their turf.

"Perhaps they've never seen a half-elf before?...or a leaf-tip spear?...or one of the Ancient Order? I cannot say." the half-elf supposed.

"What I _can_ say is they are particularly territorial. And if they are here..." Fen began.

"Then, we are in their territory." Braddok finished. His tactician mind began opening up and recalling things of his experience and tutoring and training that he did not like at all.

"Close ranks." Braddok said with more command than any of the companions were used to. "I want a 3-4-1 formation."

"A whaaat?" Haelan replied.

Braddok set to redirecting the marching order, guarding the magess foremost. Though he did not know why. 

"We'll try, Braddok, but this terrain is not conducive to a wide march." noted Festus.  

So, with Braddok. Festus (for his tracking ability and knowledge), and  Coerraine in the fore, followed by [left to right] Erevan, Alaria, Duor (insisting he be immediately behind the Redstar Knight), and Haelan in the next rank, with Fen bringing up the rear....with Buttercream "as she feels comfortable" (and the fact that Fen averred to the commanding swordsman that the ferret was_ not_ under his control!)

"Let us hope that we exit their territory with all speed." Braddok posed.

The party, cautiously, finished their descent of the curious mound in the midst of the swamp and continued along the broadest, most solid path they could find.

A few hours of marching later, the party stopped to make camp.

Erevan and/or Festus noticed lizardmen shadowing them but keeping their distance, until the day's light was fading into evening. Though the party continued on for a few more hours, the lizardmen were not seen or noticed.

"It is too cold for them." proposed Fen as an explanation. "They are lizards, afterall. This level of cold does not agree with them. Prdobably have retreated underground to their own lair.

"I would propose we get to moving before first light." the druid cautiously offered.

None of the company slept soundly at the start of that night. 

But then, they didn't really have much chance before Haelan and Fen were rousing them in the midst of their slumber.


----------



## steeldragons

The night was particularly chilly and an occasional breeze moaned through the bare branches of the surrounding trees and whistled through the tall swamp grasses.

The first watch had gone off without incident, though Braddok and Festus were decidedly on edge from their odd run-in with the troupe of lizardmen.

Despite the chill, they'd let the small campfire run its course, down to embers, fearing the light would be too tempting a beacon for lizardmen or giant insanely venomous snakes or whatever other predators the Feldmere had in store for them.

Fen and Haelan agreed when they were roused. The daelvar puffing into his gloved hands occasionally to ward off the chill. He watched as Buttercream stretched and rose and disappeared into the night. It seemed, to Haelan, since they'd entered the swamp, the ferret was fond of hunting while Fen was awake/on watch. But, she always managed to return before they broke camp in the morning and had no trouble maintaining pace with her many two-legged comrades.

Haelan said a silent prayer to Faerantha that their fuzzy companion be safe in her wanderings.

Fen, as was his usual tack, moved to a place of clustered trees and/or undergrowth along the perimeter of the camp and, with a wink and a smile, quickly faded from few wrapped in the blending enchantments of his sacred druid's cloak. Every now and again, the halfling might pick out the outline of his leaf-tip spear or a stray tress of orange hair poking out from a rounded "head-sized" knot of bark...but they were always momentary and quickly meshed in again with the illusion.

Haelan blew into his cupped hands again and debated the possibility of using his enchanted bowl to "magic up" some hot chocolate. But, he decided against it and chided himself for his selfishness when the party was becoming increasingly dependent on the magic of the stone bowl to feed themselves. Maybe, the daelvar cleric mused, he would suggest to Erevan and festus to do some hunting the next day. There had to be some marsh deer or rabbits or something suitable to eat that didn't need to be "magicked up."

He smiled to himself as his thoughts turned to his mother's rabbit stew.

Then he saw the first one. A dark shape whizzed across the edge of the limited light from the glow of the dying fire. Haelan jumped from the fright but figured it was a bat. A large bat, to be sure but nothing so unusu-WOAH! There it was again...or antoher one? Another two? Wow they were big...and fast...and whipped around in the air completely silent.

Unnerving, to be sure. But just bats, Haelan reassured himself.

"HAELAN!" Fen called out from his hidden resting place across the campsite.

Haelan's mind heard the half-elf's words just as a loud "whizzing" sound passed very near his right ear. Then there was a high-pitched "screeee" from just behind him. Only after all of that did the druid's form come into focus as the cleric turned around to see the Feldmere's latest horror!

Thoroughly skewered upon the leaf-tip spear and pegged to the ground was Haelan's "bat."

It was a foot and a half long, a dirty brownish grey, with six grasping legs with little hookish "feet". Its bat-like wings fluttered momentarily until it stilled, completely dead. It's head was broad and flat with huge yellowy eyes and another foot-long...was it a "beak?"...not a "snout", Haelan mused...but a long slender needle-like protrustion where a nose or snout would be.

"Ugh! That's disgusting what is it?" Haelan was questioning before the realization that he'd notced more than one of the things! "Fen, there..." he began to cry.

"To arms! To arms, friends! We are under at-AAAK!" the druid was hollering at the top of his lungs as another of the things swooped down onto his back and struck its needle-like "nose-beak-thing" into his shoulder even as the insectoid hooked legs clamped down around him to secure the creature on the half-elf's back.

Haelan, on pure instinct and horror flung his magic shield toward the thing on Fen even as he heard Alaria scream in surprise from her bedroll.

Unfortunately, the daelvar missed his target and banged loudly off of a tree behind the assaulted half-elf. More unfortunately, the shield's mystic return was impeded by the head of the half-elf.

"OO!" Haelan winced visibly at the loud clang off the druid's cranium. He  managed to get out a, "Sorry Fennn!" as the shield returned to his waiting hand.

The druid, thoroughly knocked out, crumpled to the ground, the creature still clamped onto his back with its beak stuck into the druid's meaty shoulder.

A moment later, an arrow struck clean through the bat-thing slurping loudly on the half-elf. A second arrow from Erevan's bow, the elf still crouching in the place he had been "resting",sent the creature flying off of his "kiili."

"Stirges!" cried out Festus as the satyr swung with his blades and hopped around in a panic, attempting to keep the creatures at bay moreso than to actually strike or do any damage.

"Gods' Blessings, goat-butt. Now _hit_ something!" Duor returned from his position, crouching unceremoniously beneath and behind Coerraine shield, which the paladin was using to bat away more of the creatures dive-bombing the campsite. 

The Redstar Knight was jobbing into the air with a distinct lack of results. The things were barely visible until they were practically on top of him and completely silent in their flight. His spear was proving most ineffectual.

An arcane syllable was followed by a bright burst of blue-white electrical light flared as another "stirge" flew, trailing smoke and sparks, from the position of Alaria's bedroll.

It hopped a couple of times before coming to a smoldering lump at Haelan's har-topped feet.

It twitched once before Haelan slammed his mace down upon it...just in case. The creature "splattered" most visibly and audibly all over the halfling's feet.

"Augh! GROSS!" Haelan protested.

Erevan, who now stood over Fen's unconscious form, let another arrow fly in Haelan's direction. His bolt flew with elvin accuracy to skewer another of the creatures right out of mid-air somewhere behind the halfling.

The wounded creature made "scree-ing" sounds and fluttered about, though unable to regain flight, until Haelan ran over and again, splattered the stirge-thing's guts all over the ground.

With the increased light from Alaria's staff, Braddok was actually enjoying "batting" at the creatures with his newly purchased morningstar [_Author/DM's note: the spiked ball/mace-head kind, not the variety with a chain_]. The dark-haired warrior had struck down two of the things but was having trouble making contact with a third...as he was trying to aid the paladin while, at the same time, avoid Coerraine's less-than-controlled attacks with his spear.

Another of the stirges was able to land upon Alaria's back and shoulder. The magess shrieked as the needle-like proboscis sank through her cloak and robe into he back.

Festus, finally, made contact with the thing on Alaria's back, severing it in two. In his panicked zeal, however, the strike of his second blade also managed to slice into the wizard.

"OH goat-patties! Alaria? Alaria?! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! HAELAN quickly!" the satyr ranted in apologetic surprise as Alaria slumped forward to her knees. 

Alaria maintained a grip of her staff, which was all that held her up for the moment, though the electrical light filling the campsite began to flicker and spark and dim. She grasped her shoulder (she could not reach where the wounds actually were) with a stunned silent surprise on her face. She was in a pain she had yet to experience in her short-lived adventuring career. A grin began to form on her lips as she thought to herself, "Here lies Alaria 'the great and powerful Stormrider', felled by a drunken lusty lout of a satyr."

Her vision was just beginning to cloud and darken as she heard Haelan's familiar voice close to her and began to notice the scent of honey and pine trees.

The pain seemed to warm away and her vision cleared in an instant to see Haelan standing before her with a concerned look on his face. The Redstar Knight and warrior stood over her with similar looks on their faces while the satyr seemed practically in tears.

Fen rose with Erevan's assistance, rubbing the back of his head and tenderly touching the large bump that had formed during his 'nap'. "That was quite a clobber, friend Hilltender. But we seem to have won. So that's something."

The druid then whispered some words of his secret tongue and a feint greenish glow later, he stretched and cracked his neck, side to side.

"Ah, that's much better. How'd we do?" the half-elf said scanning the sliced, skewered and utterly smashed remnants of their attackers. His gaze came to rest on the gore-smattered feet of Haelan.  

"We won...and nobody died." Duor said dryly in Festus' direction.

"I said I'm sorry!" the satyr defended.


----------



## steeldragons

*The Feldmere: Part IV*

"I don't know how much longer we can keep this up, Braddok." Alaria said as she slumped down upon a fallen log on the third of the narrow and long mounds they had encountered in the passed two days.

The other party members, similarly, flopped to the ground.

Two more days and nights had passed since the "attack of stirges."

They had fended off another encounter with a larger group of lizardmen with a single "entanglement" incantation and Fen shaking his spear in their direction shouting "ooga-booga!" The reptilian warband had gone fleeing wildly at that.

They had had to alter direction three times to maintain their trail on some "walkable" ground, winding around rivulets, large ponds of muck and noticeable pits of sinking mud. 

Festus was sure they were still heading, more or less, in the right direction.

The increasingly colder nights had taunted them a "will o' wisp" (according to Fen and Festus), a roving troll who was not stupid enough to take on so large a group of armed warriors...and his return with three friends in the early morning hours.

Erevan and Festus had gone hunting more than once and were able to return with no more than a small collection of swamp rats. 

Alaria was sore and tired and cold and they seemed no closer to this alleged massive ancient fortress than they were over a week ago.

Haelan, similarly, had begun arguing for their retrurn to Daenfrii "...or Hawkview...or anywhere else besides this accursed place." the morning after the stirge attack.

Festus again took out the map and consulted it with Braddok.

"There!" cried the satyr, pointing out over the mists to a broad open flat area beyond the stretch of trees before them. "That must be this lake!" the satyr indicated something on the map.

"And just beyond that, this mound here, that is supposed to be ruins of Nor Gorthok." the satyr concluded with satisfaction.

Haelan "wished up" a warming bowl of "Hollow's chili" (a tomato-based concoction of chicken and rabbit and park thoroughly seasoned with garlic and herbs). The halfling began doling out portions to the companions with the magic pestle/spoon.

"That looks far." Haelan said. He looked out to where the satyr was indicating and put half of Duor's first ladle-full in his lap. It was almost-but-not-quite a whine.

The dwarf, in his own exhaustion and deep sniffing in the spicy meat dish didn't even notice.

"We can be to this edge of the lake by nightfall." said Braddok. The warrior also stared out where the ranger had indicated, not noticing Haelan's disappointed look.

"Very well." Alaria began, taking on the commanding tone she had not emplyed since they'd begun this trek. "If, in two days time, we have not come upon the ruins, we turn back and make all haste for Daenfrii for the winter."

"I second!" Haelan said enthusiastically.

Coerraine looked to Duor as the dwarf stuff his bearded face with a large spoonful of the chili.

"Make it three days and yeh'll get no argument from me. Dragon treasure ain't easy to come by, to be sher. Else ev'ryone'd have some!

"An' I'd hate to be in spittin' distance and walk away. But this 'Mere's a death-trap an' that's a fact!" the dwarf finished.

Coerraine nodded his, given, agreement with the dwarf's wishes.

Erevan, who didn't seem to be paying attention to the conversation wandered along the 20 foot wide, 60 foot long top of the mound on which they found themselves. He crouched down and peer off to their south. The elf was almost sure he could see another of the mounds just breaking the low-lying fogs.

Fen came up behind the crouching elf and followed his gaze. "Yes. That appears to be another one." the druid agreed with the elf's unspoken observation. The druid turned to look behind them.

He could see the one they'd crossed that morning and then pointed out a fourth one to their north and west that they hadn't notice in the fog as they'd passed.

"There's another." Fen said simply.

"'Nother _wut?!_" Duor said with some concern as he put down his spoon in favor of the hilt of his ethereal dagger.

"Another mound." Alaria clarified. "I wonder how they came to be?" asked the magess of no one in particular. "And why just here?" she said after scanning the rest of their surroundings. "How many is that? I haven't been keeping track."

"That'd be six, counting the one with the snake." Festus said after some quick calculation.

"_'Six swan knights and Six swan maids'_...isn't that what the poem said?" Haelan quoted, off hand, as he moved on to dish out some chili for Braddok.

Erevan, who had returned to the companions' resting place raised an eyebrow at the halfling's simple memory.

"Ugh. [chew] That ain't never good." mentioned Duor. "Wut is it, point-ear?" 

"Nothing...nothing..." Erevan began before pausing in apparent thought. "Unless..."

"_Unless_, Erevan?" Alaria questioned. She took another dainty bite as she waited for an answer. The chili was particularly tasty, reminiscent of the heavily spiced dishes of her homeland, and warming.

"In the ages passed...before the rise of Men...before the ShiStaliiri made their home in the southern woods...it is said the elves made their burials in sacred mounds...warded by enchantment. Though we, my people, I mean, do not carry on such practice." Erevan explained.

Duor leaped up from his seat beside Alaria. "Are yeh telling me we're sittin' on an elf-tomb!"

Haelan made the curious hand symbol he sometimes did as a "warding" gesture.

"There's no cause for alarm, friend Duor. The enchantments are only for those who would enter such places...Or so I was told as a boy by my mother...She was well-versed in the ways and histories of my father's kind." Fen expained, further.

Alaria recalled tales her studies of Selurian history, much of which was adopted in the dawning years of her own realm."The Selurians, also...If I recall correctly."

"HOT DAMN!" Duor said with a great deal of pleasure. "Wut're we waitin' fer?!"

This outburst confused his companions.

"Are yeh's allll daft or just the hairfoot?!" Duor said as way of explanation.

Seeing no response forthcoming, the dwarf continued.

"We're sitting...and have been passing by!...mounds full of ancient elf...or, even better,_ Selurian_ treasure!" the dwarf explained as he hastily gathered up his belongings.

"If they are so, they aren't going anywhere, Duor. Finish your lunch." Alaria said calmly, though the prospect, she had to admit, was somewhat appealing.

"If they are so," amended Coerraine, sternly, "we are not grave-robbers!" The Redstar Knight turned to Alaria with purpose, "I must protest this course of action."

"Yes! We should not mess with the dead." Haelan added nervously. The poor hairfooted priest's mind was filled with images of all-manner of ravaging undead creatures.

"'Sides, who knows what unnatural stuff we might unleash by disturbing them! Right Fen?! Right? Erevan?" the daelvar looked to his elf-folk companions in hopeful agreement.

"Maybe we should move our luncheon...ya know, outta respect." Haelan looked nervously at the cold damp swamp grass beneath his feet.

"Aw, shut up yeh! Yer belly's as yellow as yer foot-hairs." Duor argued.

"I do not think they mind us taking a peaceful meal, friend daelvar." Fen intoned with a light smile. "However, as to breaching the mounds...if they are, indeed, burial mounds, I too would argue against."

"Course _you_ would, tree-hugger." Duor said with obvious disdain. He was similarly scowling at Coerraine for countermanding him.

"We shall see after we've eaten and rested a bit. Now, Festus? Braddok? Please sit. Eat." Alaria spoke up to diffuse the current debate.

The party passed the next hour in quiet and calm food and conversation.

Finally, as they gathered themselves to continue on, Alaria moved to the edge of the mound on which they stood and intoned her "_Arkanavis_" cantrip to detect mystic energies. 

The purple energy surrounding her outstretched hand and she moved it, slowly around the perimeter of the mound.

To her violet-glowing eyes, the mound on which they'd just lunched did give off a dweomer. As did, at the edge of her vision the mound to the south. To the west and north, she could not see or determine. But these two, most certainly contained powerful enchantments.

This news altered some of the companions attitudes a bit and Coerraine invoked his god-given sight to see if he could make out any "evil." None was forthcoming...but, the young paladin had to admit, he didn't actually know if it could penetrate earth.

"The grass and dirt isn't evil." he said with a smile.

Then his gaze passed into the distance, in the direction of the broad open space before them that Festus presumed to be a lake. The Redstar shuddered a bit to see practically the entirety of the horizon beyond the presumed "lake" gave off a faint glow, perceived by his gold-glowing eyes, as wholely menacing.

"There, however...I do think we will find what we seek." the paladin said, staring beyond the lake.

"Well, ain't _that_ just grand!" Duor said. "SO, easy pickin's elf-treasure or goin' on to the belly of the beast? Wut say yeh's?"

"I am confused, Duor...was it not_ your _suggestion that we go find the dragon's treasure. The great big _evil _dragon...that we_ knew_ to be evil and deadly down through the ages of legend?" Haelan prodded gently. He was making jest at the dwarf's expense, yes. But he was equally concerned at the prospect that their presumed destination was giving off "evil vibes" even at their current distance.

"Whatever we do here," began Coerraine, "I can not..._will_ not leave this swamp without expunging whatever evil..._that _is." 

"Yeh'll do wut I tells yeh, Goldilocks. Yer bound to my protection." Duor argued to many of the company's discomfort.

"Alas, my Charge, you are correct. And seeing you out of the Feldmere, if such is your wish, is what I shall do. But once I have placed you in a secure region. I will return here and see..._that._..wiped off the face of Orea." Coerraine countered, to everyone's surprise, without facing the dwarf. 

"Of course..." added the paladin with an uncharacteristic sly grin on his face, that only Alaria and Haelan caught, "then any treasure I obtain shall be mine, alone."

"LIKE HELLS!" burst the dwarf. "I didn't say we weren't goin' there. I just said, let's see what's in these mounds _first!_" quickly amended the dwarven rogue. 

"Now, boss lady Magess, how'd we get into these magic mounds?" the dwarf offered as a quick change of subject.

"We shouldn't..." began Haelan.

Fen and Erevan just looked at each other. The elf shrugged at the half-elf.
"They _could_ be Selurian in origin, as the magess proposed...Or lizardfolk, for that matter. We just don't know." Erevan said.

"However!" Erevan spoke up, "if we do find evidence that it is an elvin burial place...I respectfully request that we leave it to rest and take nothing we might find from it."

"That is agreeable." Alaria nodded, fully agreeing with the compromise. "I wouldn't suggest any other course."

"Very well." said Fen. "What is the will of the group?"

"If nothing else, perhaps we might find some lost or forgotten _Selurian_ magic that could aid us in our further pursuits." Alaria reasoned for the, hopeful, benefit of Coerraine and Haelan.

A short vote later, it was decided they should at least_ attempt_ to find an entrance into the mound they had eaten on. 
_*
--Next: The Feldmere: Part V "Into the Barrow of the Swan Knight"--*_


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria was able to circle about three-quarters of the mound before her magic sight faded. 

It seemed to her that the western side of the mound was noticably stronger in its aura than the east.

With slow deliberate purpose, the Alaria, Fen, Erevan, Festus and Duor wandered around the base and slopes of the mound. While Coerraine, Braddok and Haelan kept a nervous watch, as best they could, on their surroundings. Buttercream had wandered off again as they'd lunched and startled the halfling with her return, crunching on a large muddy rat-looking thing. 

"We really must work on your manners, Miss 'BC'" Haelan said softly to the ferret, stroking her neck and sure not to go anywhere near the disgusting creature that disappeared with a few loud "crunches" into the ferret's throat.

Buttercream just looked blankly at the daelvar and licked her muddied and bloodied chops.

"Ah, here! What's this?" questioned Festus to the rest as he discovered, with a firm tap of his hoofed foot that caused him to trip, a small mound, hard lump in the ground.

It was covered in moss and muck which Erevan cleared to reveal a triangular white stone sticking out of the ground near the western base of of the mound.

With a bit of digging and pulling away of soft dirt, it became obvious the stone was the top of a thoroughly buried vertical stone, like the one they'd found at the other mound. On one side was carved the same strange elf-like writing. They had only revealed a few inches of the thing and the rest of the thoroughly ancient rock was still encased in the ground, but it was, most definitely the same writing.

With the aid of the larger, stronger, men, they managed to clear away enough of the side with the writing to see about a foot.

Alaria and Erevan had been having a hushed discussion before the magess returned to the stone and pulled out the small elvish spellbook form the dying sorcerer in Silver Falls.

"Let us pray that this stone reveals something to us. We only have one shot at this until I can recopy the incantation from Erevan's tome." the wizard said as she flipped through the small book to the page she wanted.

"_Imporkuel Ap Rehnizus"_ <_mage spell: Comprehend Languages_> she read from the leatherbound booklet. As the words passed her lips, the writing on the page glowed and flared a moment before, by the time the whole spell had been read, the page disintegrated in a puff of bluish smoke and dust. 

Alaria bent down and peered at the stone. She had never used this particular spell of revelation before and raised her eyebrows in surprise to watch as, it appeared to her only, the chiseled lines of the writing of the stone began moving and swirling about on the rock face. 

The lettering repositioned, crisc-crossing and curving serpentine over themselves, into words she could understand.

"'Here lies...If...thrak...Ifthrakuel...the Brave...Knight of Gorth...no...Gorathgraard <_DM's pronounciation note: "gor-ATH'-gray-ard"_>...'" Alaria paused as the "writing" beneath the inscription changed, not into words, but a picture of a swan upon a shield. 

"...And?" Duor blurted when the magess did not say anything further. "How do we get in?"

"That's all it says, Duor." Alaria said calmly, if somewhat defeated. "It does not say anything more."

She placed her hand upon the top of the stone to move herself around to see if there were any discernable writing on the other sides of the stone.

"What's that?!" Festus blurted as her hand had been upon the stone for a moment.

Everyone, naturally, reeled about with weapons at the ready to gaze up the slope where the satyr pointed.

They saw only a grassy muddy slope.

"No...it was there. Do it again!" Festus said to Alaria.

"Do what?" said the now standing magess, her staff in hand for some expected assault.

"Whatever it was you just did...I saw something there...a flicker in the slope. It could have been a doorway..." Festus replied.

Erevan and Fen went up to where Festus was indicating and gave the area a thorough once over, prodding and running their bow and spear along parts of the ground.

Alaria bent down and touched the top of the white stone again. She left her hand there a moment and watched where the elf and half-elf, now joined by the satyr, were prying.

Nothing seemed to happen.

She released the stone and then went back to the side that had the writing. She placed her hand on the stone and repeated the epithet.

The three sylvan adventurers took a step back in alarm as the grassy knoll beneath their feet did, in fact, seem to ripple for a moment and then went still.

Alaria concentrated hard on the stone, now turning to her lessons in magic - How to focus her mind...How to maintain an effect...How to...Yes! She understood...or at least believed she did.

"Erevan, here! Place your hand here and, when I'm ready, repeat what I said." Alaria instructed.

The rest of the party had moved over to where the curious effect had occured while Erevan switched places with the magess.

She placed the butt of her staff against the sloping ground. "Now!" she commaned as she called up the incantation of opening.

Erevan began to again say the words from the stone, with his hand upon it.

The ground did, again ripple and the grasses flickered into and out of view as Alaria spoke.

"_Venta norx!" <mage spell: Knock_> Alaria spoke loudly and tapped the end of her staff upon the hillside again.

Suddenly, the grass and dirt faded from view to reveal a small, roughly foot foot square, indentation in the side of the mound. It was paved and wreathed in solid stone blocks with a single cross-bar supporting the top of the opening. 

The companions looked with surprise and awe at the magically revealed doorway.

"Gotta give it to yeh, boss lady. That is well done." Duor smiled broadly.
"Let's get us some elf...er...I mean, _Selurian_ gold."

Alaria just smiled triumphantly at her companions and, with a thought, caused the top of her staff to flare with the electrical ball of flickering light.

Haelan, with a soft-spoken invocation, set the pinecone-shaped head of his mace ablaze with his own yellowish glow.

One-by-one, the Stormriders entered the barrow.

 The first chamber was tight and cramped, only twenty feet across and long, though thankfully the ceiling had risen to allow the human-folk to stand upright.

Haelan jumped immediately at the site of large skeleton in one of the corners. A broken spear shaft and tattered loincloth seemed to be all that remained of the large thing.

Duor examined the skeleton. The skull was most noticeably not human or elf, looking to everyone's guess like a lizardman. The line of bones that would have been the poor creature's tail confirmed that.

"Well, not elves, it seems." Duor said happily, though lamented the remains did not hold anything of value.

"Nor Selurians." Fen added.

"But lizardmen do not employ enchantments like the ones masking this place." Erevan was sure. "At least none that I've ever heard of."

"It could be the poor fellow just wandered in here and got trapped." Braddok posited.

This cause Haelan to back toward the still open entrance and look nervously outside.

Two simple pillars and a slab of stone across the top indicated a doorway that was simply filled with solid stone.

Duor examined it thoroughly while Alaria continued to study and stare at the strange writings on the pillar.

"What's it say?" asked Festus.

"It doesn't make any sense...except...ah...wait..." Alaria jostled her way around the crouching dwarf to the other pillar and looked intently at those writings.

"Yes...ok. This makes sense." she said more to herself than anyone else.

"What makes sense?" Haelan questioned from the rear.

"The writing goes from floor to ceiling..." her face following the light of her staff which she was moving up along the pillar. "No elf tongue, nor Old Selurian was written in such a fashion, that I recall."

Erevan and Haelan each confirmed the wizard's supposition.

"Alaria, what does it say?" Coerraine questioned after assuring himself, through his gifted vision, that there was no "evil" in the chamber or door that he could perceive.

"This says, again, 'Here lies Ifthrakuel, the Third. Bravest Knight of our lord Gorathiel...may his light shine forever..." Alaria moved back to the left pillar and continued to read.

"Slayer of trolls and giants...Defeat-er?...no...De_fender_ of the Shining Spire...Brought low by the...Dark?...Drake?...It's...it's waring off..." Alaria said in some panic and concentrated harder to maintain the enchantment.

"...the Demon-Drake...Cursed be...herd?...no..._her_ darkness...Then there's something more here...but..." She ran the lit end of her staff along the thoroughly dust covered top-stone, "That's it..the magic has left me."

Alaria frowned at the convaluted lettering behind the dust. There was mroe there...she knew it.

"WELL, bully for If-thats-cool. Sounds like he'll have some nice blades and armor if nothing else." Duor said, distractedly to Braddok, who stood at his side. "Not finding any traps along here. Looks like all we need to do is push." he turned the companions.

"Ok, Pally? Braddok? Get to shovin'." the dwarf rubbed his hands together.

With a disapproving gaze from both of the men, the warriors did as "bidden."

Several heaves later revealed just enough of a space to one side for the companions to barely squeeze through.

Erevan noted the distinctly dry dusty odor of the cool air beyond the slab.

Duor and the broadly shouldered warriors needed a bit of help, pulling from one side and pushing from the other, but they made it.

This chamber was much larger, maybe forty feet across and almost twice as long.

This confused Duor and Erevan who both noted that the mound, itself, only extended about sixty feet.

The stone encased chamber was almost entirely bare of furnishings or obstruction other than an eight by four foot sarcophagus in the middle.

The walls, similarly, were flat but adorned with grandiose paintings that were remarkably preserved in the dry, sealed chamber. They portrayed scenes of huge battles. Brightly armored knights, rays of light shining off of them, with shields, spears and swords and winged helmets did battle with trolls and snake-like dragons and winged demon-looking things.

The largest of the armored warriors seemed to have great white wings coming from his back and floated above the other warriors.

Another scene showed a handsome armored figure in a serene looking glade with a similarly beautiful white gowned maiden having a picnic. A great white stag stood at the edge of the trees and white, elaborately plumed birds and snowy white squirrels filled the tree branches. Fen examined these closely and was particularly curious about the portrayal of the birds, which did not match any variety with which he was familiar.

Duor was "casing" the sarcophagus. He carefully ran his hands over the stone carvings around the sides, shaped like pillars and trees with other images of a sword-wielding knight with a shield on which was a raised swan. He occasionally tapped at this or that part of the sculptures with a slender "wand" like pick. Coerraine stood close by.

"Wheeeeew." whistled Haelan from the far end of the chamber. "Look at this!" the daelvar called to Braddok who had been staying near Alaria as she and Erevan perused one of scenes on the walls.

From the pale glow of the halfling's mace, an object set in a shallow alcove a couple of feet off the floor of the chamber, glittered and sparkled.

"Hot dang!" Duor said and quickly left his examinations only to slump his shoulders in defeat when he arrived at the Hilltender's side.

"Well, t'ain't diamond...still might fetch a price if we could get it outta here." the dwarf murmured under his beard. "Nice craftsmanship, I'll give 'em that."

The other companions moved closer to see the five feet tall crystal carving of a humanoid male. "His" face showed no emotion, staring out in endless vigil over of the chamber. He was armored in rounded scales with a shield at his feet (again with a swan carved upon it) and sword in hand. Cascading off the top and down the sides of the figure were what appeared to be feathers that fell to its feet. 

"Do you think he's an angel?" Haelan said to anyone in general.

"Perhaps all of them are angels?" Coerraine supposed, noting the winged figures in the paintings. "Perhaps this 'White Swan Prince' was some sort of immortal of the higher planes."

"I was dead and the only wings I saw were on a black sphinx." Braddok mentioned...feeling the need to contribute to the conversation. "But, seeing as there is no 'treasure' for us to claim here...and it does seem to be a burial chamber for a noble warrior, I say we leave it in peace."

"Aw c'mon, Braddok. Yeh don't want to see what kind of enchanted sword this guy used? Might be a good'n." the dwarf coaxed. "'Sides, it's obviously all of the loot is in the sarcophagus. Help me open it."

"He does seem to have been quite the champion." Festus added taking in the sparkling crystal statue.   

After some assistance from Festus and Braddok and, reluctantly, Coerraine, Duor slumped to the ground huffing and puffing. The top simply would not budge.

"Hey, Alaria, got another of that opening spell?" the dwarf asked plainly.

"I'm afraid not, Duor." she responded absently, still examining the statue and wall paintings. "Nor," she added after the request had really sunk in, "would I use it to desecrate a hero's tomb."

"That's all I was waiting to hear." Coerraine said. "That will be enough, Duor. We should leave this place in peace."

The dwarf had gone back to examining the carvings around the base of the large stone box. "S'gotta be around here somewhere...AHA!" the dwarf burst triumphantly.

With a flick of his iron pick, Duor caught an edge in an outstretched arm with a sword pointed at a dragon-looking thing. The whole arm and sword moved, with difficulty, to swing down a few degrees.

With a loud "hsssss", displacing dust in all directions, the top of the sarcophagus lifted an inch or so and rotated a few degrees to the side.

"HA! Let's hear it for the dwarf!" Duor preened as he jumped up from the floor and shoved passed Braddok to get to the narrow opening. His celebratory exclamations overshadowing the grating of more stone behind them.

"Wait! NO! The door!" Erevan yelled. He and Fen raced to the stone slab through which they'd entered as it slid, the feet or so it need to reseal with a dull thud.

Braddok and Coerraine now raced for the slab also. The for males heaved to no avail on their only point of egress.

"Ohhhh goat-patties." muttered Festus.

"Yeah, let's hear it for the dwarf, indeed!" hollered Braddok over his shoulder as he and the other men continued to try to move the entry slab.

"ALARIA, behind you!" yelled Haelan next.

Everyone, including Alaria, turned in alarm to see the crystaline statue move and loosen itself from the crystals forming the winged alcove in which he stood.

Every jerky motion made a multitude of "tinkling" sounds, like icicles falling or the tears of a crystal chandelier all clinking together at once.

Alaria had back far enough away to avoid the slashing swing of the statue's crystal sword blade. 

"Duor, I swear by Manat, if we get out of here..." the magess' angry words trailed off as she raced back to put the sarcophagus (and the dwarf) between herself and the crystalline guardian.

"Swear all yeh like, magess. I prefer it in fact." said the dwarf as the green smoky glow of his ethereal dagger whipped out of its sheathe. "But crystal knight or no, I'm havin' this treasure!

"Nobody gets between a dwarf an' his loot!" Duor shouted in challenge to the statue. 

The dwarf easily avoided an overhead swing from the crystal knight, tumbling to the side and regaining his feet in a single smooth motion.

Duor's bushy eyebrows rose high on his head when he noticed the crystal blade had not shattered against the stone floor, as he had hoped. but instead left a foot long gash in the rock.

"Eh...'cept his personal paladin of course. Get over here Goldilocks! Might need a bit o' protectin' right about now!" Duor amended as he dove and rolled away from another sword swipe.

Again, the sword blade dug into the stone of the floor.

Duor also noticed an eerie chill emanating from his facetted foe.

"It's awfully cold!" he called as a general statement to his comrades' benefit. 

The Redstar Knight was already racing for the dwarf's position, shield in hand and invoking a "smite" from his Lord and God. The young paladin, also, noted the chill of the air surrounding the statue. It bit at him, even through his armor.

"Haelan, the statue is obviously enchanted, we could use..." Alaria began to say.

"On it!" answered the Hilltender briefly before beginning to invoke his Hill Mother.
_
"Deisa Faerantha, dicteus beneficia spiritos y tiem paras!_"

As he charged forth, Haelan did not notice the lack of the _Blessing_ invocation's normal honey-colored glow.

Alaria, however, did notice. She turned to look at Erevan and Braddok.

The elf let fly with an arrow from his enchanted quiver. The bolt did strike the statue in the upper arm and stuck. His second bolt missed by a hair to shatter against the stone wall.

But the bow was not glowing. Neither was Braddok's sword.

"Haelan, something's not right..." Alaria called even as she called to mind the verse for the spell of energy shards.

With a battle-cry echoing through the chamber, Coerraine stabbed at the statue, but the holy aura of his spear blade seemed to flicker and disappear as he struck. The blow, which should have felled an ogre, skated harmlessly off of the crystal warriors swan-emblazoned shield.

"_Everx zaar!_" called Alaria. Two bolts of blue-violet energy streaked to the statue's back and blasted upon it. But when the impressive looking light dispersed, there was almost no visible damage.

Haelan struck at the back of the statue's knee and though the blow was true, there was little more than a crack. Haelan almost lost his grip on the mace at the reverberations that shook up his arm. "What the...?" puzzled as the daelvar as he caught a swing of the crystal sword on his enchanted shield.

Festus' and Braddok's assaults similarly seemed to do little to damage the thing, but did take some minor chips off the statue's sparkling edges.

Festus jumped back after his strike. Alaria had not gotten used to seeing how effortlessly the satyr could move himself with a single good push off his goat haunches. The ranger landed a good fifteen feet away from the statue.

"Brrrr. What is that?! Like walking into a glacier at Midwinter." the ranger mentioned before again charging forth with his falchion and magic short sword flailing before him.

"Maybe we are fighting an angel?" Fen posed, as he came up behind Alaria.

The warrior's next swing made contact with Festus, sending the satyr wheeling to the floor with a long bloody gash across his chest.

The statue's next swing was caught, again, on Coerraine's shield as the paladin attempted to move into a position between it and the satyr. The paladin struck out with his spear only to have it jarred to the side without damage.

"Here's what I think'a magic statues!" hollered Duor, who had slunk into a position behind the statue as Haelan ran over to the sorely wounded satyr.

The dwarf struck forward with impressive accuracy and the ethereal dagger sunk deeply into the statue's crystalline waist.

The whirling of the wounded supernatural warrior wrenched the dagger's handle from the dwarf's hand even as the crystal sword fell into the dwarf's shoulder with as much ease as the ethereal dagger had pierced the crystal.

The dwarf fell to the ground, bleeding from a deep wound to his shoulder. 

Coerraine swiftly rounded the crystal knight to stand before the dwarf before the next attempted blow clanged loudly off the paladin's shield.

"Get back!" called Fen. But the warrior and Redstar Knight did not heed his warning. The druid was forced to wait to invoke his entangling spell...or think of something else.

Alaria, also, was at a lose with so many of their companions clustered around the statue.

Braddok was now the recipient of their crystal foe's diamond-like blade. He shrugged off the pain of the fairly minor blow to his swordarm. But the cold was biting into him. His fingers, even gloved, felt like ice around his sword's pommel.

"Everyone, get back!" Alaria now shouted in her most commanding tone. 'We need a clear field!"

This caught most of the warriors attentions, though Haelan was still kneeling over the bloody satyr. The golden glow of his healing magics just fading from around his hands and the concerned looking halfling stood and helped to raise the sore, but no longer bleeding, ranger and back away from the statue.

Coerraine shoved the statue with his shield and succeeded in moving it a step or two away from Duor. He turned as Braddok grabbed the bleeding dwarf and half-dragged him toward the magess and druid.

"_Everx zaar!"_ came Erevan's cry from the back of the chamber a moment before a shard of blue-green energy raced through the room and blasted on the side of the statue's helmed head. It seemed to do nothing to damage the enchanted object, but succeeded distracting it from the retreating heroes.

The statue began to move, with purpose, toward the elf.

Fen began castign before Alaria could form the words and a flash of green lightning streaked along the floor from where Fen had slammed down the butt of his spear. The green glow faded into the floor and a moment later the statue found itself swinging at ancient roots and very thick vines that crashed up through the stones beneath its feet.

"Now what?" called Erevan as he sent two more enchanted arrows into the crystal man.

The statue's translucent blade easily sliced through the whipping vines and roots, which continued to regrow and replace themselves in constant attempts to get a grip on the statue.
_
"Everx imberil rex!_" conjured Alaria and fanned her hands out at an angle that did not endanger any of her comrades. 

Violet and red flames arced through the chamber and slammed into the statue. Several strands of vegetation caught ablaze and the figure writhed in silent futility as the flames clung to it.

There was much sizzling and hissing. Steam seemed to be pouring off of the statue. A moment after the magic fire struck it, it seemed to begin shrinking.

As the flames began to sputter and die down, it could be seen that the features of the statue were rounding...shrinking...the sword blade had all but disappeared down to the hilt, the shield was only half the size it had been originally. Then, to everyone's surprise, the crystal knight seemed to break in two, at the waist.

By the time the_ burning hands_ had entirely expended itself  a single "foot" and "leg" stood on the ground with a large "lump" that had been its torso.

The rest of the "statue" was just a steaming puddle.

Erevan cautiously went over the the "remains" of their enchanted enemy. He reach out to touch the puddle and sniffed his fingers.

"Erevan don't!" Fen said with alarm.

He held his fingers up to the collected party. "It's only water." the elf said in obvious surprise.

"And tha's what happens when you get 'tween a dwarf n' his treasure." Duor said weakly. "Now...lil' healing here."

Receiving scowls from almost everyone in the party, the dwarf felt the need to amend.

"What?! Oh. t'uh. Fine...'a lil' healing here..._please'_?"


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria rolled her eyes and left the assembled party to inspect the watery remains of their "crystalline" foe. If was, to all appearances, that the statue had, in fact, simply been made of ice. Enchanted, supernaturally strong ice, yes. But ice nonetheless.

"The door didn't open." Braddok noted. "Aren't the trap doors supposed to open when you defeat the trap?" The Grinlian swordsman didn't know why he thought that...but he did.

"Put the top back on the sarcophagus." Festus posed. "That oughta reset the thing and let us move the door again."

"Like hells! Are yeh mad, goat-butt?" Duor burst.

Healan, who was in the midst of healing the wounded dwarf, frowned at the interruption.

"We'll see what's inside first. We just destroyed the guardian after all. Shoulda known...tombs always have guardians. But fair's fair! We beat the guardian, the treasure is ours! Them's the rules." Duor continued in protest.

"The rules?" Fen said with an amused grin on his face.

Braddok conceded that since they had just faced death, and the sarcophagus was already open, they might as well take a look before closing it.

With great effort by the two human men, they swung the lid to the side a bit more.

Duor raced up to peer in. "But...wuh...Haelan bring that light over here."

The daelvar cleric came over and reached his mace-head out over the top of the opening. He raised himself onto his toes to get a limited peer inside.

"I dno't see anything." the Hilltender informed the rest of the group.

Duor had stuck his whole head in the stone box. "This can't be right! Where's the treasure?! Where's the magic goodies?! We beat the guardian!"

"And we're still trapped in some swan champion's tomb." Coerraine noted. "Replace the lid."

"Buh...but..." the dwarf was reaching in to feel around the interior of the box. "It has to be an illusion. Alaria, do the magic detecty thing you do.
Something has to be here."

Alaria strode over to the open cask and, not seeing anything herself, conceded to Duor's request. A moment later, she confirmed there was no illusion nor any kind of magic in the sarcophagus.

"Why'd yeh be daft enough to build a tomb, enchant the entrance, put a great big slab of stone in front of it AND a magic icy thing to guard it if there was no treasure! There's not even a body in here!" the dwarf was beside himself.

"But look there." Alaria pointed back to the alcove where the statue-guardian had stood. "That, is most definitely magical."

The feathered wings that formed the back of the five-foot tall alcove were glowing to her mystic sight and the dweomer seemed to be increasing as she neared it.

With all of the attention on the stone slab that trapped them and the sarcophagus, noone had noticed that the carved crystalline ice that formed the feathered wings had begun to melt. Water was quietly dripping and beginning to stream off the sculpture.

"I see a light beyond it..." Haelan mentioned as he moved closer. "Do you see that?"

It was evident as the remains of the alcove continued to melt away, a light was obvious through it. Much brighter than the light was outside the mound in the mist-shrouded Feldmere.

"Put the lid back. Let's get out of here. That could be another guardian or some other threat." Coerraine proposed. It was sound tactics not fear that fueled his desire to leave this place.

Haelan tentatively reach up with his mace and tapped the melting structure. A good chunk of it gave way and crumbled to the floor of the chamber. Followed by a blast of cold air. Fresh, but cold.

A few snow flakes flew into the opening.

Alaria back away as the warriors moved forward. "Haelan, get away from there." she suggested quietly as the rest of the ice "wings" melted and crumbled out onto the floor revealing a four foot high, two foot long opening that looked out on a peaceful rolling landscape, entirely blanketed in snow.

"This is a portal..." Alaria said with more than a bit of surprise and awe.

"A portal to where?" adked Festus as peered closer at the opening.

"To where the treasure is, that's fer sher." Duor said with absolute certainty.

"We...hnnnn...don't know that." groaned Coerraine as he tried to replace the lib of the sarcophagus by himself.

"Could be to an alternate dimension...the fairy world perhaps?" Fen said in sincere curiosity. 

"Or just to somewhere in our own world filled with snow...high in the Worldcrest mountains, perhaps." mused Alaria. She was thoroughly intrigued but had a limited understanding of magical portals and did not wish for them to be trapped beyond.

"Well, it's not outside." Haelan said in a completely sincere attempt to aid in the analysis.

"Yeh don't say?!" Duor exclaimed in exaggerated mocking.

"Or a silver white realm of snow and ice?...the _Ballad of the Swan Prince_ seems to be more accurate than it first sounded." Erevan observed.  

"So, you think the Swan Prince's realm is through there?" Haelan asked.

"That would mean that's where the Black Swan...er...Dragon is then? I thought ut was in Nor Gorthok?" Festus inquired. "I'm all for a trip to the fairy-land...but it looks awfully cold in...or..._out_ there. Couldn't we find a portal to the 'spring' side of things? Or summer?"

The air now easily breezed into the chamber, with snow occasionally accompanying it. It was getting quite cold in the chamber. But the scene was very peaceful. The air crisp and clear...the scent of freshly fallen snow all around them. There was a brightness in the sky, but no sun, per se, that could be scene and the snows that fell were the softest flurry...almost welcoming, as opposed to a raging blizzard.

Therer was a thud and a "hssss" again as Coerraine finally got the lid closed. The stone slab that formed the "door" to the tomb chamber did not open. The paladin and warrior strained upon it, again, as they had from the outside. It still would not budge.

"We really aren't equipped to go there." Alaria noted. "If we camp here and wait until tomorrow, I could use the spell of opening again to get us back to the swamp...if that is, indeed what is still outside that door."

"Can't you just read it from the book?" Haelan asked.

"I am _not_ sacrificing one of my upper tier spells, and one of the most useful, just to leave here, now." Alaria said with a bit of irritation. "If we _must _get out now, there's the way." 

"Well....could you magic us up some fur boots?" Haelan again suggested.

"Got my own, thanks. Heh heh." Festus said to lighten the mood.

"Erevan and I...and Festus could go scouting?" Fen offered.

"I would rather you not." Alaria replied. We don't know how this portal works or where it actually leads. I would not want you trapped on the other side. If we are to go, we will all go. What say you?" The magess turned to the rest of the group.

There was further discussion and it was decided that they would attempt to explore the winter wonderland before them.

Haelan agreed to invoke his goddess...he was fairly sure he could ward the three humans and himself against the cold. But once they were out of the chamber. He didn't want his prayers to fizzle in the chamber as his Blessing had. He still didn't understand that.

They passed through, one by one, to come to standing on the snowy hillslope that looked down upon a narrow wood and a silver lake beyond.

"Wooooooah." Haelan said in his typical way.

Following the daelvar's gaze, the other companions turned to see they had "entered" this strange realm from between the legs of a massive  statue, whether it was crystal or the enchanted ice, they couldn't say. The figure was that of the "swan knight" they had seen in the chamber.

Even more impressive were the three other statues that dotted the landscape "behind" them. A fourth, partially destroyed, "broken off" about half-way up its torso rose from further back in the snow laden woods. Two more giant shoulders and heads could be made out even further back in the woods.

"DAMMIT ALL!" shouted Duor as the dwarf raced back to the "portal" they had walked through, which appeared from this "side" to be just a wall of ice. 

A few of the heroes ran back with Duor as the dwarf discovered that he could reach his hand into the wall of ice...with a bit of pushing, he felt as if he were reaching "through" it. 

Braddok, without a thought and before anyone could stop him pressed his face into the ice wall until his head and shoulders were gone. 

"Oh my gods!" Haelan cried in dismay.

Alaria's heart leaped up into her throat.

Coerraine and Festus quickly grabbed the warrior and pulled him back.

There was a smile on his face. "It's ok. It goes back to the chamber. We can get back if we have to."

"See. That's why I love this guy!" Duor smiled. "Now we know! Well done dead-man."

"Braddok, please do not do something like that again." Alaria said with a calming exhale.

With Haelan's invocation, Alaria and the other humans noticed a distinct drop in the cold. It was more like a late autumn chill than any debilitating winter's cold. Fen's cloak afforded him some protection from the elements and the half-elf did not complain. Similarly, Erevan and Fen's physiology were not adversely effected. Duor, also, refused to complain. 

"Colder'n this in the rocky deep." he smiled though there was the occasional chattering of teeth which the dwarf deeply avowed were not his.

"Look there." pointed Festus.

Out, across the lake, a single towering spire of white and silver rose from the lake.

"Looks like a destination to me." Duor piped up. "Good place to hide some loot. Let's get a move on."

The party began their descent to the narrow stretch of trees that seemed to surround the lake.

Fen noted, compared to the time of day they had entered the mound, the hazy white ball of light in the sky was not where "a sun should be".

"Definitely not." Festus comfrimed.

Everyone was startled by two snowy white grouse that burst from the field ahead of them.

"Dinner!" Duor exclaimed. But frowned in disappointment when neither Festus nor Erevan raised their bows.

Fen and Erevan watched the frightened creatures in blissful appreciation. They disappeared somewhere behind a small dune far away from them. 

"I don't think we're in the Feldmere anymore." Haelan stated, as if he were revealing some great secret.

"I am inclined to agree, friend Hilltender." Fen smiled. "Besides, Duor, don't you know you never want to eat anything in the fairyland? You will never be able to return to the mortal realms."

Everyone looked at Fen in surprise.

"That's how my mother told it." the druid shrugged in response.

Festus was distinctly on edge. Duor took great pleasure in teasing the satyr that they "must be in the fairy realm, prob'ly pixies all over the joint."

The party was nearly at the treeline below them when they first heard the wolves.

"Awooooo" sounded form somewhere far behind them. 

Erevan's head pricked to the side. He turned to look up the slope behind them.

A second howl went up, further away. Erevan turned to Fen.

"We should hurry." the druid said. "That sounded like a 'hunting' howl."

Festus jumped up into the air to land ten feet behind everyone else. "Did'ja see that?!" he said with alarm.

The party looked to where, along the trees, the ranger was pointing with his falchion. They saw nothing.

"Pixie, was it?" Duor mumbled under his beard and continued to trek through the snowy field that was nearing the dwarf's waist.

"No! There was a lady...a white lady...made of snow..." Festus explained. Though the nervousness in his tone belied the fact he firmly believed...whatever he saw, was somehow "fairy related."

"The satyr's powers of perception seem very acute, Duor. You are wrong to tease him." Coerraine said.

The party continued walking but kept an eye in the direction the ranger had pointed.

"There she is!" Haelan said triumphantly. "Oh. No...Nevermind. Just a snowy covered tree stump."

The howls of wolves again rose to their ears. Even the humans could tell they were closer than before.

"Double time it, people." Duor said in all seriousness.

They were following the ranger and elf into through the woods, fully expecting to break through and see the lake and silver spire before them at any moment. 

Yet minutes went by and all they saw was the pristine forest blanketed in snow and ice.

A breeze blew through the trees and disturbed the flurrying snow. Alaria sworn she saw a woman's figure form before them, but in a moment it was gone.

"I...think...I just saw her too." Alaria alerted the others. "Anyone else?"

Erevan was tempted to pull an arrow back in his bow, but somehow didn't feel the need. The whole of the place was peaceful. Natural. Entirely beautiful. Nothing about it, or the female form he too had noticed in the blustering snow, caused him alarm. Still he confirmed that he had noticed it and stated that he didn't feel they were in any danger from it.

"A snow woman in an enchanted winter-land?" Festus asked. "Really, my good friend master elf. What could be more dangerous!?"

The wolves sounded behind them again. Several of them coming from different sides.

"To the trees, I think." Fen suggested. "They are only moments away."

"Then we fight!" Braddok snarled and turned at their would-be assailants.

"I would rather we didn't." Fen said calmly.

First one, then two, snow white does came bursting through the trees and underbrush, and a fawn behind those, all racing passed the party without a thought other than to avoid trampling them.

"Wow. White deer are really pretty." Haelan said to noone in particular. "I wonder why we don't have white deer in the Free Hollows. I've heard of a black one before. Gilbert Brambletoes has a stag's skull on the wall of his tavern that he claims to be a black stag...but I've never actually seen one...The white ones are much..."

"Haelan, focus please." Alaria mentioned casually as she sped her own pace and looked nervously to either side of the path they were on.

"...nicer." Haelan finished quietly.

There was rustling in the snowy bushes on both sides. But no wolves were yet seen.

Then the wind whipped up again and the female form in the blowing flakes formed before them again. Everyone could see her now.

"GAH! SNOW FAIRY!"Festus shouted in alarm.

Fen used his spear to lower the ranger's swords.

The form seemed to be motioning to them with her hand. Motioning to follow.

Then a dark grey wolf leaped out onto the path behind them. It was most definitely larger than a normal wolf and snarled menacingly at the party ahead of it.

Two more, both mostly white, crashed through brush and jumped over fallen snow-covered trees to either side.

Erevan, reluctantly drew <_Dm's note: *not* from his enchanted quiver_>and fired at one of the flanking wolves. It struck the leaping creature and with a whine of pain, the wolf fell into the snowy brush.

Alaria jobbed at the other beast leaping at her and with a spark of electricity, sent it flying over their heads to the opposite side of the path. The beast's fur smoldered a bit and the whole area now smelled of ionized air.

"Follow her!" Fen said and made a break down the opening in the crowded forest flow toward the snow-formed woman. She dispersed well before Fen reached her, but the direction was clear.

Alaria followed and Haelan. Then the rest. Festus cursed under his goateed chin, decidedly more happy to take on a pack of wolves.

Erevan fired another arrow to land at the feet of the large grey wolf who had yet to dare to take on the spear-wielding Redstar Knight or the sword-swing warrior beside him.  

Two twists through the woods later, they broke the treeline to stand upon a beach of white ringing the lake's edge. 

The howls of the wolves close behind.

"Come on, there!" Fen pointed again and took off. Further down the beach was a long skiv, seeming carved of ice and in the swape of a swan at the prow.

Fen waited as the others climbed into the boat and waited for the wolves to break onto the breach before he intoned, again, the incantation of entanglement. To the druid's utter surprise, insytead of roots and vines breaking from the ground, the snow covered and white-barked birch trees bent and reach down to grab the lupines and fling them high up over the trees back into the forest.

The creatures howled and whined as they flew and landed somewhere far back in the woods.

"That's new." Observed Haelan.

The druid climbed into the ice-carved boat and as they noticed a lack of paddles or oars, the boat simply left the beach. Floating them out, smoothly, across the curiously unfrozen water toward the tall shining spire in the center of the lake.


----------



## steeldragons

*The Feldmere: Part VI: The Swan Maid*

The party kept their eyes glued to the tall silvery spire upon the small isle in the center of the mirror lake.

It was obvious, as they neared, that the shining light that provided a "sun" of sorts for this wintery realm was fixed directly over the tip of the tower.

Around the base of the isle, a multitude of swans calmly swam about, leaving trailing ripples in the otherwise perfectly still reflective surface of the lake.

A few snowy white egrets could be seen poking about the lightly colored reeds at the island's edge. Haelan and Fen observed one, as they neared a short low pier of white wood, pull a silvery fish out of the shallows and gulp it down hungrily.  

The swan shaped skiv in which they rode came to a smooth even halt at the side of the pier.

"Guess we get off here?" Festus said tentatively. He was becoming increasingly nervous in this strange land which, "obviously!", was inhabited by "snow fairies."

"'Course we get off here, goat-butt. This is where the treasure is!" Duor scoffed at the satyr as he clamoured out of the boat before anyone else.

The companions stood, calmly on the short pier and, after taking in the elegant and beautifully carved tower, began wandering to the shore.

Before Duor could set foot on the actually ground of the isle, a breeze swept up and the form of the woman of snow again coalesced before them. Eventually, she was entirely solid and the breeze subsided.

She was about five and half feet tall with curling locks of the palest blond, almost white, that flow freely all about her down to her waist. She was swathed in a fitted gown with billowing skirts, all of white with intricate brocade of glistened like actual silver. Her exposed skin was, likewise, incredibly pale.

Her eyes were most captivating, large and round, with irises that also glittered of metallic silver. They seemed to convey curiosity, a calming wisdom, and soul-piercing intensity all at once.

She said nothing, but just looked from one companion to the next.

"Snow fairy!" Festus burst and again drew his blades.

She looked at the satyr as if he were a blank wall.

Braddok stepped forward to lower the ranger's blades.

"She's definitely not one of my people." Erevan whispered to Alaria.

"Is that a Selurian, Alaria?" Haelan asked nervously recalling at once the archivist's description of them as "albino" but also calling to mind the horrid tales he'd heard as a child of the demon-worshipping, infant-eating, would-be world conquurers of the last age.

"I...I don't know Haelan." Alaria said calmly, attempting to take in as much of the woman's facial expressions and body language as she could. Her Magess' curiosity flooded her mind with her own quetstions. What, in fact, was she? Who was she? Where were they? What did this have to do with the tomb...or the dragon...the poem...Nor Gorthok?

"Ok, Snow Lady, where's the treasure?" Duor blabbed.

The woman just cocked her head and looked at Duor.

Her expression was unchanged and yet, the dwarf felt firmly cowed.

"Greetings, my lady." Coerraine posed to the silent woman. "We've come to...um..from..." the paladin's attempt at an elegant introduction halted as the woman's gaze turned to him. 

She looked at him for a moment and the slightest, most demure, courtly grin formed on her lips. She blinked.

"Are you a Selurian?" Haelan asked, his face full of sincerity and curiosity.

The woman looked at the daelvar and grinned further.

"Thou wouldst be heroes. Yet thou coat and arm a child?" the woman said with...not concern...but curiosity.

"I'm not a child! I'm a fully grown daelvar, thank you very much. I have a full thirty-five springs." Haelan protested. <_DM's note: In Orea, it is true that most of the hairfooted folk _are,_ actually, born in the spring. Even if they are not, the daelvar measure age by number of springs, regardless of when in the year one is actually born._> 

"Apologies, gentle folk" the woman replied with a short curtsy. "I have ne'er seen one of thy kind. Be at peace and welcome to Gorathgraard."

"Aight, so yer talking now. So let's not have any upset. Where's the treasure? We fought the tomb guardian of Eats-his-gruel and..."

The woman's silver eyes turned to the dwarf with obvious surprise. The first indication of emotion she had revealed.

"Thou hast seen Itzizgruel?!" the woman breathed in shock. "He lives yet?"

"Apologies, my lady. But no." Alaria interjected in an attempt to get things more on track and, hopefully, some information. "My dwarven companion has the name mistaken. We entered this realm from the tomb of_ Ifthrakuel_."

"I see." she said, obviously deflated. "Yay. Ifthrakuel was one of the first to fall. Of Itzizgruel I have known not for..." She lifted her silvery gaze to the top of the large statue breaking the tree tops beyond the edge of the inner woods.

A tear formed from the woman's eye and trailed down her cheek before seeming to freeze and fall, solid, with a soft sound into the snow about her feet.

"My lady," Coerraine attempted to begin again, "if I may, what is this place? How did you come to be here? What is your name that we might thank you for the timely assistance in the woods."

She nodded. "Nay. Thy thanks art necessary not, fine paladin. Thou art of obvious character and valiant cause. Though, I confess, I nay have ken thy coat of arms. Long has it been since I stopt to dream for champions for Gorathgraard."

"Is that where we are? You still haven't answered the Selurian question...your, um, ladyship." Haelan asked.

"Swanmae! I've got it! You're a swanmae!" Festus burst. "Not so bad as fey-folk go...definitely not like pixies...and, if I may say, one lovely to behold." the satyr concluded with a leery smile and raise of his eyebrow as he noticeably adjusted his crotch.

"A...what? Yay, I was once called as one of our lord's Swan _Maids._ Though of the faye art I surely _not! _ Surely not so nearly as thou, satyr." she replied with some annoyance.

"So you _are_ a Selurian, then?" Helan again pressed. He was getting decidedly fearful at the lack of answer.

"A 'Sel-ur'...? Ah, yes. I remember. One of the White Tribe of the East, thou means? Nay. Our lord gave us this place long before their rise.

"Though I see the Green Tribe of the South still roams the land. Star-blood or nay I wouldst know thy kind anywhere, traitor!" she concluded with a scowl in Fen's direction. The breeze returned and raged a bit around the lake and island before subsiding.

"The Green...what? No, milady. No! I am of the Holy Order of Mist-" Fen began to explain with his most charming smile in an attempt to soften the maid's disposition.

"Thy charms art wasted on one such as I." she said now fully frowning at the company. The winds again rose and intensified and became bone-chilling.

"Alright. That's enough of that. Nice goin', druid. I'm gettin' my treasure _now_!" Duor growled and withdrew his ethereal blade.

"Heroes thou wouldst pretend, yet I art to be deceived by the Black One, once again! I pray for champions and find delivered, instead...

"Greed!" she spat at Duor.

"Lust!" to Festus.

"Apathy and Avarice!" toward Fen and Erevan.

"Ambition!" toward Alaria.

"My lady, no!" Alaria protested. "We're here to help! Duor, stay your blade!"

Duor made a dive toward the woman, his intent clear.

She did not move, nor spoke any word, but the winds now swirled around Duor's form. The mini-blizzard entirely shrouding the dwarf from the others' sight.

When the winds and snows dispersed after a moment, where Duor had been now appeared a crystalline statue of blue-white ice, in the shape of the dwarf. Only the green smoky glow of his dagger was unchanged, in the frozen grip of his now ice hand.

"My lady, please!" Coerraine said in horror.

Her gaze, now filled with anger shot at the paladin and then softened immediately.

"Yay. But I am also brought valor..." she said, again softly.

"Innocence." she said turning her silver eyes to a fright-filled Haelan.

"And one touched by the Eight...Desri, is it?...if I do not forget." looking to Braddok.

"Well, I never actually _touched_ her...but um...Yeah, you could say we 'met'...kind of." Braddok replied, with a nervous look at Duor's form.

"My lady...could you...um...unfreeze our friend, please?" Haelan asked politely. His eyes glued in shock to the ice sculpture that had been their dwarf rogue.

She grinned lightly and blinked slowly.

A moment after, Duor transitioned, before their eyes, to be a living breathing, if impossibily cold, dwarf again. He dropped to his hands and knees. The ethereal dagger falling from his grasp. The dwarf shook uncontrollably from the cold.

Festus rushed forth and placed his woolly patchwork travelling cloak over the dwarf and rubbed him vigorously to warm him up.

"W-w-wuh're yeh w-waitin' f-f-f-fer. Slag her!" the dwarf protested, noting none of his companions attacking.

"Be still, Duor!" Alaria commanded. "And be grateful to her ladyship. Lest you spent the rest of your days as a sculpture."

"W-wuh?" the dwarf said confused. He looked up at the again totally blank stare of the white woman. "Yeah. Ok. Thanks blizzard witch." he said under his beard.

"Very well. Peace." said the woman. She seemed to stare off again, beyond the party.

When her eyes returned to the strange assembly of "heroes" on the pier, she again spoke, "Apologies, my hospitality hast become lax in my time. Come. Let thee warm thyselves by my fire. If thou wouldst like."

"Yes! Thank you, lady." Alaria interjected before anyone else could speak.

"May we have thy...er...thou...um..._your _name, lady?" Braddok again asked gently. "That we may thank you, properly."

"Amthyriine..." she said softly. Then, with more strength. "I was known as Amthyriine." <_DM's pronounciation note: "AM-theer-ee-en"_>

Without another word, nor waiting for any thanks from the company, she turned and seemed to float more than step over the snow, leaving no footprints, to the single large doorway at the base of the tower.

Slowly, with cautious looks to each other, the party followed.

Erevan found himself feeling some unknown sadness as his companions trudged their way through the serene blissfully undisturbed snow as they followed.

Fen, Braddok noticed with surprise, seemed to walk over the snow. His footsteps not disturbing a single flake nor leaving any trail at all. Druid magic, something in the warrior's mind told him.

Alaria's mind was a flurry as she followed the woman, keeping a close eye on her back...for all of the good that'll do! she thought. She was desperately cataloging what little they had revealed.

This realm was called "Gorathgraard" which had to somehow be related to Nor Gorthok...This woman, Amthyriine, was one of the "Swan Maids" of the legend of the Swan Prince...how long again was that, again? She didn't know what a daelvar was?...and the Selurians she referred to as 'the White Tribe'...which Alaria could recall and confirmed to herself.

It seemed they had been correct to assume that Ifthrakuel, and apparently someone named Itzizgruel, had been one of the Swan Knights of the legend...She had mentioned being deceived by the "Black One" which Alaria could only presume to refer to the "Black Swan" of the Ballad...which archivist Felton asserted to be imagery for dragons...how laughable.  

Her mind, unbidden, went to the "Black Wizard", Tresahd...what was it the elves were calling him on the battle-front? The "Black Drake"...Drake...Dragon? No...That could _not_ be! Alaria shook the thought from her mind and laughed inwardly at her own unfounded leaps as she entered the silver tower.


----------



## Lwaxy

Finally done reading, can't wait to see where this is going now. They always surprise me.


----------



## steeldragons

_<Author's Errata: As a point of clarification, Amthyriine should have referred to Selurians as 'the White Tribe of the *West*' not 'East' as was posted. It is really neither here nor there, but for the reader's understanding and world consistency, the White Tribe...who would become the Selurian nation...were from the West, not the East. /Errata. Moving on...>_

The party entered the base chamber of the tower. It was massive, easily 100-150 feet in diameter. The walls and floor were composed of the same white and silvery stone at the exterior and the whole space glowed with a soft white light. Compared to the glaring reflection of the snow covered landscape outside, the softer light was most welcome. 

'Stark' was the best way to describe the huge round chamber. In the center of the room a large (20' diameter) circular firepit burned with a low even flame. Around the pit, chairs, stools, benches and divans all strewn liberally with bright white and pale grey furs. 

A single stone staricase off the right twirled around the outer wall to disappear at a landing high above them at the easily 50 foot ceiling. A second staircase, leading down, far at the far side of the chamber.

"Make thy selves at ease and comfort. I shall present refreshment." Amthyriine said and "moved" across the wide hall (as her skirts seemed to simply flow across the floor, making no sound or motion of "steps") to the stairs leading down.

The party, for the most part, made themselves comfortable in the various warm seats around the fire.

"She said she was not faye. Yet, we have no confirmation this is not actually a fairy-realm." cautioned Erevan. "I would counsel against partaking of any of her refreshments."

"There is something off about her to be sure. Not a Selurian. Not a faye. Did you see, she left no tracks in the snow? She may be some kind of lost spirit or something." Braddok posed quietly.

"Well neither do I and I'm not a spirit." defended Fen.

"No. Yer a 'traitor'. Wud'ja think she meant by that, hmm?" Duor said mockingly.

Fen just shrugged in return to the questioning eyes of the rest of the companions.

The dwarf took one of the pale grey furs from ff the seat he'd been standing by, waiting for Amthyriine to exit down the stairs. He wrapped himself in it and, silently (thanks to his magic boots), began padding across the room to the walls. He carefully inspected the floor and walls as he went. He removed a glove and ran his hand along the strange white stone. No seems. No irregularities. Very much warmer than stone "should be" according to the dwarf.

"Duor, do not offend our hostess." Alaria whispered, much annoyed by the rogue's uncoothe behavior.

"I think we can be at ease here." Coerraine suggested as the golden glow of his mystic sight left his eyes. "There is nothing here that is evil. Indeed, I sense a pervading warmth of good and peace."

"Sure it isn't the fire? It is lovely warm." Haelan posed snuggling into the furs of the chair he had hoisted himself into.

Coerraine looked at the cleric with mild humor. "I am sure, friend Haelan."

"We must get answers." Alaria said, again, quietly. Yet the openness of the chamber seem to amplify all but the weakest whisper.

"Indeed we do, boss lady. Like where's the bloody treasure?" Duor replied absently as he placed an ear to a section of wall and tapped lightly with his fist.

"Alas, dwarf, the riches of Gorathgraard are not here. Nor mine to give, if they were." came Amthyriine's voice to everyone's surprise. The white clad maiden had ascended the stairs carrying a tray on which sat eight large and deep, beautifully crafted, silver goblets studded with white stones and crystals. 

"They were lost to us when *she* ensnared our lord with her wicked wiles." she added as she came to the firepit and passed out the goblets.

'OOoooo! Hot chocolate! How did you know?" smiled Haelan.

Alaria looked at the steaming liquid in her own goblet and sniffed deeply. "Lady, Amthyriine, if I may ask, who is 'she'. Is...is this...black ginger tea?" the magess asked in surprise.

"Is it?" replied Amthyriine, obviously not sure.

For Festus, Braddok and the two elf-folk a warm steaming mulled red wine.

Coerraine looked at his goblet in surprise as well and asked the white lady, "Is this really warm sheep's milk with nutmeg?" The Redstar Knight tried to remember the last time he had partaken of the traditional winter "nog" of his homeland.

"With honey brandy if I do not forget the tastes of the Red Tribe of the South." Amthyriine smiled back at the paladin.

"Art they not to thy liking?" she seemed concerned she had served the wrong thing when none of the companions partook of her offerings. "I couldst prepare alternate libation, if thou wouldst prefer."

"Forgive us, lady. But it isn't magicked or anything is it?" Haelan blurted with sincerity. The poor daelvar was practically licking his lips to get at the sweet frothy chocolate staring him in the face.

"Poisoned, perhaps?" Duor offered, surreptitiously returning to the circle to take the goblet and sniff deeply as the deep golden warmed cognac in his cup. "Sweetstone Amber?! Where'd you find this?" 

To their collected surprise, the dwarf didn't waste a moment waiting for a reply, but took a long sip accompanied by a satisfying moan deep in his throat. "Aaaaaah. That's the_ real_ thing. *buuuurp* Mm. Nothin' wrong with this stuff."

Amthyriine smiled lightly at the dwarf's apparent satisfaction.

"Forgive our hesitation, my lady. But time abroad has taught us to be cautious." Braddok explained.

The pale woman nodded with a sadness the companions had not expected to see. "It is to be understood. I thou assure no enchantment nor poison wouldst I soil the hospitality of the House of Gorathiel...even unto his enemies."

"You must understand, Amthyriine, that you have exhibited more than a small talent for the Mysteries. And we still do not understand how we came to be in this enchanted place or what effect it may have." Alaria explained in as courtly and congenial a manner as she could muster.

"Enchanted...yay. Gorathgraard exists, only thus, due to enchantment. Twas our lord's final gift to we that remained...in the end...when he finally awoke from the dark serpent's snares." the lady replied. "But by then, the damage was too great."

"So this_ is_ a fairy land?!" Festus nearly spat out his drink in concern.

"A 'fairy land'?...how curious. Nay." Amthyriine again seemed to stare off in distraction before continuing. "And yay...in a way, I suppose. This permutation of Gorathgraard exists as a...pocket...a 'demi-plane' wouldst thou call it" she turned with a questioning look to Alaria. "Hidden away from the mortal realms and, originally, protected from the insidious evil of the dark one. Our lord created it in his final days, with but six gateways. Only four now remain."

"And this 'dark one', the serpent, you refer to, is that Desaarthal?" Alaria asked.

As she spoke the name, the room darkened noticably and a rumbling thunder could be heard throughout the chamber.

"Speak _not_ her name in this place!" Amthyriine said in obvious concern. She looked about her and the chamber as the rumbling trailed off and the light returned to normal.

"She knows it is here. But Gorathiel's sorcery was greater than her own. Once, we were wholely protected here. But she has found ways to infiltrate the realm. Pick away at the edges...as it were. The wolves were the first to turn on us. Some of the other creatures as well. Then the ice trolls began moving through the outer wood..." her silver eyes, again, filled with water, and another single tear flowed from one eye, to solidfy and clink upon the stone floor.

Duor watched in curiosity as the bright, clear, crystal he was assuming to be ice just laid on the floor...and did not seem to melt.

Amthyriine gave it no mind, staring somberly into the flames flickering in the fire pit. She bent down to pick up a long silvery poker and set to adjusting a few of the logs.

"Forgive us, my lady." Coerraine stepped forward. "We meant not to cause you sorrow. My own heart is pained to see you thus. Is there anything we might do to alleviate your suffering?"

The Swan Maid looked up at the red-tabard of the paladin and the curious golden shield amulet flanked with spears that hung from his neck.

"Alas, champion, even the offer lightens my soul. But I fear there is naught that might be achieved by even so valiant a soul as thine. All of our lord's knights made such attempts and our lord, himself...in the end..." her eyes again stared off blankly in the fire.

"We can take out this Desa-ar-um...'dark one' fer yeh...For a modest reward, of course." Duor offered in a casual manner as he sipped again on the strong warming liquor.

"Did you not here her, Duor? The dragon still lives!" Fen protested.

"You mean, this dark one is the dragon we've heard about in legend and it yet lives and accosts you, even here...right?" Haelan asked for clarification.

"Yay, my noble'hearted guest. But enough such talk of it. Tell me of your people, gentle one. Whence art the day-al-far? What art thy pasttimes and goodly pursuits? I must make apologies that I trouble guests with such concerns as gloom the House of Gorathiel. Tis remiss for a hostess to divulge trouble in such a manner. I have forgotten much, it is seems, in my long solitude."

"That's 'daelvar', sweet lady." Haelan corrected gently. He smiled after a long sip from the "simply scumptuous" hot chocolate. "Well, I personally hail from the Free Hollows...near Hawkview. Do you know it? It's a lovely place. There are other Dales, of course, scattered about Orea. As far as I know, the Hollows was the first, though. As a people, we like..."

"Haelan, later, if you please." Alaria interrupted. They were beginnign to get somewhere and the Hilltender's ramblings would easily take them hours off course.

"So there is no one else with you...um..here? In the whole of this realm?" asked Erevan.

"I have the beasts and birds. Them that hast nay fallen to the dark one's influence. Yay, though my heart is heavied by dreams tis only a matter of time ere they all will be corrupted." Amthyriine replied to the elf's question.

"But otherwise, nay. My sisters have all gone. The knights fell or were lost to her wicked charms. My lord gave himself that we few who remained might have this place."

"They 'have gone', lady? To where if they are not here?" Alaria inquired calmly before a sip of the delicious tea of her homeland.

The magess' mind swam with the possibilities. Perhaps this woman held some telepathic ability, like Rhea. How else did she know what each of them individually wanted? Besides the conjuring that would be required to manifest the drinks so speedily. She, apparently, was a potent sorceress, changing into the winds and snows and freezing Duor as she had. She was still at a loss to describe just of what the seemingly peaceful lonely woman was possible.

"To Gorathgraard, of course." she replied, as if this was the obvious resposne.

"I thought this was Gorarthgraard?" Haelan said innocently, slurping again at his hot chocolate.

"Yay. So tis." Amthyriine replied. She seemed confused at the party's confusion.

"Shhho," began Duor who was nearly the bottom of his goblet and feeling nothing but the warming licquor flowing through his veins, "ifve take care ovvv this dar-*erp*-ragon fer yeh, wut're we gettin' in return? Wutsh ish gotta do with Nor Gorthok?" 

"Nor Gorthok?....ah, I see. Wouldst seem to be a name of thy kind." Amthyriine answered.

"So Nor Gorthok is Gorathgraard?" said Alaria, beginning to comprehend.

"Aren't we in Gorathgraard...right now?" Haelan said, still confused. His confusion became quickening concern at the prospect that there was some ancient dreaded evil dragon on the same place he was.

"Yay." Amthyriine said to Alaria. She turned to Haelan at his question and again said, plainly, "Yay."

"And the other Swan Maids are in Gorathgraard, also?" Fen posed. The druid was also becoming more confused.

"Yay. Tis all Gorathgraard and Nor Gorthok. Tis all the same. Dost though not comprehend?" she answered the druid, though her face betrayed some irritation in the half-elf's direction.

"I'm afraid I do not understand, my lady." Braddok said. He looked at Alaria. Maybe the wizardess was getting this, but he was just a soldier, a warrior.

"I believe I understand." Alaria said before their hostess could be barraged by any more questions from her 'less versed' companions.

"It's like an onion." the magess explained to her companions. "You said, Lady Amthyriine, this was a 'demi-plane.' We are in Gorathgraard...and there are other Gorathgraard's where others of her kind are, or might be, in their own hidden realms. And all of the Gorathgraard's are also where Nor Gorthok is...on Orea. They're all contained within a pocket dimension, like the layers of an onion. Each separate, but all the same onion." Alaria looked at their hostess for confirmation with the hopeful expectation she often felt at having the 'right' answer.

Amthriine grinned slightly and nodded. "Just so....an onion. Curious, though not inaccurate."

"Iiiii still don't get it." Haelan said with a shrug. "But it was a lovely explanation ,Alaria."

"Me neiver. *hic*" piped in Festus as he had reached the end of his goblet. "Got any mora thish stuff? 'Ssreally good."

Amthyriine nodded with a grin. She took the empty goblet from the satyr and placed it upon the silver tray.

"Is there any more hot choclate_" Haelan asked in wide'eyed hope. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Nay a trouble at all, small one. It warms a long cold heart to bring thy satisfaction." Amthyriine smiled in response.

When she had floated back across the chamber to descended the stairs to who knew where, the companions discussed what Alaria had explained for them.

"If that is so..." began Erevan, his mind mulling over the curious dimensional situation, "could be not, perhaps exit this realm anywhere within Nor Gorthok?"

"Yeh. We could get in, get the dragon treashure n' slip back out wiffout the wyrm ever knowin'." Duor smiled. His cheeks and nose had taken on a thoroughly reddish sheen as he swirled about the last sip of his cognac in the bowl of the goblet.

"Oddly enough, the dwarf proposes exactly what I was thinking." Erevan said.

"Alaria?" Braddok questioned to the wizardess, obviously deep in her own thoughts.

"Hmm? I'm sorry. What? Yes! Yes, Erevan, that could be possible. Though I will confess, my own studies in the way of dimensional travel are limited, at best.

"The lady said there were but four gateways left that access this place. She said not where they offer egress to...or even if they do. We know the portal we came through goes back...or seems to." she concluded,more to herself than the others.

"But if we're in this 'onion' then shouldn't we be able to just leave the onion where we want?" Haelan asked. His mind then drifted to the thought of onions...and spiced meat in the mutton pasties he so enjoyed.

"There are 360 degrees of horizontal and vertical, Haelan. We will have to ask Amthyriine.We might come out in Nor Gorthok...We could, as easily come out on the other side of the world...or Dessarthal's treasure chamber."

Again, the room darkened, deeper this time and the rumbling thunder seemed as much in the chamber as without. It seemed even the room shook slightly.

"Oh *hic* goat-patties." murmured Festus.

A clanging crash caught the party's attention to see Amthyriine, who had reuturned to the top of the stairs, as the tray of four filled goblets hit the floor. She placed a hand against the wall to steady herself.

"What hast thou done here!? Didst I nay tell thou nay bespeak its cursed name!?" she looked worriedly at the ceiling until the rumbling subsided and the light returned to normal.

"Thou hast overstayed thy welcome. I wouldst not see Gorathgraard fall to such careless lips as thine. Begone!"

"My lady I am sorry. It was slip..." Alaria began to apologize.

"I bade thee goooooonnnnn...!" she shouted across the chamber. Her voice melding with and then becoming overwhelmed by the blasting blizzard of air that manifested within the chamber. All of the companions were swept up in the furious whirlwind.

A moment later they were crashing down into several feet of snowy ground. 

The party roused themselves and took account of their number, including Haelan who was literally standing in a daelvar shaped whole in the snow up to his chin. Everyone was there and seemingly unharmed, though jolted from the abrupt landing.

They looked up to see themselves before another towering statue of one of the swan knights. It was, however noticeably different in detail than the one between whose great crystalline feet they had arrived.

"Well, that was well done, eh boss lady." Duor grumbled and pulled the grey fur pelt he had managed to grab during their abrupt ejection.

"Sure fire way to lose a buzz, that's for sure." Festus said, rubbing his goatish hindquarters.

Duor looked down at the crystalline tear he had managed to palm off the floor while the others were talking about onions or some such. His eyes immediately widened in disbelief. He placed the pure clear teardrop shaped stone between his teeth and then just stared at it agape.

"What's the matter Duor?" Braddok asked.

"It's...it's..." the normally prolific dwarf stammered.

"It's?" questioned Erevan unconcerned, shouldering his pack and adjusting his quivers. He shook he silvery grey locks and what little snow was in them fell and slid out easily. In only that moment, the elf looked again as his near-perfect self, like he were about to walk into a ball.

"It's a diamond!" the dwarf said, unexpectedly. He mentally chastised himself for informing his fellows, who would surely what a cut. But he wasn't about to give it up.  

"Well, where to now gentlefolk?" Fen suggested brushing the snow off his billowing druid's cloak as it shifted from the pale grey-green it had been within the tower to a pure white of the surrounding landscape.

"DUCK!" shouted Braddok as he dove to knock Alaria, who had also been wiping snow off her cloak and robes, back into the banked snow.

All of the party dove, tumbled and were jostled from their feet as an icy snow covered boulder shook through their position, crashing very near where Alaria had been standing.

Again, they all jumped up to their feet, this time with weapons raising with purpose instead of wiping snow off themselves. Some fifty feet away, along the treeline of the wintery wood came three gargantuan humanoid figures.

They were white as the surrounding environs. Icicles hung off of pointed noses and ears. Chunks of ice and snow clung to their shoulders and seemed to stick to their thighs and forearms. Two held giant icicles that looked like clubs. The other, who had apparently just thrown the boulder was grabbing another. And they were huge! Easily 10 feet tall, like hill giants, but snowy.

"Hey! Those aren't any trolls!" Haelan said in protestation, as if it would cause the creatures to assume a more troll-like stature.

The two ice-club wielders began to charge forward as the third raised another boulder over its head. Their steps thundered loudly as they approached.

"Whatever they are, might I suggest a hasty retreat?" Festus posed and pointed at the ice wall that stood between the statues giant feet.


----------



## steeldragons

At the satyr ranger's prudent suggestion, the company all made for the relative cover of the statue's foot and hoped for exit between them.

Festus, easily bounded with his goat legs, but Duor and Haelan were having quite a bit of trouble in the three foot deep snow.

Erevan was peppering the approaching 'ice troll/giant' things with arrows as his companions raced for the ice wall/door. His normal arrows seemed to strike just fine, thank the Silver Moon, as he wished not to use any more of the 3 enchanted arrows he still possessed. Need to refill that quiver, the elf mentally noted.

Alaria moved as quickly as she could, which was some difficulty, through the snows.

Braddok stayed to her left with an eye for where the next boulder would be coming from. 

Coerraine, similarly, stayed between the fast approaching ice-ogre-esque creatures and Duor.

The dwarf cursed and mumbled to himself, trudging through the deep snows.

"Do something, druid!" Duor shouted to the half'elf who passed through the snows easily, not getting too far from Erevan, but leaving no trail or trace behind him. The snows just fell into the path he made, as his cloak seemed to swipe them to clean undisturbed state, leaving no discernable trail.

"Right you are, friend Duor. Are you certain you want a 'traitor's' help?" the half-elf smirked in retort.

"Just_ do_ something!" the dwarf said angrily.

The druid spoke his words of power and a dull green blot was seen beneath snow striking out to the ice troll closest to the treeline.

Immediately, a large root seemed to pull up from beneath the snow and trip the charging creature. It landed with a thunderous boom and sent snow flying up all around it. Even as the snow landed, other roots and vines were seen reaching up and tying the large creature down, its face firmly planted beneath the snow.

This managed to momentarily distract the other charger as he was momentarily blinded by the great cloud of snow that rose into the air at its comrade's fall.

Braddok grabbed Fen around the waist and, more of less, threw him behind the cover of the great statue's foot before, himself, diving for the same cover.

A moment later another boulder crashed off of the foot and rolled away from the companions. The agile Erevan easily skirted the rolling stone.

The bellowing of their assailants rattled snow of the tree limbs.

All of the company was now hidden from their attackers as Festus pressed his hands into the ice wall in front of them.

"Should we not stay and fight?" Coerraine hollered. "We could lessen the evil one's influence on this realm, if only by a little."

A massive white hand gripped the statue's foot and the ice-laden face of one of the trolls peered slowly around it to show a pointed toothy smile at the seemingly "trapped" company.

"Celradorn, protect your valiant servant and defend his charge and your servants of justice!" Coerraine hollered from his position at the rear, between all of the companions and the ice troll.

Alaria, Braddok, Fen and Erevan were all caught unawares to see the paladin raise his arms to either side above his head, shield on one arm, spear in the other hand. A golden light shown around the Redstar Knight for a moment and then spread out, in a blast, to either side of him.

In the blink of an eye, a golden 'wall' of light filled the whole of the space between the statue's feet, with Coerraine in the center...a part of the wall himself.

"GO!" shouted the blond paladin.

Fen, shaken from his awe by the paladin's single command, grabbed Erevan's arm and pressed the two of them into the ice wall.

Festus was already gone.

Duor looked for a moment to say "Nicely done, Goldilicks." then also pushed into the ice wall.

Alaria was next but did not move.

She winced noticeably as a giant ice club, seen through the nearly transparent golden light, slammed into the field, to no avail.

"Coerraine!" she called.

"Come on Coerraine. That is well done, let's go!" Haelan said from the edge of the ice portal. 

"Braddok get them to safety." the paladin called. His stance had not changed and but he seemed to stagger a bit when the next club strike came baring down upon his field.

Braddok began pushing the magess. "Come on, my lady, you heard the man."

Reluctantly, she moved her way through the ice, looking back, she saw a second of the ice trolls round the edge of the crystalline feet.

 "Haelan, quickly now." Braddok said tugging on the daelvar's arm and almost throwing him into the portal.

"But...but I can help...I can invoke Faerantha and..." the daelvar began protesting.

Two ice clubs came slamming into the field of light. The ground all but shuddered beneath them and Coerraine was knocked to one knee. It seemed as if the barrier now cracked and began to splinter off pieces.

"Now Haelan!" Braddok said sternly.

Haelan nodded and pushed his way into the portal. 

"Coerraine, they're all through. Come on!" called the Grinlian warrior.

Coerraine merely turned his head and looked at Braddok. 

Braddok knew...he had seen this look before...there was something in his grey'hazed memory...that same look...his father? His older brother? He had an older brother?! That look...he knew it...

The swordman raised his blade and took a single step toward the paladin.

The blond man shook his head, sweat now beading on his brow.

"Now, Braddok." the Redstar Knight said calmly and seemed to push and press the golden wall up upon his own shoulders and he again regained his two feet.

The bellowing trolls shook the whole area. The THOOM THOOM of their now constant assaults on the wall of light, of which Coerraine, apparently, was a part, echoed through the landscape.

Braddok knew that look. He raised his sword blade to his face in salute and turned and dove through the ice wall portal. 

The swordsman's ears were filled with a tinkling, and at the same time, a loud crashing sound, like the breaking of a hundred glasses.

He landed heavily on the ground with a breath-expunging jolt.

Braddok looked up, all of the companions were there, weapons at the ready.

Alaria and Haelan gripped either arm of the swordman, half-helping him up, half-dragging him away from the portal. They were outside...out of doors, somewhere. The night sky filled his vision.

Braddok rose to his feet. He turned to face the unremarkable night air that he had just passed through.

The party stood there a moment in tense readiness. Except Braddok who moved to the back of the group, his eyes to the soft, moist grass covered ground on which he trod.

Two moments.

Three.

"Where's Coerraine, Braddok? Why isn't he coming through?" the daelvar Hilltender asked to any and everyone.

Another moment.

Duor looked to the ground and shook his head.

Festus looked to Braddok who stood with his back to where the portal should be...but gave no indication it was there.

Alaria inhaled curtly and raised a hand to her mouth in understanding as tears filled her eyes.

"What? What's wrong with everyone? We have to go back and help Coerraine!" shouted Haelan to his companions. The daelvar made a racing run to where the portal he had, only moments before, passed through.

He ran another 20 feet just to be sure, before turning to look at the rest of the group. "Where is it? Why isnt't it working?! Alaria, we have to help him! We have to..." the daelvar's protestations trailed off as tears now filled his eyes.

Fen walked forward and placed a hand on the Hilltender's shoulder.

"I think, my friend, our Redstar Knight has helped us more than we ever could him." the half'elf said with a slight grin...though it lacked the mirth and charm his smile's normally presented. More sympathy then anything else.

"But....we have to help...." began Haelan before his just broke down into free flowing tears and gripped the druid around his waist as his shoulder betrayed wracking sobs.

The druid hugged the Hilltender in return. The half'elf patted the daelvar's shoulders as they shuddered.

Duor placed his hand on Braddok's back.

The warrior looked at the stalwart face of the dwarf.

Duor simply nodded in understanding to the warrior.

Braddok nodded back.

Festus attempted to console the wizardess who had silent tears now streaming down her cheeks.

Alaria shoved his hands away before collapsing to her knees on the top of the mound upon which they all now stood.

Erevan just watched all of this. He understood the situation entirely but could not bring himself to comprehend the various races reactions. He, eventually, lowered his bow and stared off at their surroundings.

They appeared, as best the elf could tell, to be again in the Feldmere. But it did not seem the appropriate time, to Erevan, to mention this to the others.


----------



## steeldragons

With the return of the wizard, Tresahd, the invasion of the elf lands of Miralosta was again proceeding at a noticeable pace. The battle was joined, anew, in a broad open sloping glade within the wooded realm.

A flight of arrows soared into the air from a squad of goblin archers toward a line of lightly armored elf spear men.

Rhea, the Lady of the Emerald Tear, floated up into the air behind the cluster of elves. Her green corona surrounded her, suspending her in the air. She raised her arms to her sides and the emerald teardrop upon her bow flared as the approaching arrows began their descent on her position.

Then all of the arrows halted in midair, individually surrounded by the emerald glow.

With a forward thrust of her arms, the arrows all turned in midair and streaked back across the battlefield to rain down upon the archers who had just fired them.

Silran and the warrior-prince of Daenfrii, Montor's brother Malak, charged a path through the goblin and hobgoblin foot-soldiers with blades ablaze with their enchantments and bathed in dark goblinoid blood. 

A group of undead shadows swept across the field from a collection of orcish shamans and black-robed skull-masked Endoren priests. The elvish troops they moved through fell easily to their reaping touch.

The Gilean Protectress, Lela Eth Mitar, raced to a position before a soraryn _<DM's note: Soraryn="Golden Stag", elvish knights, basically>_ captain upon his war-stag and the soldiers that clustered about their superior in fear. She thrust her sacred "rosehead mace" before her and became immediately bathed in silver light. The silver light shot forth from her position and washed the abominations from existence in a wave of shrill objection.

The hairfooted hero, Carak, bounded from his near-invisible hiding place in the brush along the perimeter of the battlefield. He leaped up onto one of the worg-riding goblins that was attempting to lead a squad through the trees to flank the elf army's position. His short sword and curved Thelitian dagger easily sliced deeply across the surprised goblin captain's back. He stabbed into the back of the beastly mount before jumping from the falling creature to do the same to the nearest next worg-rider. Then leaping off of that beast and disappeared again into the thick underbrush to choose the recipient of his next attack. 

Montor, the Dragonmage-apparent, wiped clean rows of the encroaching evil forces with bolts of lightning and torrents of ice and hail. The young wizard saw the dark robed mage with the dragon-skull headdress at the back of the enemy forces in his war chariot hitched with two huge hellhounds.

The mage in midnight blue cloak uttered an arcane syllable and began rising into the air above the carnage and called out to the wizard.

"We have unfinished business, Tresahd!" he yelled as he streaked out over 
the field.

"It shall not be finished here, today, wyrmling!" the dark one smiled back.

Montor's initial barrage of sapphire blue magic missiles burst, harmlessly, across a field of soild black "light" that manifested with a swipe of his arm.

"Look to your own _'Dragon mage_'" the evil wizard's use of Montor's ancestral title was dripping in mockery. Tresahd incanted a sinister sounding spell.

"Mon! Dammit! Quit makin' yourself a target!" Malak protested as the young wizard fly over him. He yanked his magic longsword from the fallen ogre and caught an orc's battleaxe on his shield before slicing through the brute in a single swipe.

Then the warrior and elf swordsman, Silran, were surrounded in a sudden burst of inky black tentacles.

Montor frowned at the attack and returned to hover near his brother and long time friend. He ignored the flurry of arrows being blocked, a few feet from his back, by the protection enchantment he had invoked earlier and began to cast.

_"Arcaniventa atherver*_! Urk!" <_beginning of the mage spell: Dispel Magic_> he began to cast before an arrow actually, not only broke through his enchantment, but pierced into the back of his shoulder. The mage was thrown from the air to land hard on the ground between the warrior and elf, in the midst of the black tentacles.

The Bulgruch lowered his massive bow as a smile spread across his horribly wide and toothy maw.

_*Meanwhile...back in the Feldmere...*_

"You should have grabbed him! You grabbed ME! Why did you just leave him there!" Haelan shouted through tears as he slammed his small fists into Braddok's abdomen.

He wasn't hurting the swordsman so Braddok just let him "get it out" for a bit. "He told me to, Haelan. I...I am sorrry...but he told me to." the warrior replied quietly. Braddok's blue eyes turned to where Alaria was rising and composing herself.

It was Duor, of all people, who eventually grabbed the hair-footed daelvar by the shoulders and surprisingly gently ushered him away from the warrior.

"He _told_ you to? Crazy paladins." Duor asked with some surprise. Then to Haelan, "Wut're yeh all in flurry about, hairfoot? _I'm_ the one outta a bodyguard! Be still. Goldilocks wouldn'ta wanted such disorder in our ranks."

The dwarf found himself striken with sadness also and kept looking over to where the portal would or should have been, thinking, perhaps, the Redstar Knight would come flying through at any moment. 

"Chin up, friend Haelan." Festus offered. "The Knights of Celradorn are not to be trifled with. He may yet live."

"Then why hasn't he come through?" the calming Hilltender replied. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and the leaking mucus from beneath his nose, noisily. 

"ALARIA!" Haelan again perked up. "You can send us back! We just need to find the white stone for this mound, right? Then we can go back...We can help!" he appealed.

Alaria looked at Haelan full of pity and shook her head. "I do not think we can, Haelan. I'm sorry. I don't think it works like that...." the magess turned to look to where Erevan was calmly reloading his enchanting quiver.

Seeing no help coming from the elf's direction, Alaria continued. 

"We exited Gorathgraard from a different portal than we entered. It does not seem to have two-way access. And...I don't believe this is the mound through which we entered. There's no telling where a portal from here might take us...if there is one.

"We don't even know, now, where in the swamp we are.

"Do we?" she concluded in a defeated question. She looked to Erevan and Festus for confirmation, but their surroundings in the starlight vista looked different to her.

Festus now took in their location and shook his head in a negative. He quickly pulled out the map and began looking from it to different directions off the mound.

"Or when." replied Erevan softly.

"What?" Fen said in surprise.

"How long, would you say, we were in that snowy realm?" Erevan posed to the company.

"An hour or two perhaps?" Fen posed.

"Maybe three." added Duor.

"Then why is it night here? And why do the stars not turn? What stars _are _these? Where are the moons?" Erevan said simply, looking up into the night sky.

"Aw BOLLUX!" Duor exclaimed.

The company gave the dwarf little notice as they (thought!) they were all thinking the same thing.

"The damned Redstar was carrying most'a my STUFF!" Duor finished unexpectedly.

He looked up at the expressions of horrified surprise on his companions faces.

"I mean, not any of the _good_ stuff. I have all of my treasure, of course. But my bedroll...but change o' britches...my beard comb..._Wut_?!"


----------



## steeldragons

Braddok studied the map with Festus, who had raised his eyes to the sky at Erevan's observation.

They were not, it seemed, back in the Feldmere...or even Orea as far as he could tell.

The night was alive with the sounds of crickets and frogs across the marshlands. The bright, if curious arrangement of, stars bathed the party in a soft white light that seemed to be the only source of illumination. The moons were noticeably missing. But then, Festus mused, depending on where and when they were, they may have set for the day. There were a couple of noticeable mounds barely breaching the treetops far to their...presumed 'north.'

"I suggestion we make camp here." Fen proposed. "Get our bearings in the morning. I am all but spent of my energies and we have all had a, lamentably, trying day. And it seems, for the moment peaceful and a secure location to rest." By Fen's calculations, back in the Feldmere, it should be nearing 6 or 7 o'clock at night.

"There!" Festus burst. "There's a tower is just there!" the satyr pointed triumphantly to what they had decided was 'north' and west.

The other companions, besides Erevan, strained to see the rising slender form of a tower of dark indigo, blending almost seamlessly in the dark shroud of night that filled the heavens there.

"We would never make it before the morning, and I must concur with Fen." Alaria said. "We need to rest and recoup...and settle ourselves." she said finally in Haelan's direction.

The poor distraught halfling cleric was on his knees, apparently deep in prayer for their lost companion.

She nodded to no one in particular and, without waiting for confirmation, began unloading her bedroll. She also took out her spellbook. Looked at the brown leather cover blankly and put it back in her pack. The taste of black ginger tea still lingered on the back of her tongue.

The party set to camp. Haelan, eventually, cmae out of his meditations and produced a thoroughly warming spiced chili in his bowl, again. They ate in near silence, set watches (with Braddok volunteering to take two to accompany Duor in Coerraine's place) and went to bed.


"Alaria...Alaria! Wake up!" 

It was Haelan. The rest of the companions stood around the sleepy magess with their equipment and weapons, obviously ready to break camp. 

The sky was still dark. The soft white light of the stars filled the area.

"Haelan...what is it? Are we under attack! Coerraine?!" the magess suddenly came to her senses and jumped up, grabbing her staff.

"No...but...um..." Haelan began to answer.

"It has been ten hours, magess." Erevan said plainly, his eyes to the star-filled sky.

"It...What?!" Alaria said in disbelief. She looked up and around. There was no indication of dawn in any direction. She felt rested, yes. But it still appeared to her that it was the middle of the night.

"It's true." said Braddok.

"It would seem," Erevan began to pose, "that as Gorathgraard...or the last Gorathgraard we visited was a realm of, presumably, endless winter...this is a realm of endless night."

"So we are still in the onion, then." Alaria said offhandedly, relaxing herself and setting to gathering her stuff.

Braddok waved her off with a soft smile and began to do the magess' work for her.

Alaria looked around.

The one thing about this realm that struck her most different from the "real" Feldmere, if there were such a thing, was the distinct lack of fog clinging to the low parts of the landscape. Also, it was much warmer than the Feldmere they knew. She had not noticed before, coming from the very cold realm of the Lady Amthyriine. But now, it seemed almost humid. Like the night of a late spring in her homeland.

She looked to where the dark tower had been the "night" before, it was still nearly impossible to see...but it was there.

She withdrew her spellbook again and set to studying its pages. 

"Haelan, a bit of black ginger tea, if you please." Alaria said sleepily.

The Hilltender made the request to his magic bowl and filled one of the wooden cups he carried with him. He'd carved a star, some time ago in the "real" Feldmere, to indicate it was Alaria's cup.

"I was able to notice, " Erevan informed the R'Hathi magess, "that while the stars do not turn, in our sense of the word, from day to night...they _do_ seem to circulate, ever so slowly, about the top of that spire."

"You don't think...I mean...we're not in the realm of the dark dragon, are we? It does seem peaceful here...dark...but peaceful." Haelan asked worriedly to the elf and wizard.

"At the moment, we have no way to tell, Haelan." Alaria answered taking a warming sip of her tea.

A couple of the other companions took a cup of the warm aromatic liquid also, though only Festus and Duor really enjoyed the taste of the stuff. And that, not so much as anything alcoholic.

Alaria closed her book some time later...it was difficult to tell how long. 

"I am prepared." she said seriously. "Let us inspect this mound for another gateway. Then, make for the spire. We will find what we find...and Manat grant it be a way out of here."

"What's that?" Haelan said with characteristic innocence. The daelvar priest pointed to a vague orange-ish trail of light, far away from their position.

Erevan looked with his violet elvin eyes. After a moment, an eyebrow cocked.

"Bollux" said Duor at the now familiar reaction.

"We should descend. Into the trees. It seems a dark horse with rider...flames trail from tail and hooves. I do not like the look of it. A demon-horse of some kind." the elf said plainly and quickly took up his pack and quiver again and began moving down the "back" side of the mound, away from the far distant creature.

The rest of the companions knew better than to question the Miralostae's keen vision and followed suit.

Festus did his best to keep the company on track for the dark tower, but this forest floor was almost as murky and swamp-like as the Felmere they'd entered. Avoiding the wet portions and mud-holes proved difficult in the limited light.

Even though most of the trees seemed to hold at least _some_ of the dried leaves of autumn, light filtered down through the starlit sky enough not to inhibit their vision too much.

They had not traveled, it seemed, very long before Festus was lifted by his cloven-hoofed foot from the ground by what seemed to be a living vine.

"Ahhhhh!" was Festus' eloquent surprise.

A single vine would have been fine, but what came after was a towering mound of leaves and mud and roots that held the upside down satyr before a its leafy maw and curious "holes" in the foliage that appeared where "eyes" would be.

Braddok, who had assumed a forward position in the group charged forward and struck deeply with his enchanted sword.

The creature looked down at the "intrusion" in its business and an "arm" of vegetation seemed to rip up, off, of the body of the thing and swat the warrior to the side.

He landed, unceremoniously, beside it. Mud and murky water splashed all over the next row of the marching order.

Erevan's arrows flew with true aim. One passed right through the thing! The other seemed to get stuck in the vegetative morass that formed the thing's body. If it harmed the creature, none could say.

"By the Forge!" spurted Duor, spitting mud and muck from his mouth as he did so. He fire his hand crossbow into the thick beam of growth that appeared to be a "leg" and withdrew his ethereal dagger.

The small crossbow dart seemed to disappear entirely into the moss and dead leaves and slime that composed the thing's semblance of a body.

"Stay your weapons! It is a Shambler!" called Fen.

"Kill it! Kill it before it eats me!" cried Festus and swung his blades at the thing, though he was not nearly close enough for them to hit.

"But, it has Festus!" Haelan protested to Fen, about to summon up some of Faerantha's power against the thing.

"Is it dangerous?" Alaria asked the druid.

"Well, it _can_ be...but..." Fen replied, clearly unsure of his answer.

"Whatever it is, Fen, we have neither the time nor I the patience for this. We must get out of this realm!" Alaria also protested before summoning forth her staff's greatest power and sending a lightning bolt straight into the "shambler."

"Alaria, DON'T...!" Fen protested, but his cry was lost beneath the increasing volume of the staff's crackling energy.

The staff crackled and shocked for a moment, before a bolt shot forth, sending a rumbling thunder throughout the landscape.

The bright white energy streaked forth and slammed into the creature. The jolt of the lightning was enough to cause the creature to drop Festus, head first, into the muddy waters in which it stood.

A bit of steam rose off the plant creature, but that was all. No scorching. No burning. Not even a step back. It did, however, seem to increase in size by a few inches...in every direction.

When the remnants of the fierce magical attack trailed off into the night realm, its hole of a "mouth" opened wide and it roared at the party. Leaves and bits of vine and gods know what else splattered out toward the party.

"Oh..." Alaria said with wide eyes at the distinct lack of effectiveness of her attack.

Festus picked himself up out of the muck and called to his companions, "Go! Go! Let's go!"

He lept up a good distance to land several feet behind the creature in the shallow muddy waters.

"We can outrun it!" the satyr implored again.

The creature bellowed again and with a flick of its vine/"hand"/"arm" whatever it was, struck out toward the party.

Fen and Alaria were far enough to avoid the attack, but only just.

Haelan ducked and the vine flew over his helmed head.

Duor attempted to dive aside a moment too late and was firmly smacked into the soft ground and water.

"I bet it doesn't like fire! _Everx imberil rex!_" the magess called out.

As they were supposed to, violet red flames fanned out over her companions. As they supposed to, they burst in a roar against the creature's plant-appearing body. As they were _not_ supposed to, they steamed up and away off the moist surface of the creature, only minimal scorches here and there trailing off wisps of smoke.

The creature bellow again and made a swipe at the risen Braddok who had hacked, now twice, through damp leaves and mud. Whatever he had managed to cut or cleave, the shambler's "wounds" (if you could call them that) just came back together with no apparent damage or signs of slowing.

Fen grabbed Alaria, almost in a hug and began running around the shambler with a curt "Apologies, magess. But the satyr has the right of it!"

Haelan helped Duor up and the two stoutfolk made a wide circle behind trees and brush to circumvent the creature. "Braddok, c'mon!" called Haelan seeing the warrior about to attack again.

The warrior thought the better of it and, narrowly blocking another swipe of its tendril with his shield, raced passed the thing toward the others.

The party, collected at the "rear" of the obviously confused and slowly turning creature, continued on into the night-scaped woods with all speed.


----------



## Lwaxy

Noooo not the paladin! 

I love the dwarf, hope he won't get killed at least


----------



## steeldragons

HOHWY SHMOKES!

5,000 to over 6,300 views in two months?!?!

THANKS everybody!

Let's see what I have in my lil' bag o' sketches to show y'all...

Well, I have new "group shot" that isn't quite ready for scanning yet.

Originals of the several of the PC's are here http://www.enworld.org/forum/media-...f/283445-steel-dragons-art-4.html#post5346860 . But I think I've shown you those already...

Here's this...
Montor Dragonwing, the Dragonmage-apparent.
...and Lela Eth Mitar, Protectress of Gilea.


----------



## steeldragons

The companions moved through the night-scaped woods...and they had, noticeably become woods, as opposed to swamps, in the past hour of their trek toward the odd indigo tower.

"See there?" Festus said quietly. "The trees break just through there. Looks like pretty open terrain.

Erevan concurred.

The starglow at the edge of the trees was unmistakeable, even to the humans limited eyesight.

"Hear that?" Fen then said.

There was a pause among the company.

"Fen, I don't hear anything." Haelan whispered to the druid.

"Exactly." said the carrot-topped half-elf. 

Then they all realized, the night-symphony of crickets and toads they had heard on the mound where they had arrived were gone. Indeed, there was no noise at all....then a small sound....like the scraping of a rake through leaves.

All of their eyes shot skyward to scan the tree tops, some of which still possessed leaves and obscured the sky.

"It's there." Fen indicated, quietly. The form of a doe, its head to the forest floor, almost silently munching on the ground.

"Give me a moment." suggested the druid. "I shall go see what there is to learn of this place."

The company nodded their agreement and watched as the druid moved with typical grace and silence through the bushes and around the trees.

The doe, shrouded in patches of shadow and starlight raised its head at the druid's approach.

Fen incanted the spell for speaking with beasts. He felt a rise of power and serenity as one of the Holy Order's most ancient spells filled him with a link to the natural world...and then, he felt something more.

"Forgive the intrusion, graceful lady. But I have cause to ask the nature of this place. Do you know of anything that occurs in the tall spire across the plain, there?"

As the druid neared, he heard no reply and then the doe took a step toward him, revealing her head beneath a shaft of starlight in the process.

The doe's head was missing an eye and half of its face was nothing but bone.

Fen stayed his approach in shock. He now noticed, closer, that one of its legs was also nothing but bone, the flesh and muscle dangling off of it in an unappealing way.

The doe took another step and opened its mouth. Its tongue lolled out of the half-open jaw and it made a sound like...like nothing Fen had ever heard...something between a sick goat or a tortured cat.

It took another step toward Fen.

"Abomination!" the druid called to his companions and his leaftip-bladed spear, instinctually, took on the pale green glow of the druid's enchantments.

"What did he say?" asked Haelan quietly to Duor, hoping he had not just heard what he thought.

"Something in deer-speak. Who cares?" the dwarf replied not paying attention to the druid, but noting some motion in the trees to their opposite side.

"Somethin' over there though." he warned his companions and pulled the hand crossbow from his hip, inserting a dart into the small string without removing his gaze from the slow moving humanoid figure that passed behind one tree to the next.

Fen stabbed at the lumbering slow creature with his spear. It sunk through mostly rotted flesh and again the creature gave out its sickly bellow.

"And there! Before us!" Erevan now said from his position beside Festus in the front of the party.

He nocked an arrow with fluid grace and let fly, but the humanoid figure moved behind a tree. The arrow struck solid into the trunk. His violet elvin eyes now noticed several of the shuffling shapes in the woods around them.

One of the figures now moved from behind a tree, just beside the party and reached for Alaria. 

The wizardess swung in reflex with her staff, which had not been providing light for fear of attracting attention from the strange demon-horse-thing they'd seen earlier. 

The staff now flared with an electrical spark and crackle, striking a solid pblow against the gaunt, rotting face of the zombie that assaulted her with a low moan. The blow struck the thing's head clean off its shoulders with a loud crackling flare.

It took another step before falling in a heap at Alaria's feet.

"Zombies!" Braddok astutely pointed out for everyone.

Another now came from the other direction, Duor jumped away from the reaching clawed grey limbs and fired his hand crossbow. The dart sank into the zombie's leg, but seemed to do nothing to deter the undad creature's advance. Duor drew his ethereal dagger.

Braddok laid low another of the things with a single swipe of his magic longsword, severing the poor soul at the waist. Its bottom half dropped. Its top half continued to claw toward the warrior until his took off its head with another swing of the dully glowing blade.

Alaria looked, in some horror at the body of the creature at her feet. The clothes it wore seemed to have once been finery, now tarnished and tattered, but seemed as though they may have once been courtly garb to her eyes.

With another swipe of his green glowing blade, Fen abolished the abonimation of the zombie-deer. He said a silent prayer to the Green and the Balance for the poor creature and raced back to where his companions were being assaulted.

No sooner had he rejoined the group than he felt a slicing across the side of his abdomen. The pain of the wound was nothing compared to the sapping freezing cold it left in its wake.

He cried and turned in time to see the last movements of a shadow sink into the darkness of a tree. The druid was confused and fearful. He felt confused...the cold...it burned?

"There's something else here..." Fen said with worry. "Haelan, do that thing you do..." the druid instructed.

"Undead!" Festus called with a solid swipe of his falshion through the worm filled belly of another zombie. "Yeah, Hilltender, now'd be good!"

Haelan heard the druid's and ranger's requests as he thudded his mace into the knees of the zombie that had assaulted Duor. 

The legs seemed to separate in a burst of dust and three-quarters of the zombie flopped to the ground. It continued to claw its way toward the halfling and dwarf.

Duor put his green smoky dagger blade into the zombie's skull and it promptly stopped moving.

"AAAAAH!" Alaria screamed as a darkness leaped out of the shadows of the fallen zombie, beneath the flickering sparks of her staff.

It raked dagger-like "claws" of shadow through the magess' belly. The cold was overwhelming.

Alaria clung to her staff with all of her remaining strength just to keep her footing.

"LIET!" she shouted and a burst of yellowy light flared around her outstretched hand.

The shadow being seemed to shrink back away and "dove" into the shadow of another tree, disappearing entirely.

"It's so cold...a shade of some kind...Haelan..." Alaria said haggardly.

Braddok jumped through the companions to move between Alaria and wherever the thing that attacked her had disappeared.

The party now closed ranks, back to back, with Haelan in the middle. 

There were five more zombies closing in around them.

"AH! Haelan, DAMMIT! Where's Goldilocks when you need'im?!" shouted Duor as a chilling rake passed over his back. There was no tearing or ripping of his cloak or armor, just the pain and debilitating cold that seemed to take the dwarf's strength right out of him.

"It was there! Came out of Alaria's shadow and disappeared behind Haelan!" Erevan said. He turned and released another arrow into an approaching zombie. The shaft struck clean through the things dessicated skull with a "puff" of dust.

The zombie kept coming, a hole now in the center of its face that shone, clear through to the woods and starlit plain beyond.

Haelan took the pinecone shaped holy symbol out from beneath his pine-green tabard. He held it aloft and, as it had in Shafton, his voice took on a quality of power and assurance that the companions were not used to hearing.

"Faerantha, Mother of the Hill, fill me with your loving light and force these creatures from your holy presence!" he shouted into the night.

The small amulet took on a honey-colored sheen for a moment before the whole of Haelan's form was similarly bathed in light. An instant later, the daelvar seemed to become engulfed in a ball of dark golden-luminance.

The smell of pine trees and summer breezes filled the area and the cleric shone with his divine might.

"Haelan look out!" cried Festus as he saw the beginnings of the shadow form thing reaching out from a patch of darkness beside the cleric.

Before the satyr could lunge for it, Haelan burst into the honey-colored sun they had seen in Shafton. The woods for easily 20-feet round them came alive in a golden "daylight" that they could assume this realm had never seen.

The shadow made an unearthly shriek at the bright holy assault. It was as if the cry was there, yet not there...far away somehow. It disappeared entirely..."thrown" it seemed from the consecrated and, momentarily, entirely holy daelvar.

Two zombies who were closing in burst into dust almost immediately. The three remaining moaned their disapproval and turned from the group, seeking to escape the painful radiance, and disappeared back into the night-shrouded portions of the woods.

"Make for the plain! Perhaps, under the starlight, we might be safe from the shadow!" Erevan suggested before moving as fast as the group might. The elf was careful not to leave the bathing "sunlight" of the cleric.

Braddok aided the obviously debilitated Alaria. Festus did the same for Duor, though kept one hand free and full of blade. Fen moved after the rest, watching their back with his spear pointed toward the edge of Haelan's brilliance. The spear's soft green natural enchantment was all but invisible within the shining light of the Hilltender's goddess.

The companions were awed by what they saw when they exited the wood-line, but did not stop. They had traveled a good portion of the wide open, entirely tree or brush free wide "bowl" of darkened earth that stood between the forest and the mound upon which the indigo tower rose into the sky.

Then the grace of Haelan's goddess left him and they found themselves upon the barren wide plain, beneath the twinkling white glow of the multitude of unknown stars that filled this night-realm's sky.

Fearful of pursuit, the party did not stop their race for the mound and tower. As they neared, a scuttled boat was apparent at the edge of the incline, beside a short pier that poked out from the "shore."

Erevan then realized they were in a dried up moat or lake...Like the one in Gorathgraard...or the _other _Gorathgraard...but long devoid of water.

They neared the tower to find no door.

Fen half-expected for a woman of snow to sweep up into existence in their path. But none did.

"Look there." Duor pointed up. There appeared to be door two, maybe three, stories above the ground.

"I could prolly climb that." the dwarf suggested.

Alaria contemplated using her levitation spell and lamented, to herself, the loss of the Ihs Repahl.

As they quickly discussed how to get to the door, a twinkle of stars began to form, first at the base of the door and then descend downward.

"That demon-horse-thing is coming this way!" Fen said, loudly with concern, scanning out over the woods they'd recently left. The creature seemed to halt its airbound charge some distance within, above, the woods.

The twinkling stars that had transfixed most of the party ceased and in their wake, a long staircase rose up to where the door was.

"Nice goin', boss lady!" Duor said.

"It wasn't me, Duor." Alaria replied, her eyes now nervously upon the demon-horse.

A ball of fire was seen bursting into being from, what she couldn't be sure but supposed to be the outstretched arm of the rider Erevan had noted earlier.

"Up the stairs!" Alaria shotued. "Hurry!"

Noone needed to be told twice, in fact Haelan, Festus and Erevan were already bounded up them.

The ball of flame left the floating creature(s) and streaked out over the trees and over the barren plain.

As the first of the company reached the top stair, the door swung open (inward).

They all rushed inside.

Fen, at the rear, took the blink of the eye to look again at the fireball heading for them. 

As it reached the edge of the "shore" on their side of the plain, it simply "turned" and fell with a thundering explosion of flame that shattered and burned the pier and scuttled boat below them.

The druid dove inside and the door immediately shut behind him with a slam.

Fen roused himself from the floor to stand behind the rest of the party. 

They all stood in silence. They stared at the only figure or feature within the massive round chamber, much as the winter-Gorathgraard had appeared.

A woman stood before them swathed in rippling robes of indigo and deep violet. Stars twinkled here and there all across the boddice and down the skirts. She was as pale as Amthyriine had been, but had hair that flowed down her back, nearly to the floor. Her hair was raven black and also seemed to have stars that twinkled into and out of existence within the tresses that "blew" in no discernable breeze within the chamber.

Her eyes were as captivating as Amthyriine's had been. Large and thick darkly lashed, but sparkling with silver...as though full of stars.

"Thou truly art champions of supreme courage, to be sure.: the raven haired woman said.

None made reply.

"Else filled with supreme folly...devoid of sense." she said with a glower.


----------



## steeldragons

The woman stared harshly at the group for a moment before adressing them again.

"Apologies. The encounter with the shadow hast obviously taken its toll upon thee. " she said, though her tone softened by only a little.

"Stay thy weapons. Be at peace and ease. Rest thyselves, here, by the fire. I shall have Imgulg bring refreshment." she said and stepped aside to reveal a flickering firepit like the last tower they'd been in. The benches and couches were adorned in throws and blankets and pillows of black and violet trimmed and sparkling with silver.

The ambient light of the chamber was brighter than outdoors, and looking up, the party saw that the high ceiling was alight with small twinkling, star-like pinpoints of light.

"Our thanks, lady..." Braddok dared to address the woman, seemingly swathed in night.

"Are you kiddin'? She's, _obviously_, the Dark One!" Duor protested and refused to sheathe his weapon even as his companions all relaed and did so.

"*I*...the Dark One?!" she said with great incredulity. "Mayhaps, master dwarf, thou wouldst rather enjoy the hospitality of my sister outside."

"That demon-horse outside is your sister?!" Haelan burst in surprise.

The star-sparkling woman looked at the daelvar in curiosity. "Nay. The rider upon the nightmare tis my sister...Madagbueil <_pronounciation note: "mah-DAG'-bwee-ill"_>, lost to the sinister corruptions of the Dark One, lo these eons ago."

"Oh dear. That's terrible!" Haelan replied in sympathy. "She was...I mean...was she...one of the Swan Maids? Are you sisters with Amthyriine, too? We met her...lovely woman...makes a grand hot chocolate."

"Yay. Amthyriine tis another of my kin...the youngest. The protection of her realm from the Dark One's influence, specifically by Madagbueil, tis my sole reason for continued existence in this lost place. Thou hast _seen_ her?" 

"Indeed, lady, it is by her...um...grace that we found our way to this realm. Tell me, if you would, is this_ also_ Gorathgraard?" Alaria cautiously asked.

"Anthyriine knows little of grace, magess. Impudence and childishness she surely doth. But yay, tis Gorarthgraard...or once couldst be so called. Now all but lost to the pestilence seeping from Madagbueil's touch.

"Curious she wouldst bid thee here...I wonder..." the dark lady intoned. Then seemed to quiet in thoughts of her own.

"Wondrous lady, might we have the honor of knowing your name? That we might thank you properly and give honor to your most welcome intervention." Fen proposed.

The woman's unblinking silver eyes turned to Fen. Her countenance took on that of a storm, as Alaria sometimes did, the wavering of her hair and then robe seemed to rise in some unfelt increasing wind.

"Do not think to charm my with thy serpent's tongue, halfling." the woman glared at the druid.

Haelan found this quite amusing. He'd never heard anyone but a daelvar referred to as a "halfling" before.

"I know the ways of thine traitorous cult!" she continued.

"Again with the 'traitor' thing, eh, half-blood. Yer battin' a thousand with these regal sorts." Duor jibed. In his mind, however, the continued accusation of Fen, did rouse much curiosity and concern for the dwarf. His 'traitorous cult', Duor thought to himself. Seems the druids did something to piss off these curious magical women in their weird magic bubbles. 

The woman's twinkling silver eyes turned to Duor. Her expression did not soften.

"I truly aver, my lady, that Fen is no traitor to us. He has, in fact, been most helpful and a true champion to our cause." Braddok offered.

"And what cause might that be, warrior?" she said before taking a good long look at Braddok.

"Well, we're trying to find Nor Gorthok...but then...Alaria thinks we already have...but here we are...and..." Festus began to reply. His attempt to explain that which he barely understood, himself, was silenced by Erevan's light hand on his shoulder and a curt shake of the head by the elf.

Regardless, the woman seemed not to be paying the satyr any mind. The swirling unfelt wind calmed about her.

"Thou hast been touched by one of the Eight!" she then said in breathy surprise, more to herself than to the heroes. "Curious. Thou art truly a most unusual company...of heroes or fools, I still know not."

"Good lady, please. What is your name?" Erevan now asked.

She looked at the elf. An unspoken sadness seemed to full her face now.
It seemed as though she again moved her attention to inward thoughts.

"Evaranthriine," _<pronounciation note: "ev-er-AN'-three-en"_> she said quietly, then again became stern of tone. "Thou mayst call me Evaranthriine, as none have done since my beloved twas lost...mayhaps longer still."

The company was now situated about the fire. The star-strewn raven-haired Evaranthriine began to move to the single long staircase that led up to some landing high above.

"Be at peace. Take refreshment. We mayst converse more upon my return." she said and without stopping again, swept up the stairs and out of view.

The companions watched as she rose about the perimeter of the tower in silence, not giving them another glance. They noted that she moved with the same fluid-like grace of Amthyriine. Her shirts seems to just brush across the floor with her passing, no indication of "steps" being taken.

"Guess the kitchen's upstairs in this one." Duor said, aside, to Festus. "So, tree-buggerer, what's all of this traitor business with you then?"

Fen merely shrugged. "I honestly have no idea, friend Duor. But I thank thee..er.._you_..Braddok, for your kindly defense. I have no idea, but it sounds as though these lovely ladies have been wronged by my order in some way."

"Sounds like they were wronged by her sister, t'me." Haelan mentioned and kicked his feet up closer to the fire to warm himself. He glanced around the vast empty interior of the tower. Smiling to himself as he looked at the "stars" on the ceiling. He felt comfortable, like he was outside on a spring night. "I hope she makes as good hot chocolate as her other sister though." he smiled to noone in particular. 

Then sadness came over the daelvar's face and he added, quietly, "I wish Coerainne were here."

Alaria ignored her own sadness at the Hilltender's statement and brushed passed it supposing to the company that they might find more knowledge of Nor Gorthok here. Not to mention this "Madagbueil" who, the magess feared, they may have to face again when to leave this place and find a new portal...hopefully, back to _their_ Feldmere.

"And what do you suppose about what she said about her "champion"? Do you think, perhaps, that might be another of the Swan Knights, like the others Amthyriine mentioned?" Erevan posed before standing at the sound of footsteps coming from the far distant stars that led down out of the chamber...just as there had been in the previous tower.

All werre surprised to see an aged dwarf come up from the stairs. He was hunched and haggard looking, but wore a simple tunic of deep indigo. His stark white beard was simply bound in a strip of leather, just at the tip near his ankles. He carried a silver tray, set with similar yet different silver goblets encrusted with dark blue and violet gemstones aroudn the bowls.

"Here now, kinsman!" Duor perked up. "How do yeh come to be in this Forge forsaken place?!"

The old dwarf's eyes rose from the tray and then portrayed a glimmer of surprise at seeing another of his kind. He smiled weakly at Duor. "Hail and well met, brother." he said at first.

He passed out the goblets to the companions, hastily, and went back to  stand before Duor, all but completely ignoring the rest of the  companions' questioing looks. As it had been in the  "winter-Gorathgraard", each goblet contained something different,  ideally suiting each hero's taste. Haelan's naturally, was filled with  frothy hot chocolate.

"Whence clan dost thou hail? What news hast thou from the outside werrold for Ole Imgulg?" the white-bearded dwarf smiled, strangely, haltingly, as if it were a long time since he had made such an expression with his face.


----------



## steeldragons

The dwarves chit-chatted (in dwarven tongue, of course) for a bit before Alaria took a sip of her black ginger tea and interrupted.

"Imgulg, can you tell us, please, how you came to be here? Tell us about your mistress and this strange realm bathed in night." the magess asked as politely and casually as she could.

"He's been around since the beginning!" Duor said excitedly. "He knows where the treasure is!"

"Aye, mistress. Twas just tellin' cousin Duor, here. I've been with milady for's long as I cin 'member. Her fada before her.

"Poor lass. So full o' life and joy once 'ponna time. Don' judge her harsh, I beg ye. She is bitter with loss and deservin' o' yer sympathies. I came with the mistress an' 'av been here e'er since. I won't 'bandon her...nay for alla gold'n the werrold. She's a good mistress." the white-bearded dwarf replied.

"What is it she's bitter 'bout losing?" Haelan said offhandedly as he took long appreciative sips of the, equally deilicious to the winter-Gorathgraard, hot chocolate.

"Wut she ain't, curious furry-footed one? Her fada. Her home. I mean her real, first home. Her sisters. Her beloved champ'yun. Then Madag-" the dwarf stopped himself at the mention of the name and looked toward the stairs.

He continued in a softer tone.

"Then, her one sister fell to the Dark One's influence. Cursed her champ'yun, she did. Inna form mindless and fere'er tied to this Forge-forsaken place." Imgulg halted his speech. His eyes went to the floor and a sadness greater, if possible, than the expression that seemed the norm for his face came over him.

"Milady has been through much. Watched the disintegration of this world her b'loved fada gave to her n' her kin...with his last breath, he did!

'Twas all well for a time. Then, them wut din't go with the Lady Amthyriine began t'fall. Twer lost, one by one. 

"Milady watched'm. Protectin' them as she could. But one by one, all'em lost. The beasts. The birds. The courtiers n' servants til only Ole Imgulg is left.

"That horrible!" Haelan exlaimed. "Madag-a-bwil did that?" the daelvar was fairly confident he'd gotten the pronounciation correct.

"Twisted in the wicked corruption's o' her lost sister, they was. Lur'd by her magics n' charms. Left to roamin' the woods, mindless, tireless...dead but undying....til the woods 'came swamps...n' still they wander. Lost fore'er.

"Milady lost many friends. Many devoted ladies n' lords. But none so dear or tragic as what...the Dark One done milady many inj'ries but none greater'n wut she did o' poor Inskuel." he finished. As if to forget all that he was recalling, the dwarf looked up to the other companions and asked if any needed "more drink?" 

"We're fine, good master Imgulg." Festus said at first and then found his spiced wine was, actually, empty. "Oh, um, well yeah. I suppose so."

"Festus!" Alaria chastised. "What is this form with which Madag-er -um, her sister, cursed her champion? He was one of the Swan Knights, like Ifthrakuel and Itzisgruel?" she asked.

"Aye. Twas a noble soul. Lost now t'wander the swamps a broken husk of a creature, bound t'the plants n' murky muds. Tis a fate wors'n death fer a warrior such as he...was." Imgulg again looked sadder than normal.

It didn't take much for most of the party (Haelan and Festus, notably excluded) to come to the conclusion that the Swan Knight was, or _might_ be, that "shambler" they'd encountered.

Before Alaria could ask more, Fen interjected.

"Good dwarf, I've no doubt you've tended your lady lo' these many eons. But what was it, if you know, that might have been done by the Holy Order of Mistwood. I would, if I may, seek to make amends as it sound there has been a long time for grudges and bad feelings I would see remedied." the druid offered.

He made no charming smile, not any 'pleasant' look. He seemed entirely sincere, as best he could.

Imgulg frowned at the druid. "Ye dost not ken?" he began angrily. But then, he took a breath and looked again at the stairs. "Nay. I suppose ye wouldst not. The time has been long in this starlit place and, judging by what cousin Duor hast told me, the werrold tis now much changed..."

The dwarf seemed to think for a minute. He placed a finger to his bearded chin and seemed to be trying to recall something.

"Ah! Yay, I 'member. Twas one o' ye Greencloaks what brought the Dark One to Gorathgraard n' milord Gorathiel. Interduced 'em, s'I recall. Twas a friend o' high repute with his lordship...the Forge keep 'im."

When none of the companions made other query or interruption, Imgulg continued.

"Twas an advisor n' trusted friend to his lordship...I'm nay permitted t'speak his name in this hall, by milady's command. But he was one o' yer a...Sha-...Shaylok..ye calls 'em? A...wutzit?...a 'Keeper' in the human tongue.

"Said twas sent by yer 'order' to help maintain the beautiful realm milord had created inna werrold." Imgulg, literally, spat on the floor behind the couch.

"Twas a liar n' corruptor. Stayed milord's hand mor'n once against the Dark One...counseled him to accept the Temptress' affections n' averred, o'er n' o'er, her _'love_' t'be true. Twas HIM wut did this to us."

He shook his head at the floor at some unknown lament. "Brought the Dark One, he did. Brought 'bout the end'a the whole o' our werrold, he did.

"All the folk of Gorathgraard he doomed. E'en Ole Imgulg. And so...ye und'rstand, milady hast no love for ye n' yers." Imgulg concluded more to himself than the company as he moved to collect Festus' goblet and replace it on his silver tray. He took Haelan's proffered empty cup as well.

"Might I assist yeh, _oorn_?" Duor asked as he rose from his seat. <_DM's note: "oorn" - a dwarven term for "elder" or "father" harkening back to the origins of dwarfkind believed created by the Elder god, Oor, who was said to have carved the original dwarves of Orea from stone in his own image._>

This struck all of the companions as strange, Duor _offering_ to help?! But Duor was very curious to explore more of this tower than he did the last.

Imgulg looked again to the staircase that rose arond the perimeter of the single chambered ground floor. "Milady wouldst nay like it." he said at first. But then his expression softened and he added, "But yer a nimble one. Cain't begrudge Ole Imgulg a bit o' aid after all this time." he winked at Duor and let the young dwarf accompany him down to the kitchens.


----------



## steeldragons

Imgulg returned with the refreshed drinks. He left Duor in the unremarkable kitchen, below. What the dwarf rogue was hoping to find, the aged dwarf did not really care. There was nothing of interest, as far as Imgulg was concerned, for his youthful kinsman to find.

"Alaria Staver and Erevan Ryvsorai, I wouldst speak with thou." came the voice of Evaranthriine from above to everyone's surprise. The star-studded lady stood upon the landing far above looking down upon the companions.

Alaria and the others who had suffered at the swiping sapping attacks of the shadow noticed they were beginning to feel significantly better from the warmth of the firepit and the tasteful libations.

The magess and the elf rose and made the slow climb up the winding staircase. Their companions watched in concern, hoping that nothing would befall their magical companions, but assured they could rush to their aid if needs be.

They entered the chamber that seemed to encompass the whole of the second floor. To one side there were a few rows of books and scrolls. Another part of the walls contained shelves filled with jars and bottles, boxes and containers of all sorts of materials, stacked bunches of dried herbs, bones and crystals and stones of every color and luminosity. Most of the interior of the floor was taken with long tables piled with tomes and scrolls, glass beakers and tubes and hoses running into other tubes and beakers, small cauldrons atop contained flames bubbled and gave off wispy smokes and steams of a myriad of pale colors.

The odors of the room were staggering to Alaria. She could only imagine what the elf's heightened senses were doing to the elf. A sidelong look at Erevan proved the elf to visibly bothered by the assaulting mixture of scents.

Evaranthriine seemed neither to notice, or simply didn't care. She led the two spellcasters to one of the smaller tables around which a few chairs were arranged.

In the center of the table, a perfect sphere of crystal, not dissimilar in size and appearance to the Ihs Repahl rested in an elegant silver stand.

The lady shrouded in night indicated they should sit as she took a seat in the high-backed chair of very worn-looking midnight blue velvet.

"It is my supposition thou wouldst not wish to remain here over long, though, there are chambers aplenty for thou to rest as long as thou wish." Evaranthriine began.

"Indeed, Lady Evaranthriine." Alaria replied. "We would like to return to our own world as soon as might be possible. I would ask if you know of a gateway we might use to that end?"

Evaranthriine shook her head and stared at the crystal ball on the table. "I am afeared, wizard, that my sister made the portals her first priority upon her fall. She distorted or destroyed all of the existing gateways. Plundering the tombs as she went, the witch! All except for one...which leads only to her own realm." She paused another moment and looked hard at the two magic adepts.

"Truth be told, I was unsure there were any other modes for entry than that remaining portal. It seems Amthyriine has access I was not aware of...or perhaps, in the unpassing night I had simply forgotten." she said.

"However, with our realms still being joined, I have been able to determine that the gateway into the original Gorathgraard yet exists within her dark realm. It is through that gateway, as it is the only way I know, that you might return to your world..." then in a whispered weighted down in sadness added, "...once _our_ world."

"Lady, I am sorry to see you thus. Is there no way you might return to Orea as well? Could we, possibly, defeat your sister that you and the Lady Amthyriine would be safe and unhindered before we left? Is there no way to break the Dark One's hold on her?" Erevan offered.

Alaria was quite surprised at the offer. She had already thought she might offer they break the curse upon her champion, for her. Though, truth be told, Alaria thought to herself after seeing the laboratory and magical equipment at her disposal, if this Lady of Night could not undo it herself, Alaria had little hopes they possessed the necessary power.

Evaranthriine looked surprised at Erevan's question. "You ask that which I had long ago stopped considering, master Staliiri. You offer what I long ago thought impossible and lost to me fore'er...to _hope_ again? I dare not."  

Erevan wanted to correct the lady that he was one of the Miralostae not of the ShiStaliiri...but thought the better of it. He realized, with what they knew of these strange Swan women, that they would have no knowledge of his relatively "new" [in elf terms] nation.

"Could we, perhaps, free your champion from his curse? I hope you do not mind Imgulg told us a bit of what had transpired here. though to be honest, Lady Evaranthriine, I suspect you are much more versed in the Mysteries than we." Alaria offered cautiously.

Evaranthriine actually grinned at the R'Hathi woman's honesty. It was the sort of grin an adult gives a child who had just figured something out for themselves for the first time.

"Certainly not." she said, albeit kindly. "Yet where I am doomed to failure, magess, it is just possible, though I almost dare not to imagine the possibility, that you might succeed."   

"The only possibility, which I am forbidden by law and oath to even attempt, wouldst be Madagbueil's death. A constraint thou art nay bound." Evaranthriine said. She was obviously working through various information in her own mind.

"Yes...but thou wouldst nay stand a chance of survival at present." Evaranthriine said, somewhat deflated.

The lady stood, somewhat quickly, and proclaimed to the magess and elf. "Thou shalt remain, for such a time as thou mayst increase thy skills. This place is yours to utilize as thou might. I shall offer what assistance I may.

"Your companions are capable, I am sure, of honing their own skills as might be necessary. I can offer suitable distraction and opponents aplenty in the surrounding land for their more...physical abilities." Evaranthriine said.

Then, more sternly, "I shall even permit your fellow of the Green to come and go, as he might, for whatever practice he might require. But I warn thou now! If he causes the slightest of infractions or I perceive the hint of treachery from him, I shall hold thou all accountable and you shall be thrust out into Madagbueil's waiting claws. Am I understood? Are we in agreement?"  

Alaria and Erevan both thought that they should consult their companions first to see if this was amenable, but the lady's stern manner caused them to agree forthwith.

"Imgulg and the Spire shall see to your needs. I shall have him show you to chambers." Evaranthriine declared and moved out of the "library/laboratory" in a soundless sweep of her twinkling starlit gown.

_Author/DM's note: Everybody's going up a level! For Alaria and a couple of others this means 3rd level spells! Albeit a limited selection, in Alaria and Erevan's, based on what they have with them and what Evaranthriine's materials have at their disposal. But still, a good jump for everyone._

_*Next time: The Hunt for the Dread Witch Madagbueil.*_


----------



## Lwaxy

I had already been wondering about the next level 

I love the old dwarf, kinda reminds me of my long lost grandpa for some reason hehe


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria was gently roused by the old dwarf, Imgulg. It seemed she had fallen asleep, again, sprawled over the ancient tomes and scrolls she had been studying and perusing. Someone, presumably Imgulg, had covered her shoulders with a blanket.

The dwarf smiled at the magess and offered her a silver goblet of honeyed elfvine. "Rise n' shine, magess." the dwarf offered with his weird crooked grin. 

Alaria took the goblet and sipped on the sweet golden wine. It was like elfvine and yet not. "My thanks, Imgulg. How long have I been sleeping?" Alaria asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes and noticing the entirely spent candles on the small table in the back of Evaranthriine's library where she had been during almost all of her waking hours for that past...she couldn't even say how long. 

The old dwarf set about replacing the used candles and lighting fresh ones with a long taper. "Ye've had a good long nap, lass. Four or five hours at the least."

She casually picked up the scroll she had begun studying last "night" before sleep had claimed her. She drew another sip of the wine and look ed at the old dwarf. "Imgulg, how long have I been at this? I swear, at times, I feel I shall never comprehend these formulae. The Lady Evaranthriine's gracious assistance notwithstanding, of course."

"Well, tis difficult to tell o' course." Imgulg finished lighting the candles and blew out the taper. He looked at the R'Hathi girl and grinned again. "Ye 'mind me so much o' them. The Lady n' her sisters, I mean. So talented. So determined."

He placed a gnarled solid hand on her shoulder. "Ye'll get it, I have no doubt o' that.

"As to the time...I'd say, mayhaps, a week? Mayhaps, eight or nine days? Ye've hardly been keepin' what I'd call 'regular hours.'" the dwarf chuckled a bit under his beard.

Alaria smiled back and peered down the one aisle between the shelves to where the central table with the crystal ball and high-backed chair Evaranthriine had spent so much time in these passed days. She was not there.

"Dost...erm..._Do_ you know whence..I mean..._where_ our Lady has gone?" Alaria stumbled over the words. The archaic mode of speaking that Imgulg and Evaranthriine used was proving ever more easy to slip into.

"Aye. Milady hast gone to her private chambers. Yer men hast ventured into the woods again...Oh, 'bout two hours passed."  Imbulg answered.

Braddok, Fen, Festus, sometimes with Haelan and/or Duor, had been making regular forays into the surrounding desolate woods to do what they could to eliminate the evils that infested this realm of night.

When they did so, Evaranthriine assured them, the strange sorceress swathed in night did what she could to mask their coming and going from the prying evil eyes of her wicked sister.

They knew that Madagbueil had retreated to her own realm after the party arrived at Evaranthriine's "Spire." They also knew, according to Evaranthriine and Imgulg that she could not hope to pierce the tower, even as Evaranthriine could not pierce into the spire in Madagbueil's realm. But there could be little doubt she was interested in keeping tabs on what the party was doing, especially having been there for so long.

Evaranthriine assured them she was doing what she could from her realm of night to keep the evil witch, her "former" sister, distracted in Madagbueil's own twisted realm.

"Have you seen Erevan?" Alaria noticed that the desk the elf had been prone to use these past "days" was also unattended.

"Aye, the elf's taken to the field wit' th'others." Imgulg answered. "Said he needed t'stretch his bow arm. An' the daelvar is in his room...prayin' as usual." the old dwarf said with a roll of his eyes. Then he added, "Guess it does him some good. Who'm I t'judge."

Imgulg's head turned toward where the door to the chamber was and patted Alaria on the shoudler again. He looked at the wizardess and winked.

"Ye'll get it, lass. I know ye will. But I must be off. Much to do." he smiled. "Been nice t'have 'much t'do' after so long.

"I'll give ye 'nother hour at most and then ye best come down fer somethin' t'eat." the dwarf said as a kindly father and took his exit.

Alaria returned to her scrolls and tomes. That symbol was for lightning. The first syllable was to harnessing the requisite energy from the ether. Then the second called into form...but that next symbol...she knew it...that was...dammit all!

She turned her attention to the thick volume which had served as her pillow. Two pages of arcane syllables with pronunciations beside them.

Alaria, for the umpteenth time, scoured the pages for the sound to match the sigil she was looking at...which would also tell her what the next utterance was meant to bring into being.

She drew another long sip of her elfvine.

-----------------------------

Braddok, Festus, Duor and Erevan returned through the doorway, "hidden" by magics, that they'd been using in and out of the "bottom floor" that led into the kitchen.

They were covered in gore but each, except Erevan, had wide smiles on their faces and congrtulated each other on the disposing of several creatures that afternoon.

Imgulg was hard at work, toiling over pots and pans. He basted a spit full of various birds, "pheasants" he informed the warriors. The old dwarf was also chopping vegetables and then moving to the stove top to stir soup.

The companions, several "days" ago, had stopped wondering or asking where all of the provisions came from as the answer, invariably, was the old dwarf pointing to one of the other doors that led off the kitchen and saying, "Pantry, o' course."

Duor had tried, twice, to gain entry while no one was watching. Both attempts were unsuccessful. Now, he just agreed to go with the flow of this weird magic place.

Festus regaled the old dwarf with their exploits of the day as Imgulg fetched libations for each of the men and offered them some slabs of meat which were "just finished."

The white-bearded dwarf smiled readily these "days", thoroughly enjoying the life and verve being back in his mistress' house.

"Valorous tales will e'er be sung 'round th'fires of Gorathgraard once again, lads. Whence the druid, though?" Imgulg asked.

"Shed he had more shtuff t'do on that garden'a his." Festus responded through a mouthful of pheasant leg.

"Aye," added Duor, "said he was on the verge o' some kinda 'break through.' W'ever that means." He took a long draw on the flagon of first-rate ale he had become very accustomed to and appreciative of from the silver goblet.

Fen had taken it upon himself to try to "right the wrong" his order had done the Lady Evaranthriine. As his meager abilities allowed, he was attempting to "restart Nature" in the starry world. He spent hours each "day" meditating and invoking his powers to bring about some kind of growth, encouraging the long dead flowerbeds and bushes of a small walled in garden behind the tower to return to life.

"Get thee to the fire. I'll bring the food up soon." Imgulg urged the warriors.

"Can we help, friend Imgulg?" Braddok offered. He was already taking up a ladel and mixing a pot of thick-looking tomato-based soup while the old dwarf was chopping some long white carrot-like root on the cutting board.

"If ya wish, master Braddok. Wouldst be appreciated." Imgulg answered in a smile. How the young man reminded him of his lady's lost champion. Courteous, handsome, skilled with the blade.

He was, no doubt, a worthy champion for the lady magess upstairs. Imgulg held high hopes for their eventual union. He had broached the topic with his kinsman, Duor, some "days" ago after observing how the warrior and magess interacted. 

"PfAH! That'll be th'day." had been Duor's response. "Alaria's got her nose stuck in the air when it's not inna book. N' Braddok, don't get me wrong, I like Braddok very much...but he's, well, a bit gloomy since comin' back from the dead n' all."

Imgulg just nodded at the response. The old dwarf knew what he saw and it had not been so many eons that he'd forgotten how love took hold and grew. All in time, Imgulg had told himself. Everything in it's own time...as has always been the way, since the first carving of the Rocks of Oor.

<_Author/DM's note: the "Rocks of Oor" are the term used among dwarfkind for the first legendary dwarves created by the Elder god, Oor, that spawned the rest of dwarvenkind. Hence the cultural belief that all dwarves are, in some way, going back far enough, related and, thus, "kinsmen."_> 

"Champions, attend me in the Great Hall." came the voice of Evaranthriine echoing through the kitchen...in fact, through the entire tower.

"It is time." the Lady's stern disembodied voice said.


----------



## redcat

*Congrats!*

I just caught up with your story hour and find it very entertaining. Thanks a lot for writing this up for all of us and congratulations on such a successful tale! 

Hope to hear more about the 'Stormriders' adventures!

Also, I had a question: Wasn't the satyr a replacement PC while Broddick was being resurrected? Is one person playing two characters? And what is the palladin's player doing while the rest of the group continues on?


----------



## steeldragons

redcat said:


> I just caught up with your story hour and find it very entertaining. Thanks a lot for writing this up for all of us and congratulations on such a successful tale!
> 
> Hope to hear more about the 'Stormriders' adventures!
> 
> Also, I had a question: Wasn't the satyr a replacement PC while Broddick was being resurrected? Is one person playing two characters? And what is the palladin's player doing while the rest of the group continues on?




Many thanks, redcat...and welcome to EN World! 

The Stormriders have a bit of a ways to go yet. haha. So no worries. There will be further adventures.

As memory serves, Coerraine's player had some "real life" stuff going on at the time that required him to stop playing. So no worries about him.

Festus, yes, was Braddok's player's "replacement." He has been playing them both, for the most part. Sometimes, if he's not in the mood, he has Duor's player use him for a session here and there. But neither having 2 characters has been an issue. They know what they're doing. 

Hoping to get a post up in the near future. Hang tight.

And thanks, again, to everyone for their interest and reading along.
--SD


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria exited the second floor library/laboratory her mind swam with arcane syllables and phrasing. Distracted by her own thoughts, she didn't notice Haelan coming bounding down the stairs from the third level that contained their chambers until he nearly ran into her legs.

He wore his signature broad smile and was positively bubbling with excitement as he met her.

"Alaria! Alaria! You won't believe it! I think I can do it. Auntie Gaela came to me in a vision and said I could. She told me Faerantha wants me to! Can you believe it? We can do it!" Haelan bulleted off, his eyes bright with a glassy kind of flare.

"Slow down, Haelan. What are you talking about? Who's Auntie Gaela? What can we do?" the magess calmly responded to the Hilltender's babblings. She descended the winding stairs that hugged the perimeter of a broad open stairwell.

"Auntie Gaela is Faerantha's sister. She's part of the Holy Family, the gods of the Daelvar. We only worship Faernatha, directly, as you know. Her being the matriarch and all. Gaela minds the family and the hearth.She protects the home and our loved ones..." Haelan began his lengthy explanation.

His voice faded from Alaria's ears as the two descended the long winding staircase that hugged the perimeter of the tower. She noted casually, half-listening to Haelan, that Erevan, Festus and Duor entered the chamber below. Her mentor for the passed however many days it had been, Lady Evaranthriine, stood patiently at one side of the large fire pit. The long broad table they had all dined at was to the side, near the stairs that descended to the kitchens which the men had been spending much time in of late and used for entrance and egress. 

The thought perked up into her mind as to where it had come from and how the old dwarf had managed to get the huge table into the chamber.

"...and she said I could do it! Then she disappeared." Haelan finished, as usual, with a tint of disappointment in his voice at what was usually the anticlimactic end of any of his tales.

"Could do what, Haelan?!" Alaria responded with a bit too much annoyance in her voice. Her frustration at the newest spell was bubbling to the fore.

"I can_ remove _the_ curse_ on poor Inskuel!" the blond hairfoot replied with a broad smile.

_This_, caught all of Alaria's attention and the R'Hathi magess stopped in her tracks three steps from the bottom. "What did you say?!" she looked down at the very happy with himself halfling.

"We don't have to kill Mag...Mad-gag...Mad Maggie Bweel! I can remove the curse!" Haelan smiled up at Alaria, sure that she would be happy to hear this news.

Alaria stared agape at the diminutive cleric for a moment before turning to look across the broad hall where Evaranthriine stood, still agape.

"What didst though claim, daelvar?" Evaranthriine said. Her voice was soft, even and stern, yet filled the whole of the huge open floor, as usual.

The company came together around the large fire pit and Haelan again re-explained everything he had said on the staircase to Alaria.

"Soooo, we should take yer word for some vision of yer 'Auntie' and try to hunt down that walkin' composte heap...nay disrespect intended, gracious lady...but the witch is the one doin' all the harm here. Who's t'say she won't just change him back?" Duor asserted.

"Well, she's not _my_ auntie but..." Haelan began to defend.

Evaranthriine interrupted, "While I am inclined to agree with the dwarf's statement, however porrly worded," the lady swathed in a gown of night and stars shot Duor a disapproving look, "I know not of your deity...nor any but the Eight. Mine is the way of the Mysteries. If Ins- my champion may be saved while my sister spared...loathsome as she hast become, I wouldst nay wish her dead if there were any way to avoid it."

Braddok now entered the hall carrying a large tray on each arm. Each was piled high with beautifully roasted vegetables and fowl. He set them down on the long dining table and looked to where the assembled companions stood with their hostess. His close-lipped smile quickly faded to see the serious looks on all of their faces.

"What? Did I miss something?" the confused warrior asked.

"Where is the greencloak?" Evaranthriine asked in a commanding tone.

"Imgulg went to go get him. He was working on your garden again, milady." Braddok answered immediately. "Is everything ok?"

"The Hill-foot thinks he's gonna remove the ages long curse of some demonhorse-riddin'-super-witch cuz his 'auntie' told him to in a vision." Duor replied with all mockery intended.

"Oh." Braddok replied with raised eyebrows.

Haelan folded his arms and had had enough of Duor's constant verbal jabs. "Look, Duor, you don't need to believe in my religion or my gods. They aren't your kind's gods, after all. But a little respect for the divine..._any_ divine, wouldn't kill you."

This raised eyebrows all across the room, including one of Erevan's. Haelan continued.

"And if Gaela says I should and Faerantha wants me to, then that's good enough for me. That's what _faith_ is all about. And whether you believe or have faith in my goddesses I would expect, after all of this time, you would have faith in_ me _and show a little_ respect _for my beliefs and feelings_._"

The look Haelan shot across the firepit at the dwarven rogue was not one of "asking", neither "pleading" nor "innocent", all of which the companions had come to associate with the Hilltender when he spoke...other than invoking his goddess, the power of which could certainly not be denied.

"Haelan...I..." Duor began only to be interrupted by Evaranthriine.

"The Hilltender speaks with a wisdom that defies his stature." the woman dressed in night moved around the firepit in her "non-walking" sort of way that all of the party had become accustomed to seeing. She laid a pale slender hand upon Haelan's shoulder and looked deep into his eyes with her own silvery star-filled own. "Apologies, Hilltender, you are absolutely correct. Though I know not your divine, your connection to it..._Her_...can nay be denied." 

Alaria felt herself awash in embarrassment at her own, all too often, dismissal of the kindly halfling cleric's formidable faith and heart. He'd healed her more times than she could count. Protected her. Defended her even when she, herself, would have fled. Her mind went to that unbeaten path in their first days together, before they'd even gotten to Shoal, and the Hilltender's invocation of _Sanctuary_ which protected her from a grizzly fate at the hands of goblin ambushers. She, too, felt a rush to apologize to Haelan.

Before she could utter it, Imgulg came rushing up out of the stairs to the kitchen. The old dwarf huffed and puffed as he yelled across the chamber.

"Milady! Milady! Come quickly. You must see! The druid. *huff* See what the druid has done *puff* in the garden." the white-bearded old dwarf panted.

At this, all of the party was surprised and concerned to see the stars that glittered in Lady Evaranthriine's eyes and all about the hems of her regal gown flared brightly. Her alabaster face took on a dark shadow of fury and flowing black tresses from her head flared wildly. A rumble of thunder echoed through the chamber as she raced, again with no indication of running beneath her gown, but with shocking speed, across the chamber and disappeared down the staircase that led to the kitchen and outside to the garden.

"Yep. He's dead." said Festus casually, popping a cherry into his mouth from one of the silver bowls that sat on the dining table. The satyr's eyes met Braddok's disapproving own as he pulled the stem and spat the seed into a smaller bowl.

"What?!" Festus protested.

Braddok pulled his sword from the sheathe and glared at the ranger before taking off for the stairs down.

Erevan was already at the top of the stairs before Braddok reached them. Duor and Alaria and Haelan raced toward the table.

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Let's go! Stormriders HO!" Festus said and drew his own weapon before cantering off after the Grinlian swordsman and others.


----------



## steeldragons

Braddok and the rest of the party races down the steps only to pause in the middle of the kitchen.

There, standing in the doorway to the garden was the silhouette of the Lady Evaranthriine. Just behind her stood Erevan. Both stared, unmoving, out of the doorway which streamed...golden yellow daylight?...into the kitchen. 

The companions edged forward and eventually they stood outside, in wonder, on the large flat patio that sat a few steps above the small, walled in, garden grounds.

Their eyes immediately went to the "sky" above them. A bright sphere of golden light floated just over the walls. Its bright sun-like light easily extinguished the starry night sky that was omnipresent in this realm.    

Fen stood in the center of the intersection of paths that went from the steps to the gateway in the wall and crossed from wall to wall, leading to other paths closer to the walls. To his left and right rows of blackened leafless tree, formerly dried and cracked ponds with fountains were filled and streaming with fresh clear flowing water from fountains of cherubs and hippocampi. The formerly dark sculptures of dragons and nymphs and knights, which had been entirely pitted, eroded and shrouded in blackened dead vines, were clean and fresh looking as they were first carved.

"Fen, what have you done?" Alaria was the first to gasp. She turned back to look at Evaranthriine, afraid the mighty sorceress would smite the half-elf where he stood.

Evaranthriine simple still stood in the doorway her mouth, shockingly to Alaria, agape. Imgulg had made his way passed his lady's skirts to stand before her, tears in his eyes.

The druid made no response other than to smack the butt of his sacred spear to the ground and immediately, he was clothed in a green radiance.

The green light-clad druid walked to the left, his spear outstretched and touched the first of the black-barked skeletal trees. As the leaf-tip spear neared the outer most branch of the black-barked tree, it bent and wove and BLOSSOMED! Every last edge of branch bloomed with the pink-white blossoms of a cherry tree.

Fen, silently, moved down the side path to the southern wall, touching his spear tip to various trees and bushes as he went. 

Bough after bough of cherry tree blossomed as if it were the first of spring. Hydrangea bushes, which had previously been no more than domes of dead twigs, burst into puffball blooms of blue and white. The rhododendron did the same with conical blossoms of gold and white. The fingered black veins of ivy, now shown for the brown they were in the "daylight" burst into green life and leaves as Fen passed them.

At Fen's unspoken command, with a nod of his head, bright bluebells and vibrant violet crocuses popper up out of the flowerbeds. Formerly browned bare stalks turned green, then spurted golden buds, then orange and red snapdragons.

The druid halted at the old black iron gate that led out from garden. He waved his spear in the direction of the northern wall and black trees. A cascade of green and cherry blossoms and other floral colors spread across the northern side of the central path.

The party continued to stare, wordless, in awe at the beauty unfolding before them.

Fen pushed open the old gate with one arm and thrust his spear out of it with the other. Following the druid's unsaid command, the green and growth extended out beyond the gate, sprouting green grass and small yellow buttercups popped up among the fresh new green. The "field of green" extended beyond the walls for nearly twenty feet before stopping at the cracked grey edge of the old moat/lake. 

With a wave of his arm, water that continued to flow out of the cherub and hippocampi fountains, lept out of the shallow ponds and began to dribble through the grass to the dried lake bed below. At first the water merely sank into the ancient crack, then began to pool and form a small pond. the water then ceased to flow out of the garden ponds, but continued to stream out of the fountains.

Fen turned in the aged gateway arch, spear pressed to his chest and eyes closed. His eyes opened to stare straight at Evaranthriine in the tower doorway.

"This, my lady,is what the Ancient Holy Order of Mistwood is meant to do." the half-elf said in all solemnity. "I can not begin to avenge the injustice some forefather of my order did to you. But I hope this might bring you some solace."

Evaranthriine remained silent for several beats. The tears forming in her silvery star-filled eyes. One of them began to stream down her cheek as she took in all of the wondrous growth and beautiful colors and the warmth and golden color of the magical light.

A soft *tink* was heard on the stone patio beside her.

"You have begun, druid. You have begun. I find myself taught two lessons this day...from two very different peoples." she said, not looking at Fen.

The lady of the tower just stared at the flowers and the cherry blossoms floating through a calm breeze. Her ears heard the calming pat and small splashes of the fountain waters. Then, a songbird's twitter. Then a warble. Her normally unmoving face betrayed surprise as thing arched dark brows rose and sliver star-eyes widened to see a golden finch and a nightingale alight in one of the freshly blossoming trees.

Another tear *clinked* on the patio beside her. Duor was edging ever closer to her location, but Evaranthriine did not notice.

"You've come back to me. I knew there must be _some _left." The tears now streamed off her face freely. *Clinks* and *tings* hitting the stone platform as Evaranthriine "moved" forward out of the doorway, her attention entirely wrapped in the newly birthed garden and arriving avians.

Imgulg looked at Duor bending down to grab one of the lady's "solid tears" he frowned and shook his head side-to-side, slightly. The younger dwarf frowned back and reluctantly stood upright after grabbing only two of the precious stones.

"I have misjudged...and lament my bitterness dearly, shalok." Evaranthriine said absently in Fen's direction. "I can nay, myself, imagine a greater supplication of apology."

The druid bowed deeply toward the night-gowned woman, her dress of glittering stars now shining indigo blue in the golden magical light that covered the garden. The twinkling stars that constantly glittered along her hems and through her hair were quieted into simple silver trim, with embroidery of stars. and static pinpoints of light.

"You have my word, as an agent of the Ancient Order, lady, that no druid shall ever do wrong to you and yours again." he said. 

The mirth and sarcasm of most of Fen's statements were gone, Alaria noticed. He was entirely serious. She herself was very impressed with the half-elf's amazing craft, and he hadn't done_ anything_ wrong by her.

He was giving his word, Braddok thought...not just as a "druid" but as Fen! He nodded approvingly in Fen's direction.

Haelan eagerly skipped down the steps and began sniffing this bloom and that. "You do good work for no goddess, Fen, I _must_ say!" the halfling smiled at the half-elf.

Fen's signature crooked grin returned the daelvar's smile.

"Not much fer green stuff myself *ACHOO!*Sniff* but I must say, treehugger, ya done good this day." Duor wiped his nose with one forearm while squatting down to grab a final jeweled tear of the lady with the other.

"An' tha's a fact!" Imgulg enthusiastically agreed, not noticing Duor's palm.

Several birds now, flown from their hiding places in the forest to the "east" to see about this bright golden mini-sun, tweeted and twittered around the garden.

Erevan wandered about the garden, letting birds alight on his outstretched wrist, only for a moment before that flitted off again. He turned to look at his _kiili._ A broad grin slowly stretched across the druid's face as he saw the grin on the full-blooded elf's lips.

Braddok walked across the central path of the garden and clasped the druid's shoulder. "Well done, my friend." the dark-haired blue-eyed warrior smiled.

Braddok's smile faltered when he noticed movement over the druid's shoulder.

At the other end side of the long dead lake bed, several forms began to move and shamble forth out of the dense trees of the long-dead forest beyond.

"I am afraid, though. We may have other visitors." the swordsman said quietly.

Fen looked to where Braddok was staring and frowned. "Abominations." he seethed between clenched teeth.

"Indeed" replied Braddok.

"Stormriders, let's go!" the swordsman shouted in a commanding tone.

This jostled Alaria from smelling one of the low-hanging lavender wysteria blooms along the wall. Haelan jumped up from squatting among the snapdragons. Festus, not wanting to be caught unawares as before, as lovely as he found the space, lept off the stone patio and raced to Fen and Braddok.

"What? What is it?" Evaranthriine finally said, distracted from the golden finch set upon her shoulder.

"Nothing to worry about, my lady. We'll take care of it." Alaria said in passing, her staff securely in hand.

"Stay here." mentioned Erevan quietly to the raven-haired woman. 

"We'll be back soon." smiled Haelan up at the lady of the tower as he raced by, hefting his curious pinecone-shaped headed mace as he went.

"Not a problem, lady. Be right back." Duor blurted as he raced by. The dwarf thief nocked a fresh dart into his hand crossbow as he ran.

Evaranthriine looked to Imgulg still on the patio just outside the kitchen door, a combination of confusion and longing on her face.

The white-bearded old dwarf grinned and nodded affirmative as he motioned with his aged gnarled hands for the lady to return to the tower.

"Let'em be heroes, milady." the dwarf said.

Evaranthriine nodded her understanding. She moved back toward the tower and watched as the companions raced down the grassy slope, around the new-formed pond, and out on the dried cracked lake bed toward the grey shambling forms that were exiting the forest in many number now.

"They art, thou ken, Imgulg." Evaranthriine said as she watched. "True heroes."


----------



## steeldragons

Evaranthriine stood gazing up upon the scrying "window", wreathed in the flames from the fire pit from which she'd conjured the image of what was occuring outside, in the center of the spire chamber. Her face was the the mask of stoic which she had worn...almost constantly...for so long.

Imgulg, geside her was much more animated. Muttering "oo's" and "ah's" and jabbing with his own arms as if he were one of the figure on the field of battle which the duo watched.

She saw as the poor little "daelvar Hilltender" quickly fell behind his companions in their charge to battle. Yet, with an unheard invocation of his divinity, several of the heroes blades suddenly flickered with a honey-colored light.

She saw Alaria conjure up a wide swathe of violet flames that arched up over her comrades to engulf three of the zombies. One fell immediately. The other two shambled their way forward a few steps, each, before succumbing to the magical fire.

She saw Braddok, this human swordsman so like her lost champion in so many respects, and touched by one of the Eight, no less. He raced across the long-dry lake bed, slicing zombies in twain with his sword as he went. 

Everanthriine closed her eyes in sorrow, yet no tears fell. These figures which the heroes cut through had once been her responsibility. Her servants. Her ladies. Her lords. Now nothing more than mindless husks of undeath and bent on destruction.

The druid Fen's reviving of her garden, bringing daylight back to the night-clad realm was attracting them all. Yet, the druid raced forward, even as the warriors, stabbing and slashing with as much energy as he could to end the undead incursion. 

Indeed, thought Evaranthriine, as he should as these souls are all on his order's soul. And yet...it was not directly this half-blood's fault...

Evaranthriine did not weep nor lament the destruction of the undead _things_ that exited the woods in ever increasing number. They had been caught for so very long, by her fallen sister's malicious enchantments. They were finally being led to peace that she, herself, had not the where with all to grant them. Opting, instead, to hide. To linger in this tower-prison. Letting her fallen sister do with the realm, her _own gifted_ realm, as she would. 

Alaria was striking down the creatures with the electrical bursts of her staff. At one point, she opened up the field with the toss of some kind of forceful energy burst, blasting several zombified creatures around her and the elf and the halfling to the four winds. The origin of which Evaranthriine could not determine.

The satyr made significant headway, with Braddok close to his side, slicing through the onslaught of the undead creatures, a short curved blade in each hand. He jumped and leaped through their number, damaging all that he came near.

The elf had forgone the use of his bow, after a few well-placed arrows, in lieu of the slender elf-made longsword which he always had at his belt. He, too, sliced through the former-people and tainted creatures that now streamed from all directions out of the long-blackened forest.

Even that cad of a rogue dwarf was taking down creature after creature, altering between some curious small crossbow and a green-energy ensconced dagger. It was anyone's guess what he would strike with next!

Imgulg made a "hoohoo!" cheer with every abomination the younger dwarf dispatched.

Suddenly, it was there.

Evaranthriine turned her head from the view of the battle to make sure.

Yes, it was. It..._she_...was coming.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria took a step back from the zombie-boar she had just dispatched, with a bit of help from Festus' flashing blades. The magess looked around the crowded battlefield as the satyr ranger leaped away for his next foe, a nearing zombie-buck.

"We're spreading out too much." she thought aloud. They had moved quite a distance from the edge of the light and the embankment/island on which the spire sat. Alaria realized with some concern that they were squarely in the middle of the lake bed. Nearly 40 feet from the walled garden (20 feet from the edge of the daylight) and a good 30 or 40 feet ahead of them to the edge of the black forest.

Fen was slashing and stabbing with his spear, at the vanguard with Braddok close to his side.

Erevan was far to her right, doing his best to protect Fen's right flank. Haelan was being of some assistance with his mace, flickering with its coating of honey-colored holy blessing.

Duor let off another dart from his hand crossbow, keeping himself rather "in the middle" of the rest of the companions. Out on the open dry cracked lake bed, the dwarvish rogue felt uncomfortably exposed even in the dim silvery starlight of the night sky. He saw no recourse, in the absence of trees or brush or walls or shadows, but to keep himself securely in the midst of the rest of the party.

The number of zombied men and forest creatures had definitely dwindled. Either they were succeeding in slaying everything the desolate woods had to offer or the rest of the creatures in the realm simply had not arrived, yet. It was plainly evident that they horrid beasts were drawn to the new golden day that shone over Evaranthriine's freshly restored garden.

Then, the R'Hathi magess noticed to her horror, that the daylight behind them was shedding long shadows out before them toward the trees.

Almost as soon as she thought that, a solid shadow form rose up out of the her own shadow and reached for her. She nearly tripped over herself backwards to avoid the swiping knife-like claws that stretched forward from the wholly black creature. Alaria knew, too well, the shadow's touch came not only with physical pain but the strength-sapping chill of the netherworld.

The magess uttered a command and the tip of her staff sparked with a ball of electrical crackling light, causing the shadow to shrink back from the painful light. It disappeared back into the shadow from which it had emerged, which was quickly diminished in the new light source.

A cry of pain from behind her, Duor for sure, let her know that the dwarf was also facing one of the shadowy undead.

"Ack! Dammit. Haelan! Them shadows're here! Do yer holy-light thing!" the dwarf called across the field as he ripped his dagger from its sheathe and slashed at the assaulting undead. He missed, but did give the shadow pause and himself a bit of breathing room.  

The halfling was quick to pull his pinecone-shaped amulet from beneath his pine-green tunic and begin to invoke his goddess to "cast out the shadows of evil from Her holy presence."

A shadow again rose from one of several Alaria was now casting off, from the light behind her as well as the light in front from her staff.

"Behind you!" called Erevan as he pulled his slender longsword from the dead lump of a zombie-bear he'd finally put down.

Alaria swung with her staff at the shadow before her, not making contact, but still whirled around to see another of the creatures had risen out of a shadow behind her and was reaching forward with its sharp wisps of fingers.

Then there was a flash of green and Alaria saw the point of Duor's dagger, very near the edge of her face, sticking straight out of the "chest" of the shadow that existed for only a moment more.

With a shrill shriek and trailing hiss, the shadow dispersed before her eyes into fading ribbons of blackness. Duor stood before her, formerly behind the shadow with a smug grin on his bearded face. "Who needs a cleric? HaHA!"

By the end of that sentence, Alaria and Duor found themselves in a ring of three shadows, all reaching forward for the trapped adventurers.

Alaria's mind raced for a spell but before she could pick one, she, Duor and the shades were bathed in a burst of golden light and the scent of summer breezes and pine trees. Again, the creatures shrieked and hissed as they faded from existence. their "arms" thrown up as if to protect themselves from the radiant energy that, literally, ripped them to shreds.

As the light faded, her eyes came to rest on the daelvar Hilltender (now standing in the midst of the companions, where Duor had been). He wore his big bright smile and nodded to the magess and dwarf before again hefting his mace and beginning to run up to Braddok and Fen, and now Festus', position.

Braddok had hacked his...fifth? Sixth? zombie into multiple pieces. Sending his blade into the still reaching crawling decayed creature's skull with an audible *CHOK*. The swordsman had lost count of how many of the creatures he'd slain. But a cursory glance around the field revealed to him that there were no other mottled flesh or half skeletal creatures moving around them.

His blue eyes went to movement at the forest's edge. He raised his blade in preparation of another wave before he noticed is was a singular movement. A singular _large_ movement, just within the trees.

Then the shambling roughly humanoid of the plant monster stepped, with seeming caution, out of the treeline into the open air of the lake bed. It bellowed through the open "mouth" of leaves and mud and twigs. Its "eyes" were squarely on the source of the golden day light.  

"Uh. Haelan? Your friend has arrived." Braddok called over his shoulder, unwilling to take his eyes off the plant-creature after his less than effective combat with it when they had arrived in this realm of unending night.

"INSKUEL!" Haelan called across the field. He raced on blond-topped bare feet to get to reach where Braddok, Festus and Fen waited with weapons pointed at the large inhuman monster.

The creature stopped its bellowing and its attention seemed drawn to the halfling at the mention of his name. It slouched a bit and rose its "arms" in what might have seemed like a defensive or protective maneuver.

"Do not harm him." Fen shouted to his companions. "And no lightning!" he added over his shoulder, obviously meant for Alaria.

"Don't worry, Inskuel. Yes. Yes we know who you are. I'm going to help you. We're going to help you." Haelan called, stopping about 30 feet from the creature and closing his eyes to begin the powerful invocation that he had never attempted, nor any like it.

"You must keep me from harm." he said more quietly to the surrounding warriors. "This will require a bit of time and a LOT of concentration. I can not be disturbed. But also, he can not be allowed to leave." with that, seemingly contradictory, statement Haelan stuck the butt of his mace into the dry cracked ground and closed his eyes. His lips began murmuring some unheard prayer almost immediately.

*_Stormriders_* Everanthriine's voice was heard within all of the companions' minds. *_She is coming. You must return to the tower._* then there was a mental _gasp_ and softly, apparently unintended for the "thoughts" of the party, the word *_Inskuel?_* accompanied by a crushing sense to all of sadness, longing, remorse.

"She is not coming, dear sister. She is HERE!" a cracked harsh unseen voice from above came to the ears of the party.

Even as Alaria began to hear words of power she did not know, a ball of flame appeared high in the air to their south/left, for only a moment before the form of the demon-horse and its black-robed rider shimmered into view. The horse "stood" about twenty feet in the air, the ball of flame grew in size in the poised hand of the rider.

Now so close, the party could see the rider for what she was. Alaria gasped to herself.

'Eeeeew," Duor muttered aloud.

Having met the "pure as the driven snow" white lady, Amthyriine and the darkly beautiful, if stoic, Evaranthriine, it had been assumed their middle sister would also shine with a grace and otherworldly beauty of some kind, in flowing gown or skirts of fine material....maybe bathed in or trimmed in smoke or, based on their initial encounter, fire. 

None of the party expected to see the horrid, wart and boil covered face of leathery violet skin. Not the large hooked nose or sharp fang-filled mouth, the steely grey hair that whipped and flowed up above her head, nor the tattered black robes flowing in streams, like ribbons, in some unnoticed wind. 

"Haelan!" Alaria shouted.

The Hilltender was already chanting frantically, thankful to his goddesses, beyond thanks, that he had not yet begun the long ritual to remove the curse from Inskuel.

"_Deisa Faerantha, benifica spiritumas con u guda..._" Haelan incanted as fast as he could while maintaining his connection to the Hill Mother.

The ball of fire shot forth from the hag's hand and roared toward to the band. 

Even as Haelan's voice rose in her ears to a fevered pitch, "..._Y TIEM PARAS!_" <_cleric spell: Resist Fire_> the thoughts came to Alaria.

This is it. They would perish here...in a ball of flame...burned to nothing like the persecuted sorcerers of old...in this dead place, not even on their own world...No one would know what became of her. 

Her eyes closed instinctively and she raised her arms as if to protect herself from the pain she expected in that second. The burst of heat was incredible. The force of the fireball spell threw her to the ground. It was hot. So hot. The flames roared and crackled in her ears to a point she thought she'd go deaf..but...

Alaria opened her eyes. She was not burning. The furious glare of the flames bursting all around her forced her to close them again. But, she did not feel like she was burning. Maybe she was already dead?

A moment later. The roaring of the flames stopped and the golden glare behind her eyes was gone.

She opened her eyes once more and looked around in absolute disbelief. Smoke was wisping off her garments and the ground around her, but... 

There was a patch of blackened earth here and there that had flames upon it. The rest of a broad swathe of the grey cracked lake bed was entirely blackened. The streaking marks of the outer edge of the burst stretched out some ten or more feet before her. 

She turned her head to see who of her companions had been hit. They were all on the ground, even as she. Peeking slowly from behind shields and arms placed over their heads. Fen rose from a crouch behind his druid's cloak which also smoked but did not appear to be burned. he began to race toward where Erevan lay prone, obviously also thrown by the force of the blast.

All except Haelan. The cleric still stood, arms to the heavens, and glimmered momentarily with a reddish light before it flickered and extinguished.

Unbelievable. Alaria thought.

"Unbelievable." Duor said aloud. "The hairfoot's n'er gonna let me live this'un down." he said before rising and helping Alaria to her feet.

A maniacal cackle filled the air from Madagbueil. "Well done, champions. Well done, indeed. This should prove most entertaining. Wouldn't you agree, sister. KAHAHAHA!" 

Evaranthriine scowled at the creature that had once been her sister. She stood, now visible to all as a dark silhouette of flowing black hair and twinkling stars upon a narrow ledge behind the wall of the garden.

"This need not be, Madagbueil. Let the heroes help you. They can do it." the voice of the night-clad sorceress filled the open air.

"Nonsense. I've taken one champion from you. I can certainly deal with this haggard band of mortals. Though," Madagbueill returned her attention to the party, "I _am_ impressed, I must say."

"Now," Haelan whispered to Braddok, who was on his feet and wondering how he was going to fight this evil witch floating twenty feet in the air. "Cover me. I can not be disturbed again."

"Beast, take them." Madagbueil shouted down at the hunched vegetative creature, who thankfully she had not included in her would-be deadly fireball.

The creature made a growling rumble in the direction of the tainted sister. 

"You _dare_ speak back to me?! You miserable heap of so much rot. You have no purpose but to serve me. Destroy them!" she commanded.

The shambling mound looked toward the party and its shoulders, if it had shoulders, seemed to slump a bit as it began to shamble slowly forward.

Two bolts of blue-green energy flared up to the wicked rider hovering in midair. One struck the black horse with flaming hooves and mane with an apparent lack of any effect. The other struck Madagbueil herself. Again, the energy seemed to simply burst upon her without effect.

The completely unphased hag looked down at the outstretched arm of the grey-haired elf even as the green cloaked one helped him to his feet.

"HAAAAHAHAHAAH" the witch again cackled. "So it's a wizard's duel ye would like. Good. _Everx zaar_!" she cried and pointed outstretched fingers down at the party.

Four bolts of silver-while evergy flew from the clawed fingertips. Two struck Erevan squarely in the chest, sending the elf flying back to the ground again. The other two struck the green cloak.

Fen's enchanted cloaked offered a bit of protection from the eldritch energy, but he still felt the pain. He looked down in concern to see Erevan unconscious. The small blackened bursts of the energy bolts still smoking on his violet leather jerkin. A bit of blood was trickling from his mouth.

Fen immediately knelt beside his_ kiili _and began casting his only healing magic...his only remaining spell, at all. The regeneration of Evaranthriine's garden had spent nearly all of his energy for the day.

The druid's hands were surrounded by the soft spring green pulse of his spell and he mentally fought with the fading energy of Erevan's body that the curative spell allowed the druid, much to his displeasure, to sense. He had to pull it back, make it grow, just as he had done the garden.

"Grow, killi, you _must_ grow!"

For every "where", every point of energy, he mentally patched, another seemed to open and flow. Fen furiously directed the healing energies as best he could, it was a battle he was unwilling to yield. The noise and bangs and cries of the rest of the battlefield fell from his ears. His attention was completely consumed.

"Aw." mocked Madagbueil. "One fallen, already? I had such hopes for a proper challenge. AAAAGH!" the hag's mocking trailed off in a cry of legitimate pain as she and her mount were washed in a waved of crackling electrical energy. When the onslaught had passed she looked down to the woman holding the still sparking staff and looking at her in a fury that might very well match her own.

"If it's a wizard's duel you want, Madagbueil, then I suggest you put your power to the test of an actual wizard!" Alaria called up in defiance.

"You'll pay for that little sorceress." Madagbueil seethed through pointed clenched teeth. All mockery or amusement was gone from the hag's tone. Her large black eyes glared down at Alaria. "No mortal's toy can defeat the true power of the Dark One at Madagbueil's command!"

The witch threw up her arms and incanted another spell which Alaria could not fully hear nor understand.

The ground all around the party began to rumble.

"Nice job, boss lady." prodded Duor from Alaria's side. "Make the crazy super-witch on the demon-horse_ mad_. Great tactic." The dwarf fired off another of his small crossbow bolts, but this carried a little something extra.

To the tip of this dart, as a few others Duor had prepared some time ago, was tied a small shard of firestone which he had taken from their adventure in Shafton. The chips of explosive crystal had been a "gift" from the dwarf brothers...that they didn't know about. But Duor couldn't see the harm in a few missing shards. They _had_ saved the whole mine and town, after all.

The well placed dart landed, as Duor had hoped it would, with exacting accuracy in the snout of the nightmare which periodically was expelling flickers of flame and smoke as it waited for command from its rider. The demon-horse's head flew up and it reared in the air, completely catching its rider off guard. 

Duor watched in anticipation...Just another moment. the dwarf hoped silently.

Just as the bolt struck, the ground before the magess and rogue burst open from a huge arm striking out from it. It was black and gleamed like metal in the twinkling starlight. At the end was a single large claw-like hook. What came after was even more cause for the two challengers to back up more than a few steps.

Another arm, similarly ending in a great hook-claw burst form the ground and pulled the hulking black armored body of the creature from the ground. It had a snapping beak like a turtle or vulture at the end of its inhuman head. Large clawed feet stepped out of the great hole from which it rose and lifting both hooks and it's beaked maw to the heavens it let out a frightful shriek. The thing was easily seven or eight feet tall.

"By the Forge! Ok, fun's fun, Alaria. But it's time for a, uh, strategic  retreat." Duor called over the creature's loud shrieking roar.

Alaria looked frantically around the field. Two other of the hook-handed creatures were rising, in similar fashion from the dead lake bed. One near where Braddok and Festus had engaged the shambler-Inskuel and another not far from where an oblivous Fen still knelt over Erevan's body.

Haelan seemed lost in some trance...Alaria assumed to help the cursed Swan Knight.

"Alaria! Need a little help here!" called Festus as he jumped over a swiping vine from the shambler's halfhearted attack. 

"We're not going anywhere, Duor. Your distraction was well timed. You keep it busy, while I draw the witch's attention."

"You want _more_ of her attention!?!" Duor said in disbelief.

His disbelief went unanswered as his own attention turned back to their immediate foe just in time to let him dive and tumble away from the magess to avoid a thundering blow of the monster's giant hook into the ground where he had, moments before, been standing.

Alaria raced away from the hooked horror toward Festus and Braddok.

"Yeah. Great. NO PROBLEM! Really. You go ahead." called Duor after the magess as he tucked and rolled, again, away from a another swipe of a massive hook. Least the thing seemed to be a bit slow due to its lumbering size.


----------



## Tamlyn

_ahem_

Ok, you've had enough of a break. It's time to get back to entertaining me.

Thank you.


----------



## RedTonic

May I have some more, sir?


----------



## steeldragons

Tamlyn said:


> _ahem_
> 
> Ok, you've had enough of a break. It's time to get back to entertaining me.
> 
> Thank you.






RedTonic said:


> May I have some more, sir?




Quite right. And I thank you, gentle readers, for the oft-needed kick in the proverbial pants. 

I was thinking on Monday how I had not posted in some time...didn't realize it had been almost an entire month! And here we are, somehow, at Friday already!? How'd that hoppun?

But I appreciate, as always, your patience and continuing interest. You are, most certainly, overdue.

So, here ya go! 
Keep reading and hoping you're enjoying the Tales of Orea and look forward, as always to any questions, comments...or just sayin' "hi." 
Enjoy.
--Steel Dragons
-------------------------------------------

The next few moments went by in a blur for Alaria. 

The firestone dart lodged in the nightmare's snout burst with a shortlived roaring burst of flame. THe fire did not harm the demonic beast, of course. But the shock caused the creature to rear and buck and "run" around in midair in fear and surprise.

This threw Madagbueil from the creature's back, as she too was completely taken by surprise. Unfortunately, instead of falling, the hag-witch simply flew around a bit before recovering and righting herself, hovering of her own accord.

The break, however, was severely needed as Duor was doing a terrible job landing a strike on the great hook-handed monster and decided to "Screw it!" after he had to dive dodge away from another attack. He made with all speed back into the "center" of the battle field.

Erevan's violet eyes fluttered open just in time to see Fen's smiling, tear-streaked face. His eyes then widened in horror and he sat up with elvin speed to "hug" Fen and jump the two of them away an inch before a great yellowed hook of a claw came crashing down where the druid had been kneeling.

They rolled a few feet together before coming to a standstill, Erevan laying atop Fen, who was on his back on the ground.

"My thanks, killi." Fen smiled. "We'll get back to this soon as we're able. But for now..." the druid shoved the elf off of him and leapt to his feet. Bereft of his sacred spear for the moment, he pullout out the ram-head carved club he'd received from Daenfrii. He had yet to use the weapon and the surprise was evident on his comely face when his strike against the hooked monster sent the beast flying back, off of its feet, to land with a thundering boom. 

Braddok was having difficulty with the shambling mound of a Swan Knight until Alaria came close enough to shout out the spell of growing. Suddenly, the shambling mound was a good foot shorter than the swordsman and he shoved the creature back, away from the still praying Haelan, by several feet.

"Braddok, the hooked beasts, hurry!" Alaria shouted up to the warrior.

With a turn of his massive torso and swing of his giant sword, the swordsman of Barforth sliced the hooked horror that stood over Festus and Alaria, removing its head from its shoulders in a single swipe.

"My thanks, Braddok!" Festus called up to the man. The satyr had been having much difficulty landing any telling blows through the creature's hard lumpy plates of carapace.

Seeing his chance, as the large monster slowly slumped forward, Festus half-stepped half-leaped up onto the dissolving creature's shoulder and jumped off the high vantage point with all of the might his goat-hindquarters could muster. He sailed through the air directly at the momentarily dazed Madagbueil.

*SWIPE*SLICE*AAAAH!*

The satyr ranger's two blades whipped out before him and the one  magical blade managed to bite into the hag's arm [the other missed]. The satyr tucked and flipped to land on his feet with a smirk toward the witch.

"Tag! You're it!" Festus goaded.

Madagbueil recovered from her shock and pain immediately.

"You DARE assault ME! You pathetic twisted mockery of...Feel my wrath child of Pehn._ Azz Nuhzz Zugat_..."

As the witch began to cast, her voice rose in volume but deepened in timbre. The air about her seemed to darken a shade or two deeper than the dark night that covered the whole of the realm.

Alaria felt a tingling that quickly became a chill. Even without her arcane sight in effect, she could sense the power that was being invoked. The words of power, at least the ones she could hear or understand, burned her ears. What _was_ this magic?

Even before Madagbueil had completed the spell, Festus cried out in pain. His back arched, impossibly far, before snapping forward and the satyr hunched down, falling to the ground, covered by his patchwork cloak.

The sounds of stretching and ripping, bones cracking filled the area. All combat, movement and sound, other than the soft chanting of Haelan, seemed to stop for a moment as Madagbueil finished her spell with something that sounded to Alaria like "_izthssss._"

Festus cried out in pain again. "HELP MEEE! HELP MEH-..."A cry that became a howl and then a whine to a whimper....and then. 

"Meh-meh-mmmmMAAHAHAHAH!" was the last any of the companions heard before Festus emerged from under his patchwork cloak.

The horns were the same. The shaggy furred hindquarters were the same. But now there were front-quarters to go with them. A short darker brown beard, the same color as the satyr's goatee, hung off the chin of a brown billy goat where Festus had been.

"Manat's star!" Alaria breathed in horror.

"Holy $#!t!" the gigantic Braddok boomed at the same time as the same exclamation escaped Duor's beard.

Fen and Erevan were similarly surprised, having just finished disposing of the hooked horror that had been upon them. With the final blow, the monster seemed to crack and dissipate into nothingness as streams of blackness leaked out from the shattered plates of its hide.

The goat, seeing the giant hooked horror beside him, bleated and began trotting back toward the walled garden of the spire.

Again the battlefield blurred as Braddok reached out and grabbed the nightmare in midair and cleft it in twain just before his enchantment was wearing off. Turning his ever shrinking attention back to the shambler, Braddok saw that it seemed to be "stuck" in its place.

Then it was Haelan's voice that rose in volume.

"Now what?!" Duor burst.

The attention of the field was turned back to heretofore easily ignored halfling. There seemed to be a wind swirling around the daelvar priest. His arms were over his head, palms toward the shambler. The dust and diark dirt that flowed around the hairfoot's position seemed to take on a silvery light of its own and suddenly green leaves and grasses were seen in the swirling air around his feet.

_"Ipsum Deisa Gaela! Ipsum Deisa Faerantha! Ipsum beneficiat y deisa totum! Exclarian malignicas SORTUS!"_ <_the last bits of the cleric spell: Remove Curse. "By Holy Gaela! By Holy Fearantha! By all that is good and holy! I command this curse be gone!"_>

The shambler slumped down to the ground, appearing as nothing more than a small mound of mud and twigs and decaying plant.

Then, seemingly from the creature's own body, bright green fresh grasses began to sprout. Then small white daisies burst and bloomed over the whole of the mound, making it appear as a four foot high hillock in the middle of spring.

The whole of the battlefield was awash in the scents of spring rain and pine. The wind which had blowing around Haelan's hairy feet turned into a gale that now washed over the whole of the broad open dried lake bed. Fresh living green leaves and blades of grass were carried along the wind, though where they had come from, none of the companions could say.

The last remaining hook horror screeched into the ether as its form, like its brothers, seemed to crack and then shatter. The black energies that escaped it as it disintegrated were quickly blown clear by the fresh breeze.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Madagbueil screeched across the field. "NO! NOOOO!" the witch seemed to be shuddering from her hovering place and clasped her ears. Her magical flight faltered and Madagbueil fell the ten feet to land, hard, on the ground. She writhed and raved, incomprehensible. Finally, staring up at the starlit sky, Madagbueil stopped moving or making a sound. Her arms flopped to either side and she just lay there. 

Duor raced forward, intent on delivering a "final blow" to the witch but halted as he neared as a loud hiss went up all around her. Black energies seemed to seem out of every orifice, out from beneath her tattered black robes. These, like the energies of the hook horror were carried away in the pine-scented wind. The purple warted skin seemed to whither and shrink, like all of the air of a balloon being let out. Until, finally, nothing remained of the mad-witch but the black robes and cloak which seemed to turn from solid fabric to a fluid ink-like substance and seep away into the cracks of the dried ground. 

Duor looked to Alaria.

The magess did not notice, completely awestruck by what was happening.

Braddok was transfixed on the dissolving witch until he noticed the pine-scented wind was subsiding. Then he heard the soft "clinking thump" of Haelan falling to the ground.

The elf-folk and Braddok raced for the daelvar, fearing the worst. But he was hoisting himself up on his elbows with some effort.

"Look to Inskuel." Haelan managed to say, the exhaustion evident in his voice.

The companions turned toward the daisy covered hill. 

The covering of fresh sod seemed to ungulate and stretch until an arm...a human mail-clad arm?...burst through the top of the mound.

All of the company readied their weapons, expecting a zombie attack. 

What came out of the hill of grass and white flowers was a tall handsome man, with white-blond hair crawl his way out of the mound. He wore silvery scale mail over which a tabbard of midnight blue with a bright white swan crest  emblazoned on the chest. The man was able to get himself almost halfway out of the hill of grassy sod before Braddok and Fen rushed to go aid him.

Fully freed, he collapsed to the ground between the warrior and druid. His breathing was heavy but soon returned to a normal pace. He lifted his head and looked at the companions all staring at him in disbelief. His gaze finally fell on Haelan and he smiled. Haelan's own face lit up with his own bright smile.

"Sir Inkswell, I presume?" Duor said.

"INSKUEL!" the rest of the party corrected.

"Mahahah." bleated the goat.


----------



## Lwaxy

Mahaha... goat stew for dinner


----------



## steeldragons

The party, with Inskuel, returned, scorched and bruised but victorious, to the walled in garden.

The restored swan knight ran most of the way back to the wall, as Evaranthriine raced from the wall and out the gate.

The two met in the newly restored fresh grass outside of the garden. Their embrace was long. Their kiss longer.

As the party arrived at the lake bed embankment where the grass began, the night-robed lady turned to them with a smile none of the party thought possible from the typically pale stoic face.

"My companions...no. My friends. Thou hast restored to this realm and myself Hope. Thou hast restored Life." she said with a sweep of her arm in the direction of the blooming garden. "And now, thou hast restored Love...to the realm and myself. The whole of the treasures of Gorathgraard couldst nay repay my gratitude for thy deeds." the raven haired woman was practically gushing.

"The honor is ours, my lady." Braddok replied and bowed.

"We were glad to help, Lady Evaranthriine. And we were lucky." Alaria replied, seemingly troubled by their success.

"The whole of the treasure, yeh say? Wouldn't be a bad place to start." Duor added before receiving a jab in the ribs from Haelan.

"Nay, good heroes, the honor is ours." replied Inskuel with a deeper bow than Braddok's. "I ne'er dared to think...insofar as I could think in that beastly guise, that I would again stand with my beloved."

The grouping moved back within the walls and walked slowly through the beauty of blossoms and daylight that filled the garden.

"Oh! Hey, Fen. Festus is ruining your lovely garden!" Haelan shouted from the rear.

The company turned to see the billy goat-Festus chomping happily on some fresh flowers.

"What are we gonna do about that?" Haelan added, sincerely perplexed.

Alaria nodded her head, "I have prepared the spell of Unmaking. I can only hope that my power is up to the task of undoing Madagbueil's spell."

Alaria felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to see Evaranthriine's smiling face. "Allow me, Magess. I think thou hast extended thyself enough this day." Alaria nodded her admittedly weary head and Evaranthriine added, "And if I don't miss my guess, my power still exceeds that of my poor sister."

"HEY! Getoffa there!" Duor shouted.

The company turned to see the dwarf in a tug of war with the goat who had left his fresh salad to gnaw on the corner of Duor's dark grey cloak.

Several of the companions could not contain their chuckles and grins as the dwarf continued to spout obscenities at the goat.

"You'd best hurry, my love. 'Ere the dwarf be left disrobed." Inskuel jested.

Evaranthriine stepped forward. She wove the spell of Unmaking and the goat bleated in objection. The bleats became high pitched screams with diminshed in tone and volume as the spell came to an end and there, before them on all fours with a corner of Duor's cloak in his mouth, was Festus in his normal shape. Perhaps, Alaria noted, a bit longer in the chin hairs than before. But in tact.

Festus' mouth dropped open and the torn corner of cloak fell out. Then he collapsed without a word.

Haelan rushed forward as duor turned the satyr over onto his back.

"Is he?" Haelan asked noone in particular as he looked over the ranger's body for any signs of wound or damage. Before the daelvar cleric could summon up one of his healing spells, the satyr's eyes fluttered open weakly.

"W-....w-..."Festus said hoarsely.

"Yes, Festus. We WON! Rest easy. Your body's had quite a shock." Haelan attempted to calm the satyr who seemed to be very insistent on saying something through his newly re-shaped vocal chords.

Finally, the word came from the satyr's throat, "Wwwwine."

"Ach. He's fine." Duor said dismissively and dropped the satyr he had been helping to his unsteady _two_ goat legs. 

"Wine, indeed." proclaimed Evaranthriine as the laughter of the party subsided. "Ne'er since the birth of Orea has there been more cause for celebration than Gorathgraard has this night."

The company returned to the tower to find the food that had been laid out for their supper before all of the distraction of the evening was entirely gone...or changed?

Huge silver candelabras in the shape of great trees lined the table, holding uncountable candles at the end of every branch. The platters that had had their roasted fowl and vegetables were now piled with breads and beef and a whole roasted pig stuff with apples. Crystal goblets of varying size and height held any number of libations as Imgiulg came racing out of the kitchen stairs with a large tray and several bottles of something he called "fizvhein." 

"It's a celebratory wine from the southlands." the elderly dwarf explained to the questioning Erevan. It was significantly more pale than the golden elfvine he and Alaria were accustomed to. It also, by some magic obviously, was filled with every-continuing streams of tiny bubbles.

After a bit of curative magics from Haelan to various of the morebattered party members, a tearful reunion (on the dwarf's part) of Imgulg and Inskuel, and a lengthy but heartfelt toast with the "fizvhein" by Inskuel to the companions and the return of his lady love, the company set to the serious business of enjoying themselves.

Hours passed in the telling of tales by Inskuel of his time in Madagbueil's prisoner before being turned into the retched creature under her sway. Festus and Duor (often with Imgulg) toasted with every sip to their good fortune and heroism and mighty deeds (both in and out of Gorathgraard).

At some point, Imgulg went to the kitchen and returned with a plate holding a chocolate pudding cake, drowned in whipped cream and fresh berries. "An' fer the hero of the day, the greatest of daelvar, Haelan the Holy!" He plopped the colossal dessert down in front of Haelan whose eyes widened to the point he looked as if he might eat the thing with his eyes. 

"Oh, I don't deserve this. My goodness, Imgulg. It is the finest pudding I've ever seen! I don't deserve..." the humble halfling protested.

"Aye, friend Haelan." Inskuel interrupted.

"You do, indeed." Braddok agreed and stood to raise his half-empty narrow fluted crystal goblet and proclaimed to the table. "To Haelan the Holy!" the swordsman shouted through the hall.

"TO HAELAN THE HOLY!" the rest of the company stood and chimed in.

Evaranthriine moved around the table to grant Haelan a kiss on the forehead before the blushing Hilltender dove into the dessert with his large silver spoon.

"Mmmmm. Any'un wun'fsun?" he offered through bulging cheeks.

The companions carreid on for some time, drinking, eating, and telling tales...and more drinking for the satyr and dwarves.

Erevan and Fen quietly took their leave.

Alaria used this opportunity to also excuse herself and wandered back down through the kitchen and out into the day lit garden beneath the sky of clouds.

She folded her arms as she wandered the few paths, barely taking note of the snapdragons snapping or the bluebells that clinked and chimed around her ankles as she passed or the twittering birds that flitted from branch to branch, following her as she went.

"My dear Lady Magess, is the repast not to your liking? Thou seems far to grim for such a night of triumph." came the soft even voice behind her.

It was Evaranthriine, who naturally in her "floaty" kind of way of moving had not made a sound in her approach.

"No! Oh no, Lady Evaranthriine. Everything is lovely. Beyond lovely...But I admit...I do have my concerns." Alaria replied. She turned to stare out through the gate of the garden to where the inky stain remained on the lakebed where Madagbueil had...disintegrated.

"Ah yes." Evaranthriine said, in seeming agreement to whatever it was Alaria had not said. "Do not feel sorrow, my dear. My sister had been lost to me for longer than I could remember. She made her choices. Her Fate was her own."

Alaria nodded silent.

"But that is not your...concern, I feel. Is it?" Evaranthriine continued. "It has been so long...so very long, since I had hope. I have forgotten that it comes with its sister...'worry'. If we do not have hope for the good, we are spared the fear...the concern...that hope might be taken from us.

"Tell me, Alaria, what is your concern?"

Alaria thought for a moment, attempting to organize her thoughts. She had so much to worry about, it seemed, even though they had just had an unequivocal victory.

"The magic, my lady. The spell of Changing that Madag-...your sister, used. It is one of the Forbidden of my homeland...for centuries, now. I had thought the magic did not exist anymore within the world."

"Truly?" Evaranthriine replied. She sounded sincerely surprised. The surprise was then Alaria's when the dark lady giggled a bit to herself. "The Polymorph transmutation was used as a game in my day. It was even a parlor trick for entertainment and training."

Alaria could not contain her abject horror. "Entertainment?! To warp and break a body so...to turn it into something else?! Festus is lucky to be alive! I dare not tell him how close to death he came."

Evaranthriine nodded her understanding. "Well, no. It was used upon things for fun and jest. Trying to best your competitor with objects that might evoke some whimsy or admiration. Or upon oneself, of course...a contest of animal forms to see who was the more cunning wizard. But no, nothing..._deadly_ nor used upon other unwilling beings."

"I would fear to leave it. I desperately wish to return to our world, my lady. But I dare not leave the knowledge in her...Gorathgraard. It might be found and used to dark purpose. And if she was in league with Des-...the 'Dark One' it is entirely possible she might have access to it also.

"But I fear to put my fellows in more harm's way. We have endured quite a bit in this foolish hunt for treasure. I do not know how much longer we might prevail."

Evaranthriine nodded and her face became again the stoic and thoughtful mask that Alaria to which had become accustomed.

"Inskuel has intimate knowledge of my sister's realm. And with the hope and call to action of you and your companions, I am inclined to accompany him. We shall go to Madagbueil's spire and find or destroy the whole of the evil contained within. The magic you fear is known to me and ineffectual against my form. I wouldst, as a final boon, allow you access to it, though I think it is beyond your capabilities at present."

Alaria again looked horrified. To be freely offered one of the Five Forbidden Incantations!?

<_Author/DM's Note: the idea of forbidden/forgotten spells/magics in R'Hath was entirely Alaria's creation. She was basing it off of the "3 forbidden curses" of the Harry Potter movies/series. I told her 3 wasn't enough. Let's make it 5 and see where it goes. _>

"If what you pose is correct, and the Dark One has access to some forgotten magic in Orea, would it not the best way to counter it be to have it?" Evaranthriine reasoned.

Her reasoning was sound, Alaria had to admit.

"I...I don't know...I could be imprisoned for possessing such knowledge...even put to death!" Alaria stammered a half-hearted argument even as her mind was reeling with the possibilities.

"Well, consider it, Magess Alaria. For now, let us return to the party and have no more 'concern' or 'worry' on this night of Hope, Life and Love." Evaranthriine gently held out her hand to usher Alaria back into the tower.

Alaria nodded. "You are right, of course, my lady. I apologize for interrupting your revery." Alaria's mind went back to the seaside village of Shoal and the kindly high priest of Tyris, Tidemaster Kama. He too had once encouraged her from thinking too much and not enjoying the 'good times' of life when they presented themselves.

The elegant ladies of the court of the night-realm of Gorathrgraard returned to the tower and saw the night of celebration to its end.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria closed her eyes and reveled in the warm night air blowing passed her. The near silent beating of her steed's white feathered wings only furthered her enjoyment of the ride. Her desire to again wield the Ihs Repahl was reminded and renewed. Though she now possessed the ability of levitation and flight through her magics, the additional powers of the mystic sphere would be most welcomed and necessary, she felt, in their future endeavors. 

She opened her eyes and looked about at her companions upon the other flying beasts. Each seemed to be enjoying their very rapid trip, though Duor, of course, clung to the back of Festus in obvious discomfort.

Her mind wandered back to the series of wondrous surprises the morning had bestowed upon them and wandered forward to what other amazing happenings might occur within this single day.

*
After the night of revelry, the companions broke fast with a delicious and hearty meal by Imgulg. Duor, Festus, Haelan and even Braddok a bit worse for their indulgence of the litany of beverages the night before, were immediately refreshed by the repast.

Healed and newly stocked with their magics and energy, the companions discussed what to do next.

Braddok had revealed, in confidence to Alaria, that he had been visited in a dream by a feline yet female face, maned in black. He found her familiar but could not recall why or from where.

The feline woman had relayed and enforced upon him that his "Destiny was slipping further from his grasp." and the warrior wondered to the magess what she thought such a portent might mean.

Alaria could not suppose what this meant but was stricken with the reveleation that she, herself, could not recall having any dreams since they'd entered these separate Gorathgraard's. She found her mind wander to the Lady of the Emerald Tear, Rhea, and wondered what was passing in their "real" realm of Orea.

Following the meal and some discussion, the companions had had a ceremony of sorts with the Lady Evaranthriine and Lord Inskuel.

The Swan Knight was the picture of regality in his shining silver scale mail, midnight blue tabbard. A sword now hung from his hip and he held a long lance-like spear that was wrapped with a flowing dark blue banner.

Despite his well-muscled frame being taller and more slight of shoulder, and his white-blond hair more light, Alaria could not help but be reminded, with some sadness, of Coerraine. Inskuel pactically shone with an aura of goodness and peace and the R'Hathi magess grinned at the picture of this Knight of Gorathgraard in indigo as a mirrored image of the crimson-swathed Knight of Mostrial she had known.

Imgulg came up beside his lady with a shallow, slender case of midnight blue velvet, trimmed and reinforced with silver edges and clasp. The dwarf opened the case and held it toward Evaranthriine. A slight silvery glow emanated from within the case.

"Not since my father lived," began the lady of night, "since the glory days of the true Gorathgraard, from what you've told me ages before your Godswar, have these pendants been bestowed upon any of Gorathgraard's defenders or servants."

The woman began pulling silver chains, so fine they were barely perceptible and placed one upon each of the line of Stormriders.

"Know that these medallions shall keep you safe from the prying eyes of your enemies." Evaranthriine continued. "May they always keep you from harm."

When she got to Alaria in the line of heroes, the magess noted that the pendant was in the shape of two swans facing each other. They touched at the beak and again at the breast. With the delicately crafted arch of the swans' necks, they formed an opening in the middle shaped like a heart.

As she reached Haelan at the end of the line, she again bent down and kissed the halfling upon the forehead. "Know that thou, all, art fore'er friends and champions of Gorathgraard. That where ere thou encounters any of the Swan Prince's realms or subjects, thou shall be met with friendship, hospitality and aid.

"Arise now, thee Champions of Gorathgraard and heroes, all. Thou Riders of the Storm."

After bestowing her gifts, Evaranthriine left the great chamber with instruction that she be followed to the garden after "a few moments."

It was then that Inskuel explained thier intentions. "We shall accompany thee into Madagbueil's realm, to thegateway to return to thine own realm. My Lady and I shall continue on to the witch's own spire, dispatch what evil still lurks there and reclaim that realm to the glory in which it was formed."

"We can help you with that." Haelan offered.

"'Specially if there's treasure t'be found." Duor added.

Inskuel chuckled in good nature. "That is nay necessary my friends. With Madagbueil's death, the forces of her command are no doubt foiled or returning to their own true forms. And, as thou hast said, it is passed time for thy return to thine own realm."

It had, in fact, been discussed and decided they would return that day. Alaria was anxious to get back to Orea. Braddok seemed to have some pressing concerns about his overarchign quest to reclaim his homeland. Erevan,similarly was concerned for his own nation and people and their war with the goblins. Duor, naturally, wanted to get to the "real Gorarthgraard" and the "dragon's treasure" therein...Haelan's argument that the dragon still lived and they weren't up to the task of slaying an ancient dragon fell on the dwarf's greedy deaf ears.

The elderly dwarf Imgulg came up to Haelan and uor with two normal appearing backpacks which he claimed were stuffed with enough food and drink for the three day journey it would be from "the mounds" to Gorathgraard's citadel. 

"That very kind, Imgulg. But we really don't need it. We have my magic food bowl." Haelan initially protested.

"Aye." replied the old dwarf, "But does ye magic food bowl carry the weight of young Braddok with the feelin' of havin' change in yer pocket?"

Duor's eyes widened to popping as understanding sunk in. "Yeh mean...?"

"The white-bearded dwarf winked at his "cousin", "Yay indeed. Yeh might be wantin' these fer when yeh find that treasure."

Duor, in a completely unsolicited and surprising show of affection flung himself at his older "cousin" and wrapped him in a bear hug. "Yeh've made me the happiest dwarf in creation! I'll ne'er forget yeh."

Imgulg just chuckled a hearty laugh and returned the embrace. "Yeer quite welcome. Now go...be heroes...n' make this old bag o' rocks proud."

"Oh!" added Imgulg, separating himself from Duor and reaching behind him with a curious glance around the room. Most of the other companions were beginning to move off with Inskuel toward the garden. 

"My lady bade me give this t'yeh, master dale-far." the dwarf presented Haelan with a thin silver scroll case. "Tis fer the lady magess, though she not be ready fer it just yet. My lady wishes to leave it to yer care and magnificent wisdom as to when the time might be right.

"She claims ye will be needing it." he finished with a wink.

 "But how will I know?" Haelan began to protest.

"Ye'll know, Haelan the Holy. I have no doubt o' that." Imgulg concluded. "Now, hurry on with yeh." the dwarf seemed to be welling up. "Don't want t'miss yer next adventure. I've got work to be done." he wiped a hand across his eye and waved Duor and Haelan off.

*

The companions assembled outside the gate of the shining day of garden. 

Their next surprise was to see the sky far to the west aglow in the rosy pink hue of sunset. When questioned about this, Evaranthriine claimed that with the demise of her sister, their realms were beginning to "collide..coalesce, if you like. My sisters and I were each gifted with own own realms and with Madagbueil's loss, her realm will now merge with mine."

"Does that mean, if we stay and help you some more, we could bring all of your worlds together? Maybe even return you all to the real Orea?" Festus asked, somewhat excitedly.

Alaria found herself perplexed by the satyr's understanding of dimensional theory which she, herself, was barely beginning to grasp.

"It might do, friend Festus." Evaranthriine responded. "But that is not thy way today."

"But...but we could help." Haelan in part protest, in part offer and in part asked his companions, as he often liked to do.

"Thou hast done more than thy share, goodly one." Evaranthriine replied with a kind smile and took her knight's gauntlet-covered hand. "Tis well passed time that the Daughters of Gorathiel do for themselves, methinks. Ah! And hear they are." 

With the lady's eyes going to the sky, the companions' gazes followed to see a "V" of long necked white waterfowl approaching from the south, through the starlit sky.

Seven swans landed in what could only be described as pure grace into the pool that had been formed the previous "day" at the edge of the long dead and dried lake bed.

"My thanks, friends, for heeding my summons." Evaranthriine said politely to the birds.

What happened next amazed all of the companions but Alaria most of all. With a wave of her midnight-robed arms, Evaranthriine cast the spell of Shaping in a way that entailed none of the darkness, chill or pain that Madagbueil had invoked.

The swans seamlessly and silently were awash in twinkling stars as their forms grew and spread before the assembled heroes' eyes. Momentarily being washed whole in a blinding silver light. When the light subsided, there stood before them, some pacing, some drinking from the pond, seven pure white pegusi.

Evaranthriine looked at Alaria's uterrly shocked face and gave a smile and a wink. "You see, Magess Alaria. Tis only with malicious intent upon unwilling recipients tht the spell is cruel and potentially deadly."

The companions mounted up. Evaranthriine and Inskuel, Braddok, Fen and Alaria each with their own steed. One shared by Erevan and Haelan. One shared by Festus and Duor.

With barely a word of command, the seven winged horses lept into the air and began winging their way, at incredible speed, to the west.

*
Author/DM's notes:

THE LOOT:
The silver swan pendants are each, essentially, medallions of "nondetection/misdirection". They also apply a +1 general "protection" (added to AC). Their other, more subtle, properties may surface in future stories...but the characters do not really know what they are, other than supposing any/all Gorathgraard-ians (?) will treat them as friends and allies.

The two backpacks are, essentially, "backpacks of holding" or, if you prefer "Handy haversacks"...in backpack form.

Duor was, naturally, ecstatic about receiving both. Alaria was elated with the nondetection magic and reasoned there was now no reason for her NOT to have the Ihs Repahl...since presumably Tresahd would not be able to track her or it...or, indeed, any of them. Everyone else was pleased their series of efforts ws rewarded in some form...and just about all of them were eager to get back to "task(s) at hand"...though each had a different idea of what was first on their collective list.

The scroll, as you might have guessed, contains the Polymorph Self and Polymorth Other spells (though, in game-world terms they are the same/one spell, just cast differently). We'll see how/when or if they get used somewhere down the line.

More to come, shortly, as the Stormriders_* Return to the **Feldmere*_ and onward to "Nor Gorthok."


----------



## Lwaxy

Nice. So Braddock gets visions now?  And from a cat at that, hehe.


----------



## steeldragons

Not since the ogre with the great battle axe charging her on the plain outside of Bridgetower had Alaria felt such a rush of fear as when the flying caravan of pegusi pitched into a steep dive toward one of the grassy barrow mounds that just breached the tops of the darkened and mostly dead forest.

They dove with exacting aim and showed no signs of stopping. Alaria's stomach felt in her throat as first Inskuel's then Evaranthriine's mounts neared the solid ground only to blink out of existence.

Then Braddok's did the same. Fen's steed close behind. She was next and while braced for a severe impact, found herself instead awash in a hazy purple light for the blink of an eye only to then see the other four steeds before her standing on a similar mound in this new "Gorarthgraard."

Erevan and Festus' winged mounts blinked into existence behind her, slowing to a flapping trot before finally coming to a rest.

The pegasus with Festus and Duor atop it came to a rather abrupt halt, sending the satyr, whose hindquarters were not really fit for gripping the back of a horse, and Duor who was clinging to the ranger for dear life, flying over its neck and head to land, unceremoniously, in a a rolling heap of cloaks and equipment and loud "OOFs."

"Damned flyin' horse. The damnable things ain't fit fer ridin' on the ground, let alone the air." Duor grumbled loudly as he disentangled himself from the satyr. He shot the mystic beast a dirty look.

The pegasus merely snouted loudly in the dwarf's direction and, for all intent and purposes, seemed to be staring the dwarf back, square in the eye, before throwing up his head and shaking his glistening white mane proudly.

Erevan spoke first, as the rest of the companions took in their surroundings with some surprise. "Am I to guess, my lady, that this is the 'twilight-Gorathgraard'?"

Evaranthriine nodded quietly as she and Inskuel and most of the companions dismounted and looked about in wonder.

The sky was a combination of rosy pinks and muted purples, a bit of an orangy tint in the western edge of the sky. To the east the dusty purple deepened into blues and indigo and there were the first twinklings of stars, just at the edge of the sky.

"Found the moon." Haelan noted, pointing to the ever so hazy crescent of a lunar body, much smaller than the "real" Arinane would be. Sure enough, looking beneath it, some distance from them, a spire of rose hued stone rose in what appeared to be the center of this glorious garden-like realm.

All about them, the trees sported blossoms and fresh young leaves. The mound all about them was spotted with tiny white and golden flowers. In every direction, there was growth and color, even beneath the "fading" light that ensconced the realm. The sound of twittering birds was heard everywhere and occasionally seen winging from bough to bough.

"It's...it's lovely." Alaria said with surprise.

"Indeed, " Inskuel added. "Seems to be in much better state than I recall."

"But how'd that awful creature come from a place like this?" Festus asked as his eyes followed a violet and yellow butterfly than flitted passed him.  

"This is the realm which Madagbueil was gifted. We each, in our turn, received a realm of our own...molding, I suppose thou wouldst say." Evaranthriine explained.

"Mine own became the Summer's Night. Amthyriine, the realm of Winter's Day. Madagbueil, as you can see, the realm of Spring's Evening...and our other sister, Jansithil, a realm of Autumn's Morn."

When Evaranthriine said no more, Haelan piped up, "I thought there were six? Didn't the poem say there were six?"

"The poem?" Evaranthriine questioned.

"The Ballad of the Swan Prince, my lady." Erevan explained. "A song by a long dead minstrel by which we heard tell of your father and lord...and indeed your champions and yourself. It seems to be the only information left to our world of Gorathgraard."

Evaranthriine seemed perplexed. "A...song?"

Now Alaria interjected, "The Ballad tells of "Six Swan Maids and Six Swan Knights" who were the Swan Prince's...court, I suppose. We had been assuming that you and your sisters and Inskuel, Ifthrakuel and the other champions when those Maids and Knights."

"T'would seem a reasonable assumption." the lady of Summer's Night pondered a bit. "Yes. There were six of us, all told. I have no way of knowing how many realms my father created. I know only of we four, now three, who survived Gorathgraard's fall. Though I make no claim that knowledge is complete."

With that Evarantrhiine and the five pegusi the party had used were again surrounded in twinkling starlight to emerge as swans again. They promptly took wing and disappeared back through the portal that returned to Evaranthriine's world. Evaranthriine and Inskuel remounted the two remaining winged horses.

"At the base of this hill, the tomb of Ifthraskuel, you shall be able to journey between this realm and your own. We are off to the Twilight Spire to reclaim the realm and those others of our realm lost to us."

With solemn nodding bows, the night-lady and swan knight took, again to the air. "Fare thee well, Stormriders. May your gods grant we meet again." Inskuel called down.

The party bowed in return and waved their goodbyes before descending the mound, easily finding the entrance and entered. It was very much as they had already encountered. A narrow set of steps led them down into the mound to find a small antechamber that opened to the great long crypt room. At the far end of the room, instead of a crystalline winged warrior statue, there was simply an alcove that seemed to have a mirror within it. It looked in on a duplicate crypt room, but the party's images did not appear within the image.

Braddok was the first to touch the "mirror" and as had happened in the winter-realm, his hand pushed into it causing shimmering ripples in the image extended out from his wrist.

"Looks like the place." Braddok said. "Are we ready?"

With affirmatives all around, the company, one by one, made their way into the "other" crypt room and say the chunks of melting ice and various spell-burns on the walls and floor from their battle...nearly two weeks prior...just as they had left it. The only difference was the walled door that had trapped them inside was again open to the outer antechamber and the lid of the sarcophagus was again sealed, righted on top of itself.

The air was noticeably more damp and cold than any they'd encountered, since Amthyriine's winter land.

"That's some seriously cold ice to have not melted yet. I mean, it's cooler, sure...but to have not melted hardly at all?" Festus observed.

"Well, it was extraordinarily tough ice, if you'll recall." Fen pointed out.

"And magic." Haelan and Alaria added at the same time.

Moving to the antechamber, they saw the skeletal remains of the lizardman just as they had left it. That didn't stop Duor from giving it an additional once over to see if he had missed anything o value the first time. Still nothing.

Festus practically bolted out of the mound and spread his arms wide to inhale deeply. "*SNIIIIIIFFFF* Aaaah. Yep, this is it." the satyr affirmed cheerily.

Alaria covered her nose almost immediately. She'd completely forgotten the almost constant musty decaying stench of the Feldmere. "Ugh. Good for us." she said halfheartedly.  

Buttercreamshadowfeet sat not far from the entrance, licking her paws and "wiping" her snout. The ferret looked curiously at the emerging party.

"Buttercream!!!!" Haelan shouted at first sight and raced to embrace the fuzzy creature about the neck. "I can't believe you've waited all of this time! I'm so happy to see you...and still safe!"

_"Back already?"_ a feminine voice ushered from the ferret into the halfling's ear. _"I've barely had time to clean up from that muck-rat lunch."_

<Haelan>

"I...Wuh...I..."the daelvar turned to his companions. "Did you hear that?!" he shouted excitedly.

The various members of the company were spreading out. Erevan studied the sky. From what he could tell of the cloud-shrouded sky and level of light, it was barely evening.

Braddok and Festus were looking over their map and discussing what they had been told about the "citadel of Gorathgraard" being three days east.

Fen stood calmly apprising the woods and brush around them.

Alaria was closely examining the swan pendant they had all received not long ago.

Duor was lighting up one of his smelly tobacco wraps. "Hear wut, Hilltender?" he said out of the side of his mouth before inhaling and letting out a long satisfying plume of bluish smoke.

"The...?...Buttercream!...She talked!" Haelan yelled.

<the rest of the party> <and> 

"She wut? Yeh hit yer head on that wild flying pony ride too? heheh." Duor responded, half-chuckling, at first.

"_What a dunce_." Buttercream said again. Haelan presumed about the dwarf.

"THERE! She did it again!" Haelan cried. He looked at the party expectantly and pointed at the ferret.

"_It's rather rude to point like that, you know? I'd expect a Hilltender to have better manners_." Buttercream said again before arching her back and yawning characteristically.

"She TALKED, I'm telling you! You...you can TALK! How can you talk?! Have you been able to all of this time? Why didn't you say anything?!?" Haelan said to the ferret.

"_Of course I can 'speak.' As can all beasts and birds. You two-feet just don't listen anymore._" Buttercream's lovely feminine voice said absently as she returned to licking her paws.

"You see?!" Haelan cried to the others. "You heard that right?"

"Haelan...I'm not sure what is going on, but it might be best if you stepped back from the...uh...'Buttercream.' Perhaps something's happened in our absence." Alaria suggested cautiously.

"What did she say?" Braddok inquired honestly.

"_Silly wizard. What could have happened? You've not been gone longer than my cleaning._" Buttercream again muttered in between licks.

"THERE! She said you were silly, Alaria! She said....wait...we've been gone for how long?" Haelan returned to conversing with the ferret as if it were now totally natural.

"_I do not know, friend of the hills. I'd hoped at least enough time for a proper cleaning and a nap before you'd return from the hole-that-smells-like-death. But I can wait, I suppose._" Buttercream said and rose up onto her four stumpy legs.

"You hear that?! Fen! You must have heard her. You talk to animals!" Healan protested.

"I am afraid, friend Haelan, that I only converse with animals through the use of my order's mysteries. I heard not but chirps and purring, as always." the druid said somewhat apologetically.

"She said we've only been gone for moments!" Haelan exclaimed feeling like he was coming undone in the head.

Festus, who had quietly nocked an arrow in his short bow waiting for some demon or wizard...or worse *shudder*_ fairy_ to burst out of the ferret's form, now took a moment and looked about them and to the sky.

Erevan also was studying the sky. "That would seem...to be accurate." the elf said quietly.

"WHAT??!" Alaria, Braddok and Duor all exclaimed in unison.

"It would seem an identical evening to the one upon which we entered the mound..." the elf said plainly. He reached his hand out into the air and rubbed his fingertips together. "Right down to the moisture in the air."

"So..Wait. We've been gone for..._no_ time?" Festus addressed the elf.

"It would appear not." Erevan replied, his even smooth voice betraying no surprise or concern.

"_Told you._" Buttercream said plainly. "_See, the elf knows. Elves always know."_

Haelan now cupped his hands over his ears. "Stop it! Stop talking.

"No...wait..don't...HOW can you talk? Why can't the others hear you?"

Haelan turned to the companions, expressions of concern crossing most of their faces. "I'm not going mad, am I?"

"_As I said, I always could. I'm not some bug. Though they are tasty sometimes. A bit crunchy...a bit acid. They don't always agree with me of course...but..." _the ferret paused at the expression of disbelief on the halfling's face._

"Well, of course, they can speak too, but only to each other. It's you two-legged ones who've forgotten how to listen, not we who have forgotten how to speak. Except for the gnomes, of course. They've always listened. Sometimes elves can too._"

The ferret continued with complete nonchalance, "._..if they are old enough or connected enough to the reality of the world...His kind can too._" Buttercream indicated with a nod of her long-nosed snout toward Fen. "_The green-cloaked-ones listen sometimes. As to why you are now listening...I confess, I have no idea._"

"She says..." Haelan began.

"_I have a name you know?_" the ferret said with a bit of annoyance.

"Sorry..._Buttercream_ says she could always speak but we don't listen." relayed the daelvar Hilltender.

Alaria invoked her mystic sight and saw nothing unusual about the ferret. No specific enchantments nor magic of any kind. "She's no more magical than she ever appeared to be. I...I can't explain it." she said with a shrug to Braddok and Fen.

"It would seem, friend Haelan, that perhaps your Hillmother has gifted you with some extraordinary...um...gift?" the druid posed.

Alaria and Erevan just shrugged at Braddok's questioning of the possibility. 

"Have you a better explanation?" Fen asked the party's magic-users.

"Makes sense to me." Duor said offhandedly and expelled another stream of blue smoke. "Long as I don't have t'listen to her, s'all good."

"_Pfft. Impertinent ignoramus._" Buttercream muttered under her whiskers which sounded to the rest of the party as if the fuzzy creature sneezed.

Haelan couldn't help but chuckle at this.

"What?!" Duor protested. 

"She called you an 'important piggy-potamus.'" Haelan giggled, relaying what he assumed "ignoramus" to be the ferret-speak version of the giant river-pigs he'd seen pictures of books and parchments in his study of the animals of Orea.

Buttercream rolled her eyes. "_Are we going or shall I nap? I'd like a nap. Need to hunt more later."
_
"Yes. Sorry. No nap yet. We've only just started_ our _day." Haelan said simply. Seeing the questioning looks of his companions, he clarified, "We're going, right?"

"_T'ugh. Fine._" the ferret grumbled and began weaving her way around the mound before again getting lost in some high reeds.

Seeing no harm or evil that they could perceive, the companions began their trek easterly toward where they presumed the ruins of the great citadel of Nor Gorthok, nee Gorathrgraard, would be found.

Though half of the band kept a cautious and/or curious eye on the ferret, there was nothing in her behavior that seemed to any of them out of the ordinary. Even Fen's druid training and Erevan's elvin eyes could discern nothing, at all, different about the creature.

Buttercream was, to all observation, as she always had been. She kept pace with them. Sometimes hopping along near Haelan. Sometimes gone, moving in and out of the thick growth in the swamp.

The poor nervous daelvar kept an eye on the ferret at all times she was visible. He dared not say anything more to her, but occasionally heard the ferret saying something observational. "_OO frog!_*crunch*crunch*" or "_Gettin' dark, the muck-rats'll be out soon_" or "_Dig. Dig. Dig. Digging the digging song. I'mma gitcha swamp-bug._" or other things he couldn't quite hear from the brush.

Haelan would just smile and nod an observance of the statements if the ferret was near him.

It felt...weird...but normal at the same time. In short order, the Hilltender was content in the belief that Faerantha had surely blessed him with his dream of speaking with animals...though he noticed, of the limited wildlife they caught sight of moving through the swamp it was only the ferret he heard or understood.

So the companions continued on into the night of _their_ swamp on _their_ world...they were again in the dreaded Feldmere.
_
<Author/DM's note: Yes, as a boon from his goddess, an ability of his new level, Haelan can now converse with Buttercream.>_

_*Next time...The Gates of Nor Gorthok.
*_


----------



## Lwaxy

I was wondering when the two of them would finally understand each other.


----------



## steeldragons

Lwaxy said:


> Nice. So Braddock gets visions now?  And from a cat at that, hehe.




He is "touched by one of the Eight" after all.  

It was the image of the sphinx he encountered in the Underworld, Sinjhal, telling him to, basically, "get a move on!".

Braddok, masterfully and completely unbidden, "did not remember" his time in the Land of the Dead or who she was.

I just loves it when story details fade from consciousness. heh. heh.

But I love, just as much (if not more!) when various things that I had forgotten or thought inconsequential, come to light in really cool/fun ways from the other side of the screen (like Haelan's desire to talk to animals. Seems to make sense for one of the devotees of the Hillmother. But was completely out of left field/unexpected.).

Good times in Orea. 

Now, if/whether they survive Desaarthal, stop the Bulgruch or Tresahd, get the Ihs Repahl back, save the elvin wooded kingdom or restore Braddok's family to its "rightful" place in Denil is a completely different...<invoke voice of the narrator from the Muppet Shows' "Pigs in Space">contiiinuinnnng stoooory.</invocation> 

--SD


----------



## steeldragons

The company passed the next few days in more silence than not.

They came upon the long stagnant lake. In the center was a small isle they recognized all too readily. Little more than a heap of rubble and severely overgrown ruins of a tower sat upon it. Even the wise-cracking dwarf rogue was overwhelmed with a bit of melancholy at the sight of the glorious tower in which they'd just spent, as best they could tell, ten days and the good times therein.

Despite the lure of some small amount of cover for the night, the party opted not to figure out a way across nor dared to enter the black murky lake. Fear of more of the highly poisonous muck-vipers foremost int their minds.

They encountered, again, a group of lizardmen who were a bit more engaging than the past groups had been. Bolstered, it was presumed, by a shaman and very large chief warrior among them. The party was successful in slaying a few and routing the rest. The reptilians seemed somewhat "forced" to be there and slowed by the chill that pervaded the air even in the daytime. 

Alaria had forgotten just how near and fast winter approached their Orea after so much time in the warm "summer night" realm.

Another encounter at night with a pack of stirges again disgusted them. But injuries were minor and Haelan seemed more than capable, these days, of meeting whatever healing needs they might have.  

For Haelan, Buttercreamshadowfeet had proven to be significantly more vocal than he'd ever imagined. By the second day of their return, Haelan was more than happy to chat with the furry rodent, albeit in hushed tones, and more than once had to shush the ferret while he was doing his post at watch during the night.

The ferret seemed much more active and talkative in the evening and early morning hours. During most afternoons and at the height of most nights, she disappeared among the brush or whined at the Hilltender that she wanted or needed a nap.

On the second night of their return, with the expectation of arriving at the Gorathgraard "citadel", and presumably the treasures and perils thereof, most of the company's sleep was notably troubled.

Haelan was, again, keeping his watch when some motion from around the smoldering campfire caught his attention. The halfling raised his mace and lowered it quickly to see the tall warrior's form of Braddok coming toward him.

"Can't sleep?" Haelan asked softly. "It's not time for your watch yet."

"Can't sleep." Braddok replied, matter-of-fact. The warrior crouched down beside the cleric, who had also sat after recognizing the muscled human. "Where's Buttercream?"

"She's off...hunting I suppose. I pray thanks to Faerantha every evening for her boon. But I confess, I am happy for the quiet at times." Haelan smiled in reply. "Some hot chocolate?" the halfling offered as he pulled a small ceramic teapot out of the magical backpack Imgulg had prepared and gifted him. "Might help ya sleep. I fear the provisions of this pack will be exhausted by tomorrow." Haelan coaxed. "Might be the last batch in here." he added fishing out a small, perfectly daelvar-sized, mug.

"No thanks, Haelan. I appreciate it though. You enjoy." Braddok replied. His appetite, for the most part, was not what it used to be before his..."raising." He seemed to require less to maintain his strength.

"What do you think, my friend? Shall we see a dragon tomorrow?" the warrior offered quietly.

"By the Hillmother, I hope NOT!" Haelan said a bit loudly and cringed at his unexpected noise.

"As do I, Haelan. As do I. But what if we do?" Braddok asked, somewhat rhetorically. "I go over and over in my mind. Tactics, strategies, taking into our various and formidable abilities into account..." his gaze wandered up to the sky and the clouds that passed periodically before the waning silver and green moons. "It's all a folly, of sorts..."

"A folly?! Then why not return to Bridgetower?...or Daenfrii or even Welford. We can winter in relative comfort and come back in the spring." Haelan offered. He felt a twinge of shame at what he was afraid might sound like cowardice to the great swordsman. But, he reasoned to himself, it was only practical.

"Not in that way, I mean. We have the skills and power...I think. Alaria's mastery of her Art is formidable. Erevan is, of course, skilled...beyond even myself if you take into account his magic as well as his bow. you, my friend, you have surpassed any expectation I ever had of your divine might...even Festus and Duor are highly skilled in their chosen pursuits..." Braddok's voice, again faded off...as if there was something he wasn't saying.

"Braddok, are you concerned you are not up to the taste...or as 'powerful' as the rest of us? You are the most skilled of us all!" Haelan attempted to comfort the dark-haired man.

Receiving no more response than a soft snort, the Hilltender continued. "You are, by far, the toughest among us. You lead us...well, I mean, we all have a say in what we do...but, after a fashion, since Alaria has stepped down, so to speak, you're our leader. What you say, particularly in battle, is unquestioned. You think more than you act...that, Braddok, that is a wisdom that benefits us all. Moreso than my own." Haelan smiled a slight, close-lipped smile at the warrior from Barforth. 

Bradok had been staring up at the  sky through Haelan's vote of confidence and took a moment to look at and return the halfling's encouraging smile. His eyes returned to the sky.

"I thank you, Haelan. I had no idea, when we met in Hawkview, we would find ourselves here...that I would have died...been reborn...faced trolls and ogres and evil wizards and wererats. Or..." the warrior now looked to the halfling with deathly serious eyes, "that I would and could count a little daelvar priest from the Free Hollows as one of my greatest friends and allies."

"G'aaawn." blushed Haelan and smiled to himself.

Then both adventurer's attention was caught by some motion, shuffling, among bushes and reeds near them. With trained grace and ease, both adventurers were on their feet, weapons at the ready. They, then, relaxed to see Buttercream's snout and head poke out from beneath some fronds.
_
"Hide, Hilltender! Hide! A hawk is coming!"_ the ferret's voice sounded in Haelan's ears with hushed urgency.

"A hawk?" Haelan said aloud.

"What?!" Braddok responded.

_"A giant hawk. HUGE! Its clouding the stars. You should hide!"_ the ferret replied before again withdrawing and disappearing from view beneath the brush.

Haelan's eyes went, wildly scanning, to the sky.

Giant hawks were not something to be trifled with. They were something daelvar children learned to fear and avoid at all costs, easily scooped up to never be heard from again. In an instinctual panic, Haelan dove between the long legs of the Grinlian swordsman.

"Wuh...?" Braddok said confused. "Haelan! What is it?!"

"SHHHH! Buttercream says there's a giant hawk coming." Haelan whispered.

"Giant hawk?" the swordsman's gaze again went to the sky.

"Haelan, hawks don't hunt at ni-..." the warrior's voice stopped abruptly as even his human eyes widened.

He could discern the long form moving across the sky, blotting out stars and crossing before the limited sliver of the greater moon.

It had a long serpentine neck, a slight bulk of body from which two huge bat-like wings were silhouetted against the moonlight, and a long tapering tail with some kind of fin or bulge at the end. It passed over in an instant, completely silent, with a single beat of its wings is continued on, to the east, and was quickly out of sight.

Haelan's eyes, similarly bulged from his head. "B-B-raddok? That wasn't a hawk, was it?"

"No, friend Haelan. That was _not_ a hawk." the swordsman replied deadpan.

*

 Haelan had opted to sleep, what little he could, with Buttercream, securely hidden among the brush. Braddok finished the night on his watch, none the worse for ware for having such limited sleep.

The company was less than happy with the report from the halfling and swordsman in the morning.

"Do we turn back?" Festus asked, with more than a little hope for an affirmative answer.

"Turn back!? We've been trudging through this muck n' mire fer weeks! I'll have my beard dipped in caramel before I'd turn back one day...or less...away from a dragon's treasure." Duor argued.

"It may not have been a dragon." Fen said stoically. 

Questioning looks from the others warranted further explanation from the druid.

"There has not, to my knowledge, been any sitings of dragons anywhere around the Laklans that I can recall. Not by legend nor folklore, nor anything I was taught by the Ancient Holy Order." Fen defended his assertion.

"Well, the druids don't know everything, now do they?" Duor argued again. "If Braddok...n' the hairfoot...says they saw a dragon, that's all the confirmation I need." Duor answered out of hand. "'Sides, seems a giant dragon with wings ought to be able to get wherever they want, right? Not to mention, we ain't in the Laklans, are we?"

"Well, that can't be argued." Fen admitted. "However," the half-elf added, "we are close enough, I think, that some legend would have surfaced.

"It would, also, not be beyond the realm of possibility for there to be a wyvern nest about. The peaks that surround Welford would be an ideal habitat...and I suspect, we are not so far afield from them to be outside of a wyvern's hunting grounds...Also, you said it moved with complete silence...and wyvern's are known to be remarkably stealthy in flight...They also are prone to hunt at night...both attributes like bats, if I recall my lessons correctly."

Erevan carefully asked Braddok and Haelan to explain what they'd seen. How large it had been to their vision, the exact shape.

Braddok traced the outline, as he well he could, in the morning chilled mud.

Erevan studied it carefully. Looking occasionally to the sky where Braddok said it had passed before the moon. "A wyvern sounds like a distinct possibility." the elf finally concluded...though how he had come to such a conclusion was anyone's guess.

"Fen, " questioned Alaria calmly (much preferring the option of one of the minor wyrms to their alleged quarry) "if you are correct, might a wyvern make a nest in the ruins we are seeking?"

The red-haired druid rubbed the small strip of whiskers that went from his lower lip to his chin. "It might, Magess. I couldn't really say. But it there were some aerie high enough for it to take flight or gain some vantage point from which to launch itself...it might."

"I'll take wyvern over dragon, any day." Festus said. Though, he silently admitted to himself, he'd never encountered a wyvern before and the only dragons he'd ever seen were the "good" kind that were viewed from afar high in the air, entering or leaving Daenfrii. But he'd never actually met one or seen one up close. "The ambassador of Wyr and tutor of the Dragonmage, Zhiranth, is purported to have some hidden grotto in the eastern reaches of Daenfrii's territory, but I've never dared to attempt to find it." he mentioned outloud without realizing that none of the other companions understood the relevance of such a statement.

"Maybe he'll give us_ his_ gold, then? If'n we ask nice." Duor mocked. 

"Are we returning to Daenfrii, then?" Haelan asked innocently. Honestly confused and scared down to his toe-hairs of encountering any dragon or dragon-like creature on their current course.

"NO we're not 'returning to Daenfrii', " Duor mocked some more, repeating Haelan's question in a whiny child-like voice.

"Duor, that is uncalled for." Alaria now interjected, again calmly. She looked, somewhat unconsciously, to Braddok. She supposed and hoped the warrior would have some encouraging or important thing to note. Direction to give. Anything!

"Indeed, the Hilltender does not deserve your mockery." Braddok began with a disapproving look to Duor. "We shall continue on, as we have planned. With care and caution. As we had planned. If that thing I saw turns out to be the dragon, proper...then we will leave this horrid place with all speed." the warrior proclaimed.

"But..." Duor attempted to argue. Braddok cut him off.

"If the creature turns out to be a wyvern...or not in the ruins of Nor Gorthok at all, we shall see an decide what to do from there. But, as Duor noted, we have come a very long way for this. I've never encountered one of the dragon-kin, nor do I confess I wish to. But to turn back the morning of achieving our goal would be beyond foolish." the swordsman concluded, adjusting his pack and weapons as he did so.

"Agreed." Alaria and Erevan both said.

THe company set out and before noon came to a slight rise in the landsdcape. When they reached the "top" they realized they stood upon a ridge. A huge, circular ridge that extended hundreds of feet across, in either direction. Within the circle of swampy ridge, at its center, a second entirely black and rocky ridge rose from the surrounding swamp. It looked like a small mountain had been just "plopped" into the middle of the swamp.

Alaria gasped audibly.

"What is it, Alaria." the warrior said quietly to her.

Alaria stared at the next rocky ridge. She had seen it before...in vision of her spell sleep. "I have seen this mountain before." the R'Hathi wizardess replied in a near-whisper. 

"You have?" Braddok knew better than to question a magic-user's visions. "Do you know...or remember...anything about it?"

"Only that it filled me with a soul-wrenching despair and feeling of doom." Alaria replied.

"Oh, well that's just peachy!" Duor said, having come up behind the two humans unnoticed. "Is there treasure in this doom or what?" the dwarf asked unabashedly.

"I do not know, Duor." Alaria answered evenly, the impertinence of the dwarf's question missed by the magess as she was again consumed with the memory of the feelings from the image of her spell sleep. "But I am almost certain we shall find a dragon within...a great creature of impenetrable black...and...and something else...I don't quite recall..."

"Back to Daenfrii then?" Haelan said, trying to muster as much lightheartedness through his quickly chilling blood as possible.

"I'm afraid not, Haelan." Alaria said with sorrow in her voice. "Whatever lies within, I feel it is something we, now, _must_ seek out. I fear the dark grip of the wicked Tresahd is somehow involved, as well...but I can't quite make it out..." Alaria was annoyed with herself, not being able to fully recall the images she had seen in her magic-induced coma, what seemed, so long ago.

"Dragon treasure's within, I'll tell yeh that's wut!" Duor said happily and led the companions down the steep interior of the swampy slope. "And you, Festus m'boy, will be the most famous satyr in the known realms."

The ranger smiled, sincerely, at the idea. His mind became filled with images of him lounging in fine pillows of satin, being hand-fed pasties by the barmaid, Amber, from the Wyvern's Wing inn. Maybe he'd buy the whole inn. What a den of debauchery he could have then, if he owned his whole own inn...or a manse! A mansion and estate would be better, maybe...the satyr's face shone with a devious smile as the possibilities of endless wealth played through his mind's eye.

Duor turned his excitement to Braddok and continued, "We'll be wealthy men by the day's end, my treasure-hunting friend. Just like we said on the road from Hawkview" the dwarf smiled broadly and jabbed at Braddok's ribs as the warrior come up beside him.

Braddok made no reply but grinned weakly at the dwarf's familiar comradery.

"I'm gonna buy out that weasel's guild and live in luxury the rest o' me days. And YOU, my fine mercenary, you shall have all the wenches and ale you could hope for. 'Dwarf-lord of the Dusk', that's what they'll call me. We'll be the toast of Hawkview! Yessir, this is the mother-hoard. I can feel it in my beard." Duor was practically jubilant at the idea of their hoped-for wealth.

Braddok, along with most of the other companions, did not share his exuberance, focused more, it seemed, on the whole potential for "doom" than "gold."


----------



## steeldragons

The party carefully made their way down the interior slope of the "ridge" they had climbed. The ridge was, it appeared, a huge crater in which, in the center of the "bowl", sat this harsh blackened crag of a mountain.

The wicked swamp of the Feldmere, in the ages since Nor Gorthok's demise and the dread wyrm's Desaarthal's curse over the land, had encroached as far as it could...or dared? The trees, vines, brush and tall reeds and grasses climbed up the outer shell of the slope, over the top and down the interior until just after reaching the base. 

From the bottom of the outer crater "wall" across the base of the bowl up to the hardy rocky protuberance of the mountain in the middle was entirely barren save for the occasional stagnant pools and ponds, some rather large, of muck and mire where water had drained, naturally, to the lowest possible elevation. The entire span that lacked any sort of cover other than the odd clump of rocks, measured roughly 100 feet.

The party, almost unanimously, decided to continue through the vegetation filled interior slope for the cover it would provide. It was hoped that by circumventing the mountain first, they might find/see some means of entering the rock, as opposed to wandering around the completely open base or wandering, without purpose and completely exposed, up its craggy slope.

They passed a short way down through some very tall brush and grasses, and the odd copse of vine-laden trees before coming near to the bottom of the slope. They entered the fairly large span of mangroves that extended several hundreds of feet in either direction, arching about a third of the crater wall, that they could see.

"Which way?" Alaria asked calmly, having collected herself in their descent from the top of the ridge.

"When in doubt, always go left." Duor responded, as if this werre obvious fact.

When he received questioning looks from Festus and Braddok, Duor replied, "Ol' dwarf proverb. 'Left's mine fer a find. Right's shaft fer the daft.'" This struck the dwarven rogue as the height of wisdom and was perplexed by his companions odd looks.

With a few shrugs, the party proceeded to the left...which was more or less north-by-northeast on the slow arc of the crater's slope.

The travel was slow and cautious. In several places, Festus apologetically reported there was no "solid ground" to cover and so they sludged through ankle-to-knee slimy water. The trees they moved through were ancient. Broken branches and long fallen trunks lined their way and impeded their progress on several occasions.

Erevan, of course, had no trouble moving along and among the fallen branches and trees and easily leaped up upon the lower boughs of the still standing trees to make his way, nearly slimy water free.

Buttercream, similarly, followed along and sometimes overtook the elf. Weaving in and out of sight to avoid the water at all costs. Haelan had tried to follow the ferret and elf on [what looked like] a "wide-enough" expanse of wood. 

A loud *SPLOOSH* and head-to-toe-hairs daevlar covered in wet mud and slime proved otherwise. So, with an apologetic chuckling Alaria cleansing him with a cantrip, Haelan resigned himself to sludging along with the others, up to his waist in the cold and decidedly uncomfortable water.

Festus carefully led the way, with Braddok near his flank. 

The company came to a point and halted as Festus raised his hand in the signal to stop.

"Do you see something ranger?" Braddok asked quietly.

"Not 'see'. Hear." Festus whispered to the large swordsman. "Somethin's moving, not to far up front."

Erevan crouched on the vine covered branch upon which he'd been traveling and peered through the woods before them, attempting to catch any sign that might have caused the satyr to stop.

Alaria gripped her staff more tightly. She took in her companions. The ferret was, again, not with them. Fen, it seemed was edging toward the edge of the pond through which they moved. Preparing to meld into the nearest tree-trunk, Alaria guessed. The halfling was engrossed in whatever was above them. Nothing to worry about there, for sure, thought the magess. At the slightest glimpse of trouble, the daelvar was ever the first to raise an alarm.

Haelan just looked around them, taking in the canopy of vines and drooping tree branches. Some of them as wide as his arm. There was the occasional purple bloom along their length. If it weren't for being up to his belt in swamp-slime, the Hilltender thought to himself, this might be a lovely place. Green and full, even so late in the season. Haelan wondered to himself what the vines with flowers were.

And then, as had happened all too often for the cleric to like, the beautiful quickly revealed itself to be the deadly.

Erevan was the first to raise an alarm as only his elvin reflexes allowed him to avoid the slithering closing of the vines around his ankles.

"Tanglevine!" the elf shouted as he leaped up and back along the same bough. He swung, in vain, with his bow at another length of vine dropping...or deliberately reaching?...down to his new position. As soon as the bow touched the vine, it coiled about it to hold it in staunchly in place. Erevan tugged with all of his might to release his beloved weapon, but this only allowed other vines to come up and attempt to wrap around him. Again his elf senses and dexterity saved him a vegetative mummification.

On the ground, the party did not fair as well.

Blades ripped from scabbards and Braddok and Festus were able to easily sever the vines that dropped down and reached out from their resting bplace along the tree trunks.

Alaria and Duor (whose normally admirable evasive talents were severely hampered knee deep in mud and muck) were immediately entrapped.

Haelan was able to dip below one reaching tendril only to be grasped by another and unceremoniously yanked from the swamp floor by his right leg.

Fen, exhibiting his deluded portion of elvish blood, also avoided the reaching vines. He swiped out with his leaf-tip spear head and severed the vines holding Duor. The dwarf dropped into the water, down on one knee.

"I don't...feel so..." the dwarf said slowly. "Lil' woozy."

Only Fen heard the dwarf and noted the slight palor to his normally swarthy complexion. The half-elf looked in surprise at the rest of the party.

Haelan was already unconscious, dangling by a vine about ten feet off the ground. Other vines were quickly encircling the daelvar. His face had gone practically grey.

Alaria swung, desperately, with her staff in the free arm that had yet to be tied. She recalled Fen's chastising of the use of lightning against the cursed shambling mound Inskuel and opted not to invoke any spark of power on these plants, as well. 

Unfortunately, the vines were yanking her from the swamp floor and her swing bounced off the vines unexpectedly and flew out of her grip. It slashed softly and disappeared into the murky water beneath her. She felt the peculiar sensation of "pins and needles" all up and down her arms. Her vision was getting cloudy...what was this sensation? She was so tired...

"MY STAFF! Braddok!...help...get my...my...sta-..." Alaria's initial cry of panic for her treasured magic item faded as she attempted to continue speaking. As the volume of her voice receded, so too did the color from her face until the magess hung limp, unconscious, and very pale, held aloft about five feet off the swamp floor.

Fen's green eyes widened in panic. These weren't 'tanglevines', the druid realized in horror. "VAMPIRE-VINES!" Fen shouted.

"Vampires?!" Festus replied in obvious panic.

"Vampires!...where?" Duor said groggily.

"Vampire-vine!" Fen curtly said again. "Braddok, be ready to cut down Alaria and Haelan! We must get them down. NOW!" The warriors, including Erevan (who had also whipped out his blade and was easily slicing his way through the encroaching tendrils), turned and attempted to make their ways to their incapacitated companions.

The cryptic language of the druids formed across Fen's lovely lips. He kept his voice low, as he was prone to do to spare his comrades the onslaught of his order's secret sacred tongue. On the final syllable, the druid raised his voice to a full shout and slammed the butt of his spear into the murky water around his feet.

There was a momentary blinding flash of green light all around them and everything around them seemed to...to twitch, then slow to slow motion and finally stop moving entirely. <_druid spell: Hold Plants_>   

Not questioning the druid's effect, Braddok immediately cut Alaria "down" and caught the unconscious woman in his thick muscled arms.

Festus similarly tried to do the same to Haelan, easily using his goat-hindquarters to jump up to where the daelvar was almost entirely mummified in the vines. The satyr from Daenfrii, unfortunately, was not as adept or strong as the Grinlian swordsman and Haelan took his second "swamp bath" of the day. (At least, for this one, he was unconscious.)

"Get them out of here! The enchantment will not hold long." the druid said, again in panic and moved to help Festus get the daelvar out of the muck as Erevan, similarly, attempted to get Duor to his feet.

"Don't know...'fI can run..." Duor said, still groggy. "Somethin' in them vines...so...weak..." 

Braddok stopped, with Alaria in his arms and looked at the druid.

"GO! Go! Get her out of here! Wait...HERE!" Fen said, the panic in his voice had not subsided though the immediate danger seemed to have passed. "You must administer this antitoxin as soon as you are clear of this place. Haelan has another draught of his own. you must give it to him as well. The poison excreted by the vine is very virulent and will continue to drain her strength until death takes hold. Duor, likely, needs some too."

Braddok nodded, grim faced, and raced from the area of battle. He disappeared almost immediately into the brush and growth, out of view.

"Cain't...run..." the dwarf seemed to be arguing with the elf who was vainly tugging on the dwarf's arm.

"Well that's just fine, since I am sure I can not lift you." Erevan replied, hoping the jab would incite the dwarf to action.

"Damn right yeh cain't!...scrawny two-bit point-ear carryin' a dwarf...Pfft" Duor mumbled under his beard. But despite the lively retort, Duor was barely able to get to his feet.

The vines around them began to stir. Just a twitch here and there.

Fen knew his spell would not last much longer. "_Kiili.._." Fen began to say to his 'dear one.'

"_Ihn excyklik tambor!_" Erevan intoned, while spreading his arms before him.

Beneath the dwarf's feet, the amber disc of solid energy came into form.

"Quickly, put Haelan here. I can get them both out." the elf said to the faltering druid and ranger who, between them, were hastily freeing the daelvar from his vine cocoon.

They, more or less, tossed the halfling upon the disc before Erevan himself gracefully jumped on.

"Are you sure you can carry all of that weight?" Fen questioned with concern.

"I am not the apprentice I once was, killi." Erevan said with an uncharacteristic wink and grin. "Follow along as fast as you can."

With that, the elf, groggy dwarf and unconscious halfling sped away with unexpected speed, leaving trails in the surface of the water as the energy disc skated over. In an instant, they too were lost among the brush.

"Come Festus. Hurry!" Fen again commanded with urgency at the edge of the vampire-vine death trap.

"Hang on! Alaria's staff is around here...someplace. She'll skin us alive if we leave it." the satyr protested. He was bent over, up to his elbows in swamp-muck, fishing around frantically.

Fen's slightly slanted eyes again went to the vine canopy, now completely filled with the poisonous draining plants just a few feet above their heads.

"The Balance forgive me." Fen muttered softly before shouuting, "_*--/!!-0//*_!" <_druid spell: reversed Create Water_>

Festus covered his pointed ears, completely forgetting they were covered in muddy slimy water.

"OY! Wudja do that..." the satyr's question did not need to be answered as, wherever Fen's outward facing palm pointed, an area of the murky water disappeared. He had, effectively "disintegrated" about a twenty foot stretch of the pool in which Festus stood. 

The staff became immediately visible and the satyr hastily grabbed it as he jumped almost the whole twenty feet to get beside the druid.

As the druid and ranger turned and disappeared into the trees after the others, the vines again began to slowly slither and tentatively reach downward.

Sensing its prey had somehow left the area, the 'vampire-vines' again wrapped themselves about branches and trunks and settled into the softly draping loops of normal swamp growth.

A moment later, there was only the movement and noise was a soft "slurping" sound as the areas of dispersed water slowly filled back in with the surrounding muck and moisture.


----------



## steeldragons

*Fen n' Festus sittin'ina tree...*

The half-elf druid and satyr ranger raced through the growth and mire with remarkable, trained speed. After a few minutes,  they exited the "woods" of the swamp at the edge of a broad clearing of tall grasses.

They came to an abrupt halt as Buttercream appeared before them and stood, perpendicular to the two, in their way. She chittered and made a clicking sound over and over.

Fen tried to move around the ferret. She moved to block him. Festus tried to get around her back end and Buttercream looped back around to block him.

"What is it, Buttercream?! We must rejoin the others." Fen said with some annoyance.

The ferret then looped _back_ around to the druid and threw her forepaws upon his chest. The unexpected move knocked the half-elf onto his back within the reeds and tall grass. Again she was making a *click* sound and repeating it.

The druid, in frustration, cast his order's sacred incantation to _speak with animals_. As the spell took effect, the half-elf's ears began to parse out the ferret's soft voice...

"_-zzzards...and they have them. Stay down!_" the ferret was saying as she again applied her weight to half-elf who was attempting to rise.

"What? Who has whom?" Fen said.

"_Oh! You've decided to listen now? Great. The lizards have them! The lizards with two-legs have the Hilltender. They're taking him away. Stay down. Stay quiet. They are leaving._" Buttercream's soft feminine voice said to the druid. 

"What is she saying?" Festus said. He'd crouched down beside the ferret and half-elf, unsure of what was going on, but sensing the urgency (not to mention the unorthodox behavior) of the creature.

"The lizardmen have Haelan." Fen translated. "What about the others?" Fen asked the ferret directly.

"_All of them. They took all of them. The wizard and the Hilltender were asleep. The dwarf was, of course, useless. The warrior and the elf couldn't fight them all. They were tending the wizard and the Hilltender. They're taking them away...but there are more. Close. Stay down. Stay quiet._" Buttercream implored, turning to take a wiff of the air.

"Bugger." Fen said aloud.

"Whaaaat?!" Festus said in frustration.

"Lizardmen have captured the rest of the group. Be still and quiet. She says there are more about." Fen hastily explained in a harsh whisper.

"Bollux." the satyr muttered under his breath.

"_They're coming. Hide! Hide. Hide._" Buttercream said and then slinked away, off of the druid and disappeared into the brush behind them.

Festus also had heard the breaking of reeds as something...or some things...presumably lizardmen, were nearing their position.

"We need to get out of here. They're heading this way...and getting close."

"Be still." the druid said. He too now heard the hissing and tromping of large feet moving through the grasses.

Naturally, the satyr didn't listen and poked his head, ever so cautiously, over the tops of the grass. The satyr's eyes nearly bulged out of his head to see a large muscled lizardman not ten feet from their position, and three more that he noted before the nearest creature turned and looked directly at him, its tongue flicking out into the air.

A loud hiss-turned-roar went up by the nearest creature and it jabbed into the grasses in Festus' direction. 

"Think they've seen me." the satyr said with no hint of surprise or apology.

The half-elf's eyes widened as the bone-tipped spear broke through the grass very near his face. 

"So much for hiding." said the half-elf, seeing no reason not to keep his voice down at this point. "RUN!"

The druid grabbed the satyr by the shoulder and the two took off back into the wood they had just passed through.

Hollow bellows of hissing went up behind them. No sooner had they re-entered the woods than the tromping of feet and the cracking and slashing sounds of breaking vegetation in a full out chase followed.

A single bone tipped spear thunk into a tree as the satyr and druid passed. In their rush, Fen couldn't attempt to use his druidic training, nor Festus his ranger skill for that matter, to be delicate or quiet in their surroundings. They just ran. Rushed. A couple of attempts to evade the pursuers by changing direction were quickly proven futile.

This was their swamp, Fen realized. They would not be avoided here. He grabbed the satyr's cloak to get his attention. Festus' face, when he turned, was a combination of shock, fear, and indignation. The satyr knew better than to say anything at this point but followed the druid's unspoken nod in a certain direction.

The two took off. The pursuers were not far enough behind to not be heard, but were not seen.

Festus prepared to leap over a vine-covered log when he was unexpected ripped back by the nape of his cloak and slammed, uncomfortably, with his back against a tree to the side of the path they'd been running down.

"OOMPH! Hey!" was all the satyr ranger was able to get out before Fen threw himself up against the satyr and widely spread his grey-green druid's cloak over the two of them.

"Wut're you..."Festus whispered into the druid's close neck.

"Don't...breathe." Fen replied in a harsh whisper.

The tromping got louder and louder. The hissing sounded as if it were upon their very heads. Then more trudging and splashing. The sound of claws over wood. More splashing. Then things got rather quiet. The soft "splsh" of legs moving slowly through water. More hissing.

Then a noise....a rustling?...something like a creaking rope...

Festus breathed as lightly as he could into the half-elf's chest. The half-elf, it seemed to the satyr's senses had completely stopped.

Then loud hisses and splashing erupted somewhere to Festus' left. Much louder than it had been. Bellows and hisses noises of severe movement...but only a few moments....then all was silent.

Slowly...almost imperceptibly slowly, Fen turned his head and backed away from the satyr and the tree. Festus had not noticed the druid turn his head, yet Fen was facing the direction of all of the noise.

Fen took a step back, then two. Festus exhaled loudly. "Well we lost...them?"

The ranger's statement/question trailed off from its originally intended lightheartedness as he followed the druid's gaze. 

Five practically grey lizardmen hung, in various stages of mummification by vines they came down and wrapped about the creatures in ever more number, were being slowly lifted off out of the swamp and into the canopy above.

"Uhhhh..." Festus began not sure what to say before blurting loudly, "YOU, my good druid, are the MAN!...well, half-man, but still. That was fraggin' BRILLIANT!"

"Be still." hissed the druid. "There may be more. But for now, let's go after the others." Fen said without concern or emotion and turned to return the way they'd come. His enchanted cloak flowing in colors of green and grey and brown, making him nearly invisible in the green and grey and brown terrain.

"Right! time to rescue our fellows." Festus said a bit too cheerily.

"And Festus...that had better have been your falchion's pommel I felt against my thigh." the druid said quietly.

"Hey! A satyr's got needs, man. That's the most bodily contact I've had with somethin' not tryin' to kill us since...since before we left Bridgetower!" the satyr defended unapologetic. Then, more to himself than Fen he repeated, "...man does a satyr's got needs..."

Again, the half-elf druid and all-too-satyr ranger made their way, more slowly and silently out of the swamp-wood.


----------



## SolitonMan

Great stuff, steeldragons!    Thanks very much for keeping this story going, it's a great read!


----------



## steeldragons

*In the Lizard's Den...*

It was no difficult thing for Festus to find where the company had been taken. The bodies of their companions...the large knees of Braddok and more delciate knees of Erevan pressing into the grasses...Duor's large heavy feet...and...Festus really couldn't tell how many lizardfolk tracks all over the area. The lizardmen and the dragging and their fellows was even easier.

At the satyr's silent indication, the druid and ranger crouched low behind some wildly growing mulberry bushes. Before them was a large wide opening in the inner slope of the crater.

Two lizardmen with spears and short bone daggers on their belts stood before the opening and periodically took a "sniff" at the air with their tongues.

Fen worried for a moment at the reptilians' senses but hoped that the vegetation and the mud and sludge they were each half-covered in would mask their scents.

Festus plopped down on his rump. He drew his short bow from the quiver and looked at Fen.

The half-elf shook his head in a negative.

"How do you presume we get in there then?" the satyr ranger whispered.

"We wait." said the druid, simply. "Night will come and they will retire from the chill."

"What about when the rest of their hunting party doesn't come back?" Festus asked with a shiver at the recent memory of the lizardmen hunters, gone grey, being lifted into the vampire-vine canopy.

The druid had to give this some thought. What about that, indeed. 

"Ok." the druid finally conceded. "Be ready to move...follow me...in a moment. Stay close. Be prepared to fight. I do not know how much more magic I can conduct without some rest. Perhaps we should move off and have a rest?" the half-elf questioned the satyr.

"Don't the lizard folk eat just about anything with meat on its bones?" was Festus' simple reply. He put his bow back in the quiver and loosened the falchion and magical short sword he was fond of using, up close, in tandem.

"Point taken." Fen nodded.

The druid, who had resigned himself that these lizardmen, for whatever reason, where not as superstitious of his "green cloak" as those the party had initially encountered, began whispering his next enchantment. He waited a bit...the fading light of the cloud-strewn sky told him that evening was approaching.

When Fen gaged the time of day to be right, he began to whisper his secret language. At the finish of his chant-like murmuring, he placed his hand upon the ground, reaching just beyond the bushes behind which he and Festus hid.

As the dull grey of the day was turning to the dull-but-darker grey of evening, wisps of mist and fog began to appear from Fen's outstretched fingers.

In short order, a thick fog was forming between the two companions and the lizard guards. <_druid spell: Obscurement_>

"Let's go. Be close....and be _silent_!" Fen emphasized through a hissing whisper.

The satyr followed the druid as close as he could, practically upon his back. They moved with singular silence and caution. Their steps leaving not the slightest trace of sound upon the ground.

They entered the large cave opening and quickly moved away from it. They both had a modicum of vision in the near darkness and wove their way through a long corridor that wound down and to the right.

They halted at a corner from which flickering golden light emanated. Fen pressed himself up against the wall, just at the corner, and, to Festus' sight disappeared. The druid cautiously bent his neck to look around the corner, secure in the knowledge that his druid's cloak was protecting him from any obvious observation.

A moment later, Fen reappeared to Festus' vision. 

"Just torches." Fen said plainly. "No lizardmen in sight. But, as I've said, they abhor the cold...as normal reptiles do. Come....cautiously."

The two made their way down the next corridor, which also sloped to the right. Even without Duor, they noticed how they were moving downward and, as best they could determine, were moving somewhere down beneath the barren stretch of the crater bowl. 

They easily slipped passed a lone sentry who seemed to be asleep at his post and continued on.

Festus noted that both Braddok and Duor and Erevan seemed to be leaving tracks. This was noteworthy, at least to Fen, since Erevan generally did not leave any tracks whatsoever. If the elf's footprints were discernible to the ranger, Fen reasoned, 1) he was leaving them on purpose and, more importantly to the druid, 2) he was still alive.

The two continued down long winding corridors, sporaticly lit with flaming torches set in sconces on the walls or in poles struck in the ground, fueled by skins that, they presumed held some kind of oil. <_Author/DM's note: Like "tiki-torches", but "tiki-torches" have no reference point in Orea for the players._>   

***

Alaria slowly came to consciousness. Her shoulders were...cold? Her legs hurt...or...no...she was on her knees. Her arms were behind her...wait!...her hands were bound?! Where was she?! Alaria's eyes opened, weakly, to take in the scene. 

She saw, with more than a little confusion, that she was on her knees, bound, with a pole at her back. Her cloak (which normally protected her shoulders when wearing her sleeveless gold traveling robe), she realized, was...missing? There was a single torch on a wall, to one side of her flickering intermittent light about the rest of the chamber.

Haelan was across the way, bound to another pole with Duor on the other side/behind the daelvar. Both were, seemingly, unconscious. Why was Haelan naked from the waist up?

They seemed to be in an earthen carved chamber. At one end there was a gate, of sorts, looking like a jail cell door at one end of the chamber.

"Where? What?" Alaria said weakly. "Haelan? Duor?" she dared to whisper as loudly as she could...and still whisper. 

<_translated from elvish_>"_Ah, you are awake. The moon-mother be praised. I had feared we might have lost you, magess._" came Erevan's voice softly speaking the lyrical elvin tongue, behind her.

Alaria was thoroughly confused until she felt the fingers of, presumably the elf, reaching to her own, bound around this pole.

"Erevan?" Alaria said in surprise, turning to see the elf's silver grey locks and profile behind her, also on his knees.

"_Speak the elder tongue._" Erevan whispered harshly. "_The lizardmen do not understand it. And you can speak very low and I will hear." _he added in elvish.

_"Where are we? What has happened? I don't...I don't recall._" the magess said, desperately trying to remember her elf-tongue lessons through her groggy mind.

"_We've been taken by the lizardmen. We escaped the vines only to be captured. You and Haelan were unconscious. We had to give you and the daelvar the potion for neutralizing poison, at Fen's direction. They took us unawares. The satyr and Fen are still free...I think. At the least, they were not taken with us. They took Braddok away some time ago and have not returned with him...as yet_." Erevan explained as softly as he could.

"_Why are we still here? You and I, both, can break these bonds easily with the simplest magic._" Alaria wondered. Though, in earnest, her mind was filling with concern for Braddok...something about Fen telling them how lizardmen eat anyone with meat on their bones.

Then, Alaria remembered with horror, her staff had fallen into the mire! She didn't have her cloak. She looked down. Her pouches and satchel were gone! Where were her components? Her books?!

"Erevan, do you have your grimoire?!" she asked in all but panic, forgettign to use the elvish tongue.

"SSSSSilensssssse. No talksssss." came a growling reptilian humanoid form into the "outside" of the gateway. It...or he?...clacked its spear loudly on the bars of their prison door.

A moment passed before the lizardman guard disappeared from view, but undoubtedly was just outside the door. Alaria now understood the need for quiet.

"_I do not, magess. We must rely on what we already know. We were brought before their...I don't know the word__...'arabreostae' <the elvish term for a magic-worker> I suppose. They stripped us of all of our weapons, our magical items, even took Braddok's and Haelan's armor. Duor's and my leathers seemed to hold no interest for them."_ the elf again answered in the whispered elvin tongue.

"'T_he term is '_shaman_' for these beasts, I imagine_...._or _'witch-doctor.'" Alaria answered. This was bad, she thought. Very bad. And they'd taken Braddok? But the druid and the ranger were free still. That could bode well.

_"Where are we?"_ Alaria asked, her need for details seemed all the more important now.

"_In a prison...or holding cell of sorts. Far down into the lizardmen's lair. We were marched for some time." _the elf paused, unsure if he should pass on the information he had to the woman.
_
"They took Haelan and Duor first. I do not know what they did, but they look the worse for it." he finally said quietly.

_Alaria looked across at the dwarf and half-naked daelvar. Only now, in the flickering torchlight, she noticed the bruises and obvious scratches and cuts upon them.

She also noted the third pole in the chamber, like the others, floor to ceiling, that held no one. A scrap of light blue fabric laid at its base._

"Braddok has been gone, as best I can tell, an hour or so._" Erevan replied, lamentably. "_Do you think, magess, that we can escape this place with our own magics? Once Haelan comes back to consciousness, I'm sure he might help.

"I suspect, we are all to be eaten. I would rather not have that be our fate._" the elf concluded with a distinct and somewhat offputting, to Alaria, note of defeat in his tone.

_"I did not come, Erevan Ryvsorai Aiiniri, to the base of Nor Gorthok to be eaten!_" Alaria hissed in reply. "_Once Braddok is returned, we will be leaving this place._" Alaria seethed with indignation.

Taken like some slave by this bunch of animals! No R'Hathi would stand such an affront. And, Alaria resolved, she would not be the first. Her mind was fully stocked of incantations she would not forget, other than to release them upon her captors.

_*Next time: Escape from the Lizard's Den...?*_


----------



## steeldragons

Some time later, after Alaria's awakening, the gate to their pen opened and two lizrdmen entered, dragging a badly beaten Braddok between them.

The warrior was not unconscious, as his looked through his left eye (the right being badly bruised and swollen shut) at Alaria and felt a pang of sorrow as the magess gasped at this appearance.

"It's not as bad as it looks, magess. Do not worry." Braddok huffed through broken and swollen lips.

"No talkssss!" said one of the reptilians dragging the swordsman and struck him, hard, in his back with the butt of the spear he carried in his free hand.

After the two had retied Braddok to the last, unoccupied pole in the chamber, four more lizardmen entered.

Two were obviously guards, armed with bone-tipped spears and what looked like some kind of claw or other bone-carved curved short swords hanging from the simple leather belts they wore around their midsection. 

It was then, Alaria noticed with some embarrassment, that they wore no loincloths or pants or anything below the waist, their heavy scaled skins being the only thing that somehow contained any organs of reproduction they might possess. Some corner of Alaria's mind realized the sense this made, allowing full range of movement to the three-to-four foot tails that swung and coiled behind each of them. They were broadly muscled and all stood as tall, if not a few inches taller, than Braddok, himself.

The other two were different.

One, obviously their leader, was larger than any of the others. Whether this indicated it was older, Alaria could not tell,, but it too was broadly muscled and wore a thick girdle of leather set with smoothly polished, multi-colored stones about his waist. A metal sword also hung from the bejeweled girdle. Upon one forearm and extended down over his naturally clawed hand was a monstrous gauntlet of steel that reflected the torchlight, ending in long curved metal claws over the hand. This lizardman, be he chieftain or warlord or just some captain, also wore a long heavy cloak of coarse fur.

If this lizardman were not cause for enough concern by the companions, the other was a smaller, hunched figure. He wore a headdress that sported long curving horns and an array of multi-colored feathers. One of the feathers was obviously cracked/broken, hanging limply to the side.This lizardman's snout seemed a bit longer than the others, slight dropping at the end, and its scaley hide appeared almost "wrinkled" if such a thing were possible. Its belt was barely visible beneath the multitude of strips of leather with colored beads, various bones, skulls of small animals and birds, assorted pouches and various sized gourds. A long staff, similarly adorned with bits of feather, bone, tufts of fur and more than a couple of animal tails streamed off it. The various beads, bones and other accoutrements rattled and clinked with every movement it made. 

The obvious "shaman" picked a long gourd with a bulbous end from his belt and began to shake it. It rattled with some hidden beans or something. As the shaman began to hiss in a rhythmic fashion, dull grey smoke that stank of some unknown incense began to seep out of the gourd's head and encircle the room.

Alaria wondered at the phenomenon and mentally disdained this monster's back-swamp spirit magic. She wondered if this was the time to mount their escape, but thought better to see what might happen.

When the grey smoke had formed a ring about the perimeter of the chamber, the shaman turned to the large leader-looking lizardmen and bowed slightly.

"You may ssspeak, my thief." the shaman said. To Alaria, and the others' surprise, they understood the reptilian, though wondered about this great, apparent warrior's title of "thief."

"The prey are the onesss who have ssslain my people, yesss. The prey travel with treatherousss green-ed cloak-ed one. Where isss he? And where isss the sssatyr? I thall have jussssthissss." the 'thief' bellowed (Alaria now realized the creatures' lizard like snouts precluded the possibility of pronouncing certain sounds, like "ch.")  

Alaria looked at her other companions. Braddok seemed to have slipped into unconsciousness. The others were looking at her. Behind her, though she could not see, Erevan scowled at the reptilians in the doorway.

"The prey will anssswer the thief!" the shaman shouted. "Or the prey diesss. Where isss the prey'sss othersss?"

For this, the shaman received a sound blow across his shoulder from the "thief", presumably for interrupting. 

Alaria, it seemed, would be foisted into the role of spokesperson again. Better, she thought, to try to glean as much information as possible. More knowledge was, of course, always preferable to less.

"We do not know." the R'Hathi said, raising herself as tall and proud looking as she could, on her knees with her hands tied to a pole behind her back. "Why have you brought us here?"

"Why?! WHYYYY???!!!" the chieftain roared as it stomped toward the lady. 

Alaria feared the creature might bite her head off, quite literally as its face and flickered tongue came very near her own.

"The prey sssslain my thampion, invade MY ssswamp and k-k-(the lizardman was making the unfamiliar "k" sound from back down in his throat)-kill my offsssspringsss and the prey wondersss WHY?!" the chief elaborated.

Bollux, Alaria thought to herself. They were, obviously, on the wrong side of whatever law this chief's clan held...any law of any land, for that matter.

"Our apologies, good chief of lizards. We were, but, protecting ourselves. We seek only to enter Nor Gorthok...the, uh, the mountain, here." dare she attempt to extrapolate...she dared, "Is it not the right of any creature of the swamp to protect itself?" 

"The prey issss not a k-k-kreature of the sssswamp. The prey thinkssss it k-k-lever?" he turned with a flourish of his great furred cloak and it more "banged" than washed over the magess' face. It seemed to reek, simultaneously, of all of the awful odors they had encountered throughout their time in the Feldmere. Alaria felt a wave of nausea.

The shaman held out a book for the chief who all but ripped it out of the shaman's claws before turning to Alaria and shaking it at her.

"The prey isss a sssss-ahman. We have ssseen the prey's magic books." he continued to rant.

"The prey will return my offssspringss...my ssssonsss...to ussss, yessss. And the prey will live here and makesss magicsss for usss." the chieftain said quietly.

"I will do no such thing!" Alaria protested in indignation.

Again the monstrous chieftain leaned in close to Alaria, "The prey willssss. It willssss. Or the prey doesss not livesss...at all."

The monster now walked away from Alaria and circled about the room, slowly, staring down each of the other companions in turn.

"The prey likesss itsss...friennndsss, yesss? The prey will do thisss for usss or I killsss...and EATSSS...itsss friendsss. Yesss." the chieftain turned back to Alaria. The chief's eyes narrowed to almost imperceptible slits. If a lizard's eyes could be said to look conniving, these were. "We startsss with the elf-prey. Yesss." he said at least and raised his metal-clawed-gauntlet arm.

Two of the lizardmen guards began to move toward Alaria and Erevan.

The shaman frantically interrupted, again, knowing the possible risk, "My thief. The elfsss isss magicsss alssso." he held up the slimmer smaller bound book that contained Erevan's spells before continuing.

"If the prey-sss-ahman doesss not make the magicsss, the elf-prey cansss....perhapssss." the shaman cowered slightly at the expected reprisal.

The chieftain held up his gauntleted arm again and waved the guards back to their positions near the door.

He turned and flicked his tongue down toward Haelan and Duor.

"Then, perhapsss, we ssstartsss with a sssnack." the chief said.

"Aw bugger." Duor said to the floor.

"What?! No! No, Alaria! Tell him...I dunno, tell him something!" the daelvar priest practically cried in panic. 

"My good chief," Alaria began as he again waved the approaching guards off and looked sidelong at the wizard, "the daelvar is a priest of great power. You do not want to eat him. His goddess is powerful and would extract retribution."

The lizard-chief looked at the magess now and then back at Haelan and back at Alaria with a look of clear disbelief.

Alaria thought for a moment before continuing with an attempt at a ruse. She shook her head in the affirmative. "Yes. He is very powerful, this priest. Be nice to us and his goddess might return your sons with his help."

Haelan stared agape in horror across the room at the wizardess.

 The chief seemed to think for a moment and then looked at his shaman. "Whatsss isss duh-hale-gar prrriesstsss?"

The shaman silently nodded in the direction of the cleric. "The hairfootsss-prey, my thief. Worshipsss the ssspiritsss of prey."

The shaman reached to his belt, behind him, and withdrew Haelan's pinecone-shape headed mace. "Isss that what thisss isss for?"

"Yes!" Alaria said quickly.

Haelan said nothing, still in utter shock at the magess' assertion. The raising of the dead was strictly against Faeranthean teachings...Hells, the cleric thought, he didn't even know if it was possible! He'd never heard of any Hillmother, let alone a Hilltender, _attempting_ such a feat, let alone succeeding. 

"Then you, hairfootsss-prey, will bring our offspringsss back. Or we eatsss _your_ friendsss." the chieftain said snidely to the daelvar.

"My thief," the shaman again dared to interject, "the time comes when Hrrr'athssssaaaah demands tributessss." the shaman said looking at the bound companions. "Perhapsss the prey will sssserve and I can perform the ssssseremony you sssseek. Yesss?" the shaman concluded.

Receiving no swat to his unseen ears, the shaman continued, hissing in malice toward Alaria. "We have ssspiritsss too."

"Release us and we will do whatever we can to bring back your sons." Alaria quickly stated, understanding the shaman's motives most acutely.

"Alaria!" Haelan objected before getting a swift "klok!" from the lizardman cheiftain. Thankfully, it was not the hand with the spikey clawed metal gauntlet.

"The prey will bring usss the green-ed cloak-ed onesss and the sssatyr." he nodded at the guards.

To everyone's surprise, a single guard came and began to untie Alaria.

"My chief! The prey is a sss-ahmansss! Keep its handsss bound! Sssend the beard-prey." the shaman protested.

The guard paused momentarily, concerned by the shaman's warning (and  begin able to understand it in the magical zone of translation).

The chief looked at Alaria calmly. "The prey will not do anything ssstupid, yesss? Itsss friends ssstay here. If the prey runsss or triesss treathery, itss friendsss die."

Alaria understood all too well, but thought the opportunity was all too enticing to pass up. Besides, the magess lamentably reasoned, if they freed Duor instead, there was no guarantee the dwarf would return at all.

"No, my chief." Alaria said, attempting to sound defeated. "Nothing stupid."

"The prey will return with itsss othersss by next moonrise, or it will sssee itsss friendsss in our belliesss...And the other prey will not try anything ssstupid, as they love their femalesss. Yessss?"

"Yes, my chief." Alaria repeated.

"No tricks. We promise." Haelan piped up.

"Yesss?" the cheiftain said menacingly to the others.

Erevan and Duor nodded their heads in defeat.

"Yessss." the chief smirked, if a lizard's face could be said to smirk.

He left the chamber with another wave of his furred cloak, shouting hissing and rumbling orders from his belly. The shaman looked about the chamber to see his ring of magic smoke dissipating.

The shaman bowed as the chief passed and when he'd exited, looked with malice at Alaria as she, stiffly, rose to her feet. The guard gripped her hard by the arm and began to walk her out. The shaman halted their exit and hissed something in the lizard folks' tonguey tongue. When the guard gave the shaman a question glance, he shook his rattle-gourd at the guard.

The lizard-warrior conceded and left the two alone in the chamber.

"No tricksss wisssard." the shaman said softly to Alaria, in Common!

Alaria's surprised look garnered a nod and chuckling smirk from the aged lizardman.

"Yesss. I know your k-k-ind. You do as the thief bids and you may yet live to leave thisss plassse. Perhapsss some of thessse prey alssso." he jerked his head in the direction of the other bound companions.

"If you...treathery, to my lord Hrrr'athsssa will you all. I promissse. Yesss." the elderly lizardman finished.

Before Alaria could reply, the shaman hissed another curt command and the guard returned and grabbed her again. She was half-led half-dragged through multiple corridors, passed several other lizardmen warriors and others that seemed to be unarmed. She even caught sight of a few younglings peeking around corners or out of archways in the earthern carved lair.

After a time, they were moving through a long corridor, dotted with torches in the walls and stuck in the floor. Alaria mentally noted and recalled Fen's several assertions about the lizardmen and the cold.

As they came around a bend, Alaria was met with a most unexpected sight.

_*Next time..."In the Belly of the Beast"...*_*or*_*..."A Hrrr'athsssa by Any Other Name Twould Still Smell Like Swamp."*_


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria and her "escort" rounded the bend just in time to see Festus pulling his falchion out of the belly of a severely dead lizardman guard on the floor. The enchanted cloak of Fen waved about the druid, a bit behind the ranger. The half-elf's face was of one just caught with his breeches about his ankles.

"Alaria!" the satyr said cheerfully. "Look Fen. That was easy!"

"Festus? What are you..." Alaria didn't get to finish her question before her escort threw her, fairly easily, to the floor behind him and rushed forward with a snarling hiss, his spear ready to take on the interlopers.

The satyr, naturally, took a ready stance with his two short blades before him. Fen leveled his spear in the lizard-guard's direction.

"No! Stop! Don't hurt him." Alaria called in vain.

Before the last words had passed her lips, the satyr was dodging and feinting around the lizardman's spear jabs. The ranger's own strikes missed and skated off of the lizardman's thick scaled hide.

Fen rushed forward to help Alaria to her feet. "Where are the others? We should get out of here with all speed."

"They are captured. There is too much to explain. Stop this! Festus, don't kill him!" Alaria called passed the druid, seeing Festus cut into the reptilians softer side.

The satyr was distracted by this "command", "You want me to what?!"

This momentary pause was all the lizardman needed to do a swift pivot on its feet to swipe the goat-legs rght out from under Festus with a solid swipe of its tail. The satyr landed heavily on his back, knocking the air from his lungs. Before Festus could react, a bone-tipped spear was at his throat.

"No!" Alaria called. Before she knew what she was doing or saying, the words came to her mind and across her lips, practically unbidden, "_Contro es amberall buul_." <_mage spell: Sleep_> Alaria flung her arm out with a handful of dusty dirt from the passage floor.

The lizardman looked at her curiously for a moment before slumping over in a blissful doze.

Not since Alaria had completed her studies in Evaranthriine's Gorathgraard had she had much cause to use her magic. But the R'Hathi magess knew, she had not studied the Sleep incantation at the beginning of that day. She was thoroughly impressed with herself at this newfound mastery of the Mysteries...and the fact that she, apparently didn't "need" sand to pull it off.

But she steeled her mind with trained ease, these things could be pondered at a later time in some more secure location.

At her instruction, the satyr bound (and gagged) the large lizardman and, somewhat clumsily he and the half-elf dragged it to a nearby door that seemed to be a supply room of some sort, with shelves full of skins and barrels of some liquid and stacks of torches and assorted rags.

Alaria filled in her would-be rescuers as they descended back into the creatures' lair.

"so, let me get this straight, " Festus said quietly, "you told them _Halean_ could raise the chief's dead son...that we killed yesterday...And now he wants _you_ to bring_ us_ to them?...or they'll kill the others and or feed us all to some Hrangthing." This sounded, to the satyr, like a severely bad set of circumstances.

Alaria simply nodded as she peerred cautiously around the passage down which she knew there to be several doorways. 

"And we're going...now...where, exactly?" Fen asked tentatively.

"We are going to do just as they ask." Alaria said plainly.

The half-elf and satyr looked at each other. Their expressions, if they said anything, were that Alaria had clearly lost her mind.

"But we're going to make a stop or two first." alaria said cryptically.

Festus took the point and led them, caustiously down corridor after corridor, making turns where Alaria indicated. She continued explaining her plan in hushed tones.

"There is a shaman here. They've taken all of our enchanted items, not to mention mine and Erevan's spellbooks. I am betting, the shaman has at least some of them. We must find him and retrieve as much of our equipment as possible. My spellbooks not least of all."

They very carefully checked down various passages and behind certain doors, doing their utmost not to let their presence be known.

"Then we must free the others...and we can't kill any more of them if it can be helped." Alaria concluded.

That was enough for Festus, "OK! Now you've just lost it. Are you still poisoned or something?! These things want to EAT us!"

"I've seen younglings here abouts, Festus. And other adults that are unarmed...their females, I suspect. We seem to have done more than enough damage to this... colony or whatever it is. Let's just get what's ours and get out of here.

"As to what this 'Hr'athsa' is, I have no idea. But the way the shaman spoke of it, I suspect it is their god or some spirit kind of creature. We are in no shape to take on anything more than absolutely necessary!"

That said, the very next door they check behind, the three adventurers were faced, eye-to-eye, several of the unarmed 'females' who immediately rose and hissed angrily at the interlopers. The three grown lizardfolk charged toward the door. Alaria noted a few young lizardfolk playing on the floor behind their watchers.

Fen slammed the door shut and Alaria quickly placed her hands upon the shoddily crafted wooden door. Again, words came into her mind from her memory of the eariest spells in her book. A quick incantation later, the door jostled upon its hinges, causing Alaria to step back in alarm. But the door did not open. <_mage spell: Hold Portal_> 

"We must hurry." she said as the hissing and growling continued from behind the door.

"They were holding us in a chamber down that way." Alaria said at a "T" in the passage down which they were rushing. Then took the _opposite_ direction.

"Uhhhh...Alaria...then why are we going _this_ way?" Festus asked, confused.

"Our magic, Festus!" Alaria said with some annoyance. What didn't the satyr understand about the importance of reclaiming her spellbooks?!

The next chamber to their right also had a door, this one looking much more well made and sturdy.

"_Arkanavis._" Alaria whispered under her breadth. She peered, very close to the door. There was...she was almost sure...magic on the other side of the door. "Here."

Fen went to grab the door as Alaria noticed, backed away from the door, the invisible runes scribed and glowing along the bottom of the door.

"NO! Wait!" Alaria said, a bit loudly in her surprise. But it was too late.

There was the most momentary flash of light as Fen's hand touched the door handle before flames erupted with a soft *WHOOSH!* from the base of the door and filled the passageway in front of it and about ten feet of the corridor.

Festus' uncanny reflexes and goat-legs jumped him back from the quick blast of heat and flames to escape unscathed.

Fen's enchanted cloak helped to mute some of the elemental damage. He looked at Alaria with a bit of displeasure as the scent of burned hair filled the air. The druid's carrot-colored eyebrows and strip of a goatee were frizzled black and smoking. 

Alaria similarly was smoking from several locations. Her traveling robe was all but burned from her body (being, now, little more than a short skirt and bra.)

"Nice look, Alaria." Festus jibbed with a chuckle. "You should show more skin more often."

Alaria simply scowled at the ranger and indicated they all needed to enter the chamber.

Sure enough, it looked (at least to Alaria) like the shaman's chambers. Thankfully, he was not there. But there was a long table strewn with beakers and bottles and jars and bowls holding all sorts of animal parts, bones and feathers carefully stacked and separated into piles. A set of shelves contained more jars and vials and animal parts. Also on the shelves were several rolls of parchment. The magess was sorry they had not the time to examine the spirit-man's 'magic', but time was of the essence.

Sure enough, on a desk to the side were several of their items with a few scrolls beneath them. It seemed from Alaria's cursory examining of them, that the shaman was attempting to identify what the items present might do.

Alaria immediately took and put on her bracelet of force-beads. She grabbed her deep blue cloak off of a peg on the wall. She handed off Haelan's small round shield and Duor's ethereal dagger off to the satyr.

"Will these help?" Festus asked with a smile, picking up a seemingly plain backpack in each hand. They were the packs of holding the dwarf Imgulg had gifted to Haelan and Duor.

"These too, it seems." Fen said from the long table of bottles and animal parts. He grabbed and stashed what seemed to be at least one of their neutralize poison and healing potions, two vials of the dark green water breathing potion. He was carefully surveying the contents of the other bottles and jars.

Alaria moved into a recessed alcove behind a drape of drying herbs.

"Oo. What's this one do, ya think?" Festus said about a bone bowl that contained a thick yellowed liquid.

Before Fen or Alaria could say anything, the satyr downed the contents of the bowl.

"Are you MAD!?" Fen said in alarm as the bone bowl dropped form the satyr's hand and the goat-man gagged several times.

"Tastes like bile." he managed to choke out.

"These are lizardmen, imbecile. It very likely might have been!" Fen chastised.

Then Festus felt...odd...tingling like...and...well, odd.

Alaria had located her satchel and quickly was stuffing what seemed to be both of her spellbooks and Erevan's slimmer smaller tome.

"I don't see anything more of ours. Let's get out of here...FESTUS!" Alaria finished with alarm to see the satyr's skin had gone somewhat...orange?

First, the ranger's shoulder muscle bulged out...impossibly, magically, large. Then one of his forearms. Then the other shoulder. His pectorals practically snapped the breastplate of leather off, but one of the straps held it in place...for a moment before that one, too, burst and the leather armor fell off of the ever increasing form. His biceps were creaking up in size, veins forming all across the exposed skin.

"Manat's star!" Alaria breathed.

"He drank something from the shaman's desk." Fen said as he backed away from the groaning and growling satyr as his legs burst in similar muscle and size and shoulders came very near the ceiling of the place.

After a moment the transformation stopped and before them stood, at nearing nine feet tall, a giant orange Festus breathing heavily, loudly, and staring at his orange huge hands. The "full length" patchwork cloak in which the ranger traveled now hung, like a shawl, over his back. 

Alaria took a cautious step toward the 'creature' and said, very softly. "Festus?"    

The satyr's head turned toward the magess. His face had grown and morphed to a grotesque monstrous visage. His eyes were bulding and bloodshot. Alaria's soft word rang in his ears like a hundred cymbals.

"This...I'm...this is...SO COOL!" Festus' voice boomed through the chamber.

"Are you ok?" Fen said, again with concern.

"I am...AWESOME!" again the voice boomed. Both the wizard and druid were sure just about everything in the lizardmen's den would have heard him. "Look at me! I'm HUGE! Let's kick some butt!" the satyr smiled a rather gross toothy smile at his companions.

"Ok...Ok, Festus. Change of plans....still not killing if not absolutely necessary. But I think it might be a good time for a visit to the chieftain, now." Alaria said with a sly smile.

"Magess?" Fen said, thoroughly not following.

***

<translated from the Lizardman tongue>"_My chief! My chief! An ogre has appeared in the lair! _" cried a guard who entered the chieftain's audience chamber with three other guards quick on his heels. They closed and barred the double doors that led to the throne room. 

"_What?! How?_" answered chief Claws-in-Blood.

"_It has the prey-shaman with it and the green cloak! It is coming this way._ the guard explained quickly as a thundrous boom pounded into the door.

"_How could she do that without her magic books?! You said she had no power!"_ Claws-in-Blood growled at the shaman beside him.

The elderly lizard, Hisses-to-Spirits, cowered at his chief's raised clawed gauntlet raised arm and then took a step back, jostled from his feet by another thundering knock.

The two lizardmen who were up upon a makeshift ladder attempting to hang a triangular shield emblazoned with a black split-tail hawk on the wall among the chief's other litany of trophies were similarly knocked down. One suffered the clanging of the shield upon its head.

With a deafening boom, the doors flew off their hinges and the prey-shaman walked calmly into the throne room. The four present guardsmen took their positions, forming a line before their chief and the shaman, who was now half-hiding behind the chief's throne.

Behind the prey-female, who was now covered in a cloak of dark blue and walked with a long staff that flickered with a ball of lightning, came a similarly cloaked in green, hooded prey who walked with a spear. Behind them both came a giant orange brute of a creature.

It had horns upon its head and furry prey-like legs with great cloven feet.

"FESTUS SMASH!" the great orange beast bellowed through the chamber.

"Not yet, Festus." the prey-shaman said calmly before turning toward the chieftain and raising her voice in address.

"My good chief. You desired for me to find and bring to you the greencloak and the satyr. Here I am. Our side of the bargain is fulfilled."

The chief hissed and growled in obvious annoyance at the shaman and the shaman relayed what had been said...or so Alaria hoped.

"Thisss isss no sssatyr. The prey-sssahman thinksss it k-k-..." Hisses-to-Spirits began to reply.

"I AM 'clever', bone-man...and it's SHHHHA-man." Alaria replied with a good deal of enjoyment before mentally calling up a couple of her, few remaining, cantrips.


----------



## Lwaxy

Ooh Alaria got easier magic now 

Festus' WIS score must be quite low to just drink something strange lol


----------



## steeldragons

Lwaxy said:


> Ooh Alaria got easier magic now




Yuppers.  Standard-Orean-Houserule for mages. Spontaneous casting of cantrips occurs from day one. High Int. gets you bonus spells per day (a la clerics in 1e)...instilled practically immediately after my original group started 1e to offset the "one-and-done magic-user."

AND, it makes flavor sense to me, that as mages gain experience and power, the spells they've been using for a long time become that "second nature" like cantrips always were [in Orea]. In essence, spontaneous casting is allowed for 2 levels below your highest casting spell level.

SO, at 5th level (getting 3rd level spells for the first time) 1st level spells become spontaneously cast-able. Naturally, the mage may only spontaneously cast spells they know/have in their books (not ALL 1st level spells! hahaha) AND is still limited to their number of spells per day.

At 7th level (if Alaria makes it that far  ), when she would gain 4th level spells, her 1st and 2nd level spells will be able to be spontaneously chosen...and so on.

Doesn't give 'em any more spells than they'd normally have, just allows a LOT more flexibility and creativity for the player. 

Of course, then the whole "Sorcerer revolution" came about and it seems not so special anymore. lol. But yes, mages in Orea could be considered, once they hit a certain level, to be "partial-spontaneous casters." [EDIT: Which goes to the reasoning that the "Sorcerer as a separate class" does not exist in Orea. All Orean wizards/mages eventually become partial Sorcerers (in the spontaneously casting class, sense.) /EDIT] 



Lwaxy said:


> Festus' WIS score must be quite low to just drink something strange lol




Honestly, I don't entirely recall, but I believe the player was just looking to "shake things up." hahaha. I guess being separated, held prisoner, mostly unarmed and low on magic in an enemy lair was just going "too smoothly" or something. lol.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria summoned to mind a couple of her few remaining cantrips, as she had done before other foes before. She caused the air to circle about her, rustling her cloak and hair, and flickers of violet flames to flare from her eyes.

As Alaria was setting forth her "terms" for the company's release and demanding back Haelan's mace and holy symbol, Fen wandered over to the cowering lizardmen near the trophy wall. He took the swallowtail-hawk emblazoned shield and put it in the holding backpack he was toting.

"I believe this belongs to us." the druid said dismissively and returned to Alaria's side. He crossed his arms and smirked a smug crooked grin as Alaria laid into the chief and shaman.

"You WILL return our belongings and send us on our way..." Alaria continued.

"Uh guys...", Festus said quietly behind them.

"...and the hairfoot's mace and his goddess' holy symbol. They will avail you not..." the magess continued undeterred.

"Guys?...Uh..." Festus murmured again.

"We do not possess the means to return your lost warriors to you. But we are thoroughly sorry for the loss to you and your tribe..." the magess continued.

"Alaria?" Fen said unsure where this line was going.

"Guuuuys...problem..." Festus whispered again.

"...but if you allow us to pass into the mountain unhindered, I swear we shall return with reparations for your loss..." Alaria continued.

Fen wondered why the chief and shaman had begun to grin menacingly at them. Surely, these savages were terrified of the magess' ruse.

"GUYS!" Festus yelled.

"WHAT?!" Fen said in frustration before turning to see that Festus stood, his normal size, naked from the waist up (the satyr's sword belts had miraculously withstood the transformation into his huge form), as the last shades of orange disappeared from the goat-man's complextion. "...oh." the druid said quietly.

The chief let out a terrible roar and the six lizardmen (four guards before the chief and the two near the trophy wall) charged at the satyr, magess and druid.

Alaria, similarly made aware of Festus' return to his normal form, bolted for the double doors they had charged through a few moments before.

As soon as the three were through, Alaria turned and began weaving one of her only remaining spells to, hopefully, slow down if not entirely stop their pursuit.

_"Arakness Aknis Arankinae!"_ <mage spell: Web> The whole of the doorway, and the front two lizardmen guards, was entirely encased in a veritably "wall" of iridescent webbing. 

The magess, druid and ranger raced down the corridors they had followed until they came to the turn off to descend to where the holding cell was with their companions.

They came around the bend to see two, thoroughly slacking off lizardmen guards. The druid and ranger made short work of them while Alaria entered the pen (swatting the locked gate open with an electrical charge of her staff).

"Alaria!" Haelan said gleefully. "Did you find them?"

Alaria began untying Braddok and "threw" her final cantrip toward Erevan. The ropes binding the elf began to untie themselves as Festus and Fen entered and hastily began unbinding the dwarf and halfling. 

"Well great." Duor said as he rubbed his chafed wrists. "Now that the cavalry's here, wut're we doin'?"

Festus withdrew the rogue's ethereal dagger from the holding pack and handed it to the dwarf. "Prolly gonna be needin' this, my friend. We're far from in the woods, yet." <_Author's note: naturally, satyr's and other wildnerness creatures do not consider getting "out of the woods" to be the preferable place for safety._> He also withdrew Haelan's returning shield and handed it off to the cleric.

The druid tossed Braddok one of the lizard-guards spears. Erevan had taken up the other and their odd serated bone-short swords. He tossed one of those to Braddok as well. Fen also, almost forgetting, pulled out the Grinlian swordsman's shield and gave that to him.

As the party cautiously left the pen, the sounds of hissing and growling roars erupted throughout the corridor.

"Which way?!" the half-naked and unarmed Haelan said with great concern.

"Come on!" Festus said and began racing down the corridor, beyond the jail cell, that they had not explored.

"Do yeh know where yer goin'?" Duor questioned as all of the companions raced as fast as they could.

"Not a clue!" Festus answered with a smirk as he chose a side passage, at random and continued to race ahead.

"A colony this large must have more than one point of exit." Braddok reasoned...hoping to himself that he was correct.

"The warrior is correct. We just need to find it." Fen concurred.

They came to a crossroads and Festus stood, perplexed. Neither way showed any signs of the flickering torches he'd more or less been following up to then.

The sounds of pursuit were getting louder before Erevan's elvin senses came to the rescue. The slightest of cool air touched the elf's cheek and pointed ear in the direction of the leftside passage. The elf peered carefully down the passage and noted what none of the others possibly could, expect perhaps Duor, that the darkness at the edge of his vision took on the remotely lighter shade of darkness that was natural shadow as opposed to pure lightlessness.

"This way. There's an exit up here around this bend." the elf said and without waiting for a consensus took off down the leftside passage. The other followed with all speed.

Sure enough, the party raced around the passage bend and out a large opening before them. They all celebrated the fact they were outside before realizing they were inside a narrow (about 30 feet across) crevace of stone, not earth, lined on each side twenty foot high sheer walls of normal stone.

The outdoor alley extended nearly 100 yards before them to a natural-looking opening in the base of the mountain that towered before them, as far as they could see. About half way down the alley was a crudely formed long stone table or altar. Upon the stone was a large sack.

Erevan immediately recognized his bow and arrows sticking out of it and a sword hilt. It had to be the rest of their stuff!

The party began moving forward toward the stone table when a loud *CLACK!* sounded behind them. They turned to see a wooden portcullis had dropped before the archway they'd just exited.

Then the drums started.

"Aw, bollux. Way to take the blade offa the anvil n' into the fire...stupid point-ear." the dwarf grumbled. With the fading day, the whole of the corridor was bathed in shadow, though there was still a slight glow in the sky. Duor wasted no time to make his way to one of the walls and crouch down in the first shadow he could find. 

"Hurry." Braddok commanded. "Get our things."

The rest of the group, en masse, began again to race for the stone altar/table.

Then a peculiar rhymic hissing intoned and their eyes went up to the rim of the stone alley.

Lizardfolk were appeared at the edge, in ever increasing numbers. Some were armed, some not. Some beat on drums and the cacophony of voices continued to rise in a repetitive chant.

"Oo-Hoo-hoo-<*thump*>Hrrrraaaaathsaaaa-Oo.<*thump*>Oo-Hoo-Hoo-Hrrraaaaathsaaaa-Oo <*thump*>"

The chanting became louder as Haelan reached the table and large sack. The daelvar frantically searched through the contents, unconcerned about the weapons or their coins, gems and other trinkets. He pulled out one jacket of chainmail but it was too big to be his, he just tossed it back in the bag. Where was it?! the daelvar Hilltender thought in panic.

"Oo-hoo-hoo<*thump*>Hrrraaaathsaaa-Oo.<*thump*>" the voices continued to intone until a single voice rose above the rest.

"Hrrrathsaaa, lord of lizards, mighty sssshadowsss. Your peoplesss implore your prrresssensssse." cried Hisses-to-Spirits from a balcony about ten feet above the blocked archway. His arms were stretched high, one holding Haelan's mace, the other another rattle-gourd wrapped in feathers.

"HEY! That's mine!" called Haelan up to the shaman. The lizard-spirit-man did not seem to hear.

Then, as Braddok and Erevan, broken from their observations, reached the table and began to hastily grab whatever weapons they could.

"To me, friends. Form up here, on me." Braddok commanded.

What were they going to do? Alaria wondered in panic. "Braddok, I've all but exhausted mind and body today. I do not know how much more magic I can muster. I suspect Fen is similarly short on power. We MUST find some way out of here and someplace secure to recuperate." the magess whispered to the swordsman.

"I fear you may have to wait a bit for that, magess." Braddok said stoically. Then he thought for a moment. He took in the lizardfolk around the edge of the crevace. None of them got any closerto the mountain than where the stone table sat in the alley below. Braddok looked to the large "circle" in the base of the mountain...50 yards away...with some luck, perhaps at least some of them could make it without spears in their backs.

"On my mark, we make for the mountain. It might not let out anywhere, but the lizardfolk do not seme to get near it." the swordsman reasoned.

Alaria turned to look at the mountain opening. Erevan also. It seemed like natural stone, but around the base looked odd. Like the stone had once been liquid and then solidified. Great drooping..."drops" for lack of a better term hung from the top of the roughly circular opening. Alaria was reminded of ice that had melted and then refrozen.

"Lord Hrrrathsaaa, heed your peoplesss pleasss. We offer tributesss of great pleashhhhurrrre." the shaman called. From somewhere the party could not see a loud gong sounded.

Alaria, still watching the opening and waiting for Braddok's "mark" gasped as two large narrow violet eyes began to glow from within the darkness at the end of the long stone alleyway.

"HERE it is!" Haelan cried in happiness as he pulled the silver chain which held, at its end, the silver pinecone symbol of Faernatha. "Thank the Hillmother." he smiled before turning and taking in the whole situation. His eyes widened at the site of the balcony with the shaman, the great gauntlet-clawed chief behind him, the multitude of lizardfolks above their heads and, finally, turning toward the cave opening, the giant purple eyes that stared out, directly toward them.

"Aw bullox." the daelvar said.

"Oo-hoo-hoo-Hrrraaathsaaa-Oo." the congregated lizards intoned again as a ginat head exited the shadows of the cave.

"Why do you call us, lizard-priest? Tributes, you say? So near the  winter-sleep?" a curious voice bombed from the cave...in Common?!

It was huge, gleaming black, and dragon-like. The two violet eyes glowed menacingly at the party as a long serpentine neck stretched forward. It had curved black horns, like a ram, to each side of its head. A clawed black leg appeared, then two...then two more directly behind it...

"Ooooohoohoo!" the creature said when it saw the party. "PINK-flesh! Why didn't you say so!?"

The head and eyes did not shift from the party as the legs climbed the left side of the cave-opening, then four, then six moving the body across the top of the cave and down the right side again. The body, also gleaming in black with the occasional band of violet scales kind of "cork-screwed" its way out of the cave.

How many legs did this thing have? Alaria wondered. It was like no dragon she had ever seen a picture of. She'd counted eight and still the thing was not, entirely out of the cave and showed no signs of ending. It was, easily, from what she could see 40 feet long, and gods knew how much more of it was behind, still in the cave.

The creature reared up so it's first four legs were off of the ground and "sat" rather like a rearing serpent with its four clawed "fore-arms" (?) clapping together like a child at Candlemas in...was it...glee?

"Ooooohoohoohoo!" the creature seemed to be giggling.

"Do you know..." the dragon-centipede-thing seemed now to be addressing the party, "how long it's been since you brought me pink-flesh, lizard-priest?"

"Thisss prey hass done great wrongsss to your peoplesss, my lord. We givesss itsss gold and magicsss in tribute and beg you return our sssonsss to usss." the shaman replied, contritely.

The creature seemed to wave off the shaman's statements. "Gold and magic, you say?"

The creatures legs were pulled up close to its massive body and it "slithered" side to side, like a snake. In a blur it had raced passed the party's position on one side and coiled around them and the alter on the other. About a quarter of its full length towered over the speechless Stormriders.

Alaria was striken, paralyzed in fear, with the image from her spell sleep. A giant shadow snake had enwrapped her...what was the rest? Had it changed to a gold dragon? Or had it been gold first and turned black? What was it about this instant...she knew...she knew SOMEthing...

"Ooooohoohoohoo. Magics and gold." the creature said as one of its many many limbs picked up the sack and the rest of the party's things and passed it, limb to limb until the sack disappeared back into the cave. "You do know how I love treasure. Well done, lizard-priest."

The shaman bowed and again stared with menace down at the party, awaiting the creature to take its first victim.

"And soooo many to choooose from! Ooooohooohooohoo." the creature giggled again. "A feast of flavors you've brought me." It's face lowered and came near to Haelan. "And what is this lil' morsel?"

"Morsel?! Not bloody likely!" Haelan said as the creature's snout got a bit close for comfort. "I'm a daelvar, thank you very much. A Hilltender at that! You'd best not eat me or my goddess will SMITE you!" 

The creature quickly reared back up and clapped its first four legs together again. "Oooohoohoo! And they talk! I can have company for weeks as I dine on one or two at a time! Excellent. EXCELLENT!" the entire length of the creature seemed to quiver with excitement.

Its draconic head again lowered near to the company's level and it said quietly, "Do you know how long its been since I've had someone to talk to? Lizard-priest's the only one that speaks passable Common." The creatures eyes went to the shaman. "And as you can see, his speech is somewhat...impeded. It's always 'tribute this' and 'gimme that.' Oooohoohoo. This will be WONderful!"

Bradok could hardly contain his awe of this snake-dragon-many-legged-chuckling-thing. Then Erevan nudged him in the side. He followed the elf's eyes to see a squat darkly cloaked figure edging its way toward the cave mouth. Duor! He was slinking away. He was almost there.

"_Can you detain this creature, killi?_" Erevan whispered to Fen in elvish. "_We must make for the cave_."

Fen nodded almost imperceptibly before the creature boomed.

"OOOOHOOHOOHOOOOO! They speak many things?! What was that? Ooo, elvish I suppose." Hrrrathsssa said toward Erevan. His head turned toward Alaria, "Never much cared for elves, you know? Taste like march-deer meat. Aren't you a lovely little thing?" 

"My dear...um...Hrrathsssa, my companions and I would love to keep you company...if we could just..." Alaria figured the talkative creature might enjoy being addressed by someone other than the shaman.

"PLEASE! Please please...call me by my correct name, if you please. I am Rach'sha...As you've no doubt noted, lovely little thing, the lizards have certain impediments." the creature responded.

"Uh...well, yes...um, Rach'sha. I must say...in all of my years of study I've never encountered a creature of your...umm...elegant and very efficient design before. What species of dragon are you?" Alaria said as calmly as her quivering insides could muster.

"Dragon?!" Rach'sha recoiled. Its top/front two limbs pressed into its serpent-like neck, as if in offense.

"Oooohoohoo. No. No no, my dear. I am what is called a _Behir_. Though I shall admit..." it leaned down very close to Alaria and proceeded in what Alaria presumed to be a whisper, though it was still quite loud, "...I am _part_ dragon...on my mother's side." the creature winked at the magess.

"Hrrrathsssa! Heed my pleasss and sssslay the prey that my thief'sss sssonsss be returned to usss, yesss?"

"RoohooHOOD! I'm having a conversation, here, lizard-priest!" Rach'sha rebuked and again, in a flash, slithered and reared up before the balcony on which the shaman and chief stood.

Both lizardmen recoiled in fear.

This brought the behir entirely out of the cave, so that only its tail end still passed the stone table. Bradok silently nudged Alaria and Erevan and the company, or most of them, began to slowly make their way around the stone.

"Ummm, Mister Rach'sha, sir?" Haelan called. "Could you get my mace from the shaman...uh...please. That's mine, there." the daelvar implored.

All of the companions eyes went wide in disbelief. Fen even smacked his forward at the daelvar's completely  awe-inspiring gall.

"Huh? Your what?" The behir said in confusion.

Haelan pointed with a broad smile toward the white mace with the pinecone shaped head. 

"This?" the behir said, apparently unsure. The things great clawed forearm snatched the pace from the shaman's grip. It looked like little more than a white match in the monster's claws. "This is _yours?_"

"My lord!" Hisses-to-Spirits began in protest.

"SILENCE!" the behir boomed. All of the lizardfolk cowered at the thundering sound. "If this belongs to the lil' morsel, than shouldn't it be in the sack with my tribute of their magics?" the behir growled as its face moved ever closer to the balcony.

"Yesss. Yesss, my lord. But the prey sssaysss it needsss it to return the thampionsss to usss."

"Here." Rach'sha casually tossed the mace down in the direction of the daelvar. "MY prey. MY tributes. Do not forget your place, lizard-priest." the behir growled.

Haelan quickly scooped up the mace and smiled broadly at the rest of the group. "He's a bloody nice behir, whatever that is, isn't he? THANK YOU MIStER RACH'SHA!" the halfling priest called.

"You see there," Rach'sha's two right "arms" indicated the halfling as he continued to address the shaman. "Manners. Is it really so hard?"

"Haelan..." Braddok said in some exasperation. "MOVE!"

The party took off toward the cave mouth.

"My lord! Your prey!" the shaman protested.

The behir turned lazily to watch the party running as fast as they could toward HIS cave. 

Behind them, they heard the behir's voice echoing through the alley of stone, "OOOOhoohoohoo! A hunt too! Pink flesh and HUNT? How FABulous!"

"My lord, the thamptions." Hisses-to-spirits implored.

"'The thampions. The thampions.' is that really all you can say?!" the behir argued.

Now, the chief pushed passed the shaman, violently and began hissing and roaring indignantly at the behir.

Reaching the edge of the cave, Alaria, Fen and Braddok turned to see the behir rear back from the balcony and take a deep inhale. There were folds of skin in its neck, below its jaw that expanded (like a pelican's pouch). The creature's draconic maw opened wide and a stream of orange liquid flew forth, bathing the lizardman chief.

The powerful chieftain roared in pain and slumped down out of view as the stone balcony on which he and shaman stood seemed to melt and bubble wherever the orange liquid splattered. 

Alaria now realized why the stone about the cave face seemed to have been "melted." The creature breathed acid...of, apparently, an alarming causticity.

Cries of panic went up among the assembled liardfolk as they all raced away from the edges of the ceremonial crevace.

"Heed me, lizard priest, and heed it well " Rach'sha hissed behind closed sharp teeth, "MY power over the Lands of the Dead are a one-way door. Your champions are lost to you. GET OVER IT!"

The shaman was too busy cowering and bowing to take note of the behir turning and clapping its front four legs together.

"Now," said Rach'sha "a HUNT toooo?! Ooooohoohoohoo." The creature giggled as it slid, from side to side, approaching the cave mouth with incredible speed.

Fen raised voice in the sacred tongue. Alaria and Braddok covered their ears from the assault.

Roots and vines broke forth from the stone walls and ground and thoroughly entangled many of the behir's legs and much of its body.

"Oooohoohoohoo! And magic too. This will be such FUN!" Rach'sha thundered through the alley as he seemed to easily snap one leg free then another...and another.

"Come on!" Braddok said grabbing Fen and Alaria by their cloaks.

Alaria turned, she plucked one of her _two_ remaining beads from her bracelet. This had to work. It _had_ to!

The behir was free and again racing toward the cave.

Alaria waited as long as she dared and threw the force bead to where the cave mouth arched from a side to the top.

The bead burst with its amber light and knocked several of the rock "droplets" from their silent hanging place. Following that, the entire entrance began to rumble and rocks began crashing down all across the cave mouth. 

Alaria and Braddok and Fen could see, through the raining boulders that the behir had easily reared up some tens of feet from the cave mouth and wasn't struck by any of them.

But when the rumbling stopped and the dust settled, the whole of the entrance, save a rather small space at the top, was thoroughly caved in.

"Learn that from some kobolds did you?" Braddok smiled at the magess.

Alaria chuckled out loud despite herself. The warrior's humor was returning and she found herself blushing and thoroughly exhilerated by their narrow escape from death. That was, of course, until a large draconic violet eye was seen in the small open space and she heard from the other side of the cave in.

"Ooohoohoohoo! Well played, pink-flesh. Well played. I shall be along shortly. There is, of course, no escape from Nor Gorthok. We shall play again...very very soon."

Then the swordsman, the magess and the druid heard a large intake of air and then a sizzling bubbling hissing sound on the other side of the rocks.

"Let's go! Let's go!" Braddok said, snapping the druid and magess from their horrified distraction.

The heroes raced after their fellows deeper down into the very large high arching cavern.


----------



## Lwaxy

We have almost the same house rule then  Except that we use spell points instead of Vancian for a while (explained that with a godly conflict) and you could officially only cast spontaneously what was practiced a lot.  Of course at level 7 you had practiced all of your 2nd level spells and then some. But learning new low levels spells except 0 and 1st level still required you to use them a few times before they were spontaneous. 


I like it when players shake up things, but I might have given the respective PC a wisdom penalty for a while lol

One of my campaigns has a PC with a wisdom score of 1. Fun games.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria, Braddok and Fen followed their companions down the wide slope of the cavern. It was very high and arched, seemingly entirely natural stone. A few great pillars of rock had formed over the ages where the stalagmites and stalactites had met. In other areas great spires rose from the floor at different heights and various sized spikes hung from the ceiling. The entire place gave off a slight glow of iridescent orange, soft green and yellow from veins of curious minerals layered through the rock.
The feint taint of sulfur filled the air.

All of the companions (except Braddok) were reminded of the cavern in which they'd encountered the piercers and Hargak and very much hoped either of those creatures did not share the behir's lair.

They came around a bend to find the others rifling through the sack the behir had just acquired. Duor was pulling on his magic boots, Haelan was donning his chainmail shirt (no doubt too small to be of any use to the lizardmen) and rejoiced to find his helmet with the tree-patterned noseguard and front he'd taken, with great humility and respect, from one of the fallen elvin soldiers at Silver Falls.

The daelvar breathed a long sigh of relief to pull his "food bowl" out of the holding pack as well. "Thank Faerantha we still have this. I am starving! Can we have dinner now? We completely missed lunch!"

"No we cain't have dinner now, yeh daft hairfoot. We've gotta hundred feet of dragon-snake out there waitin' to eat us!" Duor snapped s he jumped to his feet, silently lamenting that his hand crossbow and small dart-sized quiver did not seem to be in the packs or sack of treasure. He did, however collect a small handful (3 more uses) firestone shards. The dwarf immediately took off further into the cavern to begin searching for an exit...preferably one that would be too small for the behir to follow.

"Here, Braddok. Here's yours!" Haelan offered the swordsman, lugging with some difficulty the large man's short-sleeved chainmail shirt. The warrior donned it quickly and grabbed up the slightly enchanted longsword from the bag of tribute treasures. His dagger and short bow did not seem to be among the booty.

Erevan recovered the odd dark-bladed hunting knife and his magic quiver. Unfortunately, only 3 of the enchanted arrows had remained within it. He recovered a total of 15 arrows, though he knew those not in the quiver would have lost their magic. He filled the Quiver of Tethyril (10 arrows), nocked one in his longbow and stuck the remaining 4 into his belt.

"We really don't have time for this. Is everyone ready? We must find a way out of here." Alaria said with alarm as the sound of hissing and bubbling stone echoed down into the chamber.

Festus and Fen had been searching other areas of the cavern out of view and all came running when they heard Duor cry out.

All of the companions came racing around a bend to see the back of the dwarf in a small crack in the cavern wall. The dwarf turned around at their alarmed approach, a huge non-too-pretty smile on the dwarf's face. His hnds were filled with shining coins and gemstones that glittered in the strange ambient light of the place.

"LOOK! Not a dragon's hoard to be sure, but a damn fine haul!" the dwarf said, elated.

"We don't have time, Duor. Grab what we can and let's find a way out of here." Alaria again warned.

"Braddok, gimme yer shield boy. Haelan, the holding pack!" the dwarf commanded and began shoveling treasure with the shield into the 'bottomless' backpack.

Alaria saw, within the shoveled treasures more than one scrollcase, but there was definitely no time to examine them now. She was so very tired. It had been a day of travel, being sucked dry by poisonous vines, captured, escaped, and now on the run from a behir. She had next to no energy left for the working of her magics, not to mention her remaining spells were of a limited defensive use. She looked to her wrist and the bracelet of forcebeads that had only one small ball of amber hanging from it. By her calculations, the Staff of Azanna had three, perhaps four, bolts of lightning left in it before it would require recharging. She was in desperate need of rest...more than one day if at all possible.  

Duor stopped shoveling when he struck something rather large and began to chuckle. "Heheheheh. Ohhhh Braddok. Think yeh might have some use fer somethin' like THIS!"

The dwarf pulled out a long wide scabbard that was wrapped in threads of gold and dotted with blue gems along its length. He passed the sword to the warrior who took it, the awe apparent on his face.

The hilt was similarly golden and jeweled with oval sapphires. He withdrew the blade, longer than his own sword, but noticeably lighter and beautifully balanced. When it was fully draw, the blade flared with a blue light that shone in a 20 foot radius.

The warrior gave it a few test swings and believed he could use the weapon with his shield, even though the handle had room enough for him to use both hands if he chose. The Grinlian swordsman was at a loss for words at the weapons beauty.

"Niiiice blade. I don't suppose there's any armor in there?" the still unarmored, naked save for his cloak, belts and pouches, Festus said.

"Hmmm..." the dwarf said as he returned to shoveling treasure into the holding pack. "Other stuff to be sure, it goes back some ways."

"Is there a way OUT?!" Alaria burst. "Otherwise..."

"Here, magess." Fen's voice called from another bend in the cavern.

Alaria and Braddok raced to the druid's location. They found the source of the sulfur smell. A large pool that was giving off yellowy fumes and bubbling from some natural hotspring. The entire pool seemed to glow from the stone beneath it. 

The humans quickly covered their noses from the noxious fumes and came to stand near the druid who was pointing at a large pile of bones against the wall. 

When they looked questioningly at the druid, he pointed up the wall. About twenty feet off the floor there was a hole in the cavern wall that might have been easily missed, almost masked by the natural crenulated rock face.

It appeared to be only about four feet in diameter.

"Small enough that the behir should not be able to follow." Fen noted.

"Well done, Fen!" Braddok said with a smile. "How'd we get up there?" 

Erevan and Haelan came racing to the pile of bones. "However it is, we need to do it NOW!" Erevan said in obvious urgency. "Rach'sha is almost through the cave in."

Braddok looked around the bend at the dwarf who was examining a coil of silver-white rope, while the satyr was scooping handfuls of coins into the pack he carried. "Duor! Festus! NOW!" the swordsman commanded.

"But how are we..." Haelan began to ask as Alaria, who had been murmuring, began to float up into the air. <_mage spell: Levitate_>

Fen, similarly began to chant quietly and within a moment, shouldered his spear, reached up and then "stepped" onto the wall.

"Come, friend Haelan. Quickly now, up my back." the druid said to the wide-eyed daelvar.

The halfling did as asked and Fen, with a bit of difficulty (the armored Hilltender was heavier than the half-elf expected), began to climb up the wall like a spider.

"But, what about the others?" Haelan said looking down at the swordsman and elf who were, apparently waiting for their lagging greedy companions.

Alaria continued to float beside the opening. Her vision could not pierce the darkness of the small opening, but anywhere the behir was not was preferable. She looked down and heard the low rumble and hissing sounds of rocks being dissolved and toppling over. No time.

"Braddok, be ready." the magess called down and called to mind the enlarging incantation she'd used many times before. "_Cirenbyr Beliviara”<mage spell: Enlarge>_ 

The swordsman grew to nearly the height of the opening and putting his hand down was all of the invitation Erevan needed. The elf lept up upon the giant human's thick forearm and raced up his arm, across his broad shoulders and continued up the other arm to gain access to the chamber. 

Erevan set his bow, prepared to fire at the first sight of the creature.

As Fen reached the opening with Haelan on his back, it was apparent the opening was too small for the elf to block with his form.

"Inside! Everyone inside! Go! Hurry, as far in as you can! Don't look back, don't wait. We're getting out of here." Braddok deep booming voice said.

Alaria looked, concerned, at the swordsman.

"I'll be along, soon as the others are in." Braddok said to her. "You must hurry."

Alaria nodded, solemnly, and floated her way over and into the opening. Erevan and Fen were crouched some distance inside. Haelan (the only one who could actually stand in the narrow short opening) looked at the magess.

"You heard him. Move! Move! We must be away from here, the beast may be able to get partially in here...or can breathe his deadly acid. We must be away." Alaria commanded.

The others nodded seriously and began to move slowly further down...or "up" the shaft. Erevan called into being his puffball of light to lead their way and the four moved with all speed.

Shortly thereafter, they could hear Festus' hooves entering the chamber (having clambered up Braddok's large form) and finally Duor's grumbling voice about "what [they'd] left."

Alaria turned back as a booming roar shook through the cavern and passageway. Dirt and small pieces of rock shook loose all around them. She could see back passed the silhouettes of the satyr and dwarf (who could also stand in the passage) to see Braddok's huge form block all of the light of the cavern.

"Alaria! We're clear!" Braddok's voice boomed in return.

The magess released the enchantment on the swordsman who had placed a giant hand on the lip of the passage, as he shrunk he, more or less, climbed and shrank his was into the passage, though the man's large form was cramped in the small space.

"Noooooohoohoo!" Rach'sha's voice again thundered through the rocks. "Pink FLESHHHH! You disappoint me, pink-flesh. Like boiling fish in a pond. I will dissolve you all and sip you like soup!"

The behir's large head appeared at the edge of the opening.  

"Festus, Duor, to one side!" Alaria cried, hearing the behir's large intake of breath. The magess realized in this tiny tube they were, in fact, sitting ducks. 

She summoned the last of her elementary spells with as much of her energy as she could muster. She knew, in the depths of her mind and spirit, that she would not be able to extend herself much further without risking the spell-sleep. 

_"Beriz theran!"<mage spell: Shield_> Alaria called even as the behir began to exhale.

A field of pale blue light burst into being just behind Braddok's shape. Through the translucent light, the splattering and flowing of liquid was quite evident. A caustic odor assaulted all of the companions in the small narrow space. Several of them became physically ill from the nasal onslaught.

The hissing and smouldering of the surrounding rocks began to melt and collapse around and through the mystic shield even as a crying boom of a lament from the behir echoed around them.

When the sizzling and smouldering had subsided, Alaria dispeled the magical shield to see that the whole of the passage had been dissolved and melted...completely closed off.

"No worries about pursuit, at least. acheh." Festus attempted to smile as he wiped the last of some sick from his goateed chin.

A short distance further and the companions came to a small, but open chamber. The air was stale, but not filled with nauseating fumes. A quick survey of the near empty chamber revealed a circular opening in the ceiling, beneath which sat an obviously old iron mining cart. There was also a passageway that led off the chamber, and unlit torches in sconces to each side of the passage. 

Alaria floated out of the slanted "chute" of a passage and hovered in midair for a moment as Festus, Duor and finally Braddok exited into the chamber. Then, she simply collapsed upon the chamber floor.

Braddok and Haelan rushed to her side. Fearful that the magess might again slip into her catatonia.

"I am...alright." Alaria replied to their queries, though the exhaustion was evident in her voice. "But I simply can not continue. We must rest here. We must. I simply can't." Alaria's final sentence sounded apologetic.

"The magess is correct." Fen added stoically. "I am sorely tired from the day's activities."

"Nothing to apologize for, Alaria. Or you Fen...OR Festus! We finally have a moment to thank you for the save from those awful lizard-men." Haelan said cheerily.

"We seem to be out of harm's way for the moment. I concur, it's been a bloody long day! We should rest here."

Noone argued and everyone more or less collapsed where they stood.

The daelvar wasted no time withdrawing the grey and red-flecked magical food-producing bowl. "And it's passed time for dinner AND lunch. What do we fancy?" he smiled to the group at large.  

"Could give me a lizardman steak for all I care." Festus joked. "I'm starving!"

"Mutton pasties it is then." Haelan replied with a grin. 

Festus was able to withdraw only two wineskins from Imgulg's magic packs. They rationed carefully and ate and drank in near silence. Alaria passed out on the dirt floor, wrapped only in her cloak, before most of the rest had finished eating.

Braddok finally noted, as the others set about watches and settling in, that the wizard was barely covered by the remains of her traveling gown. The man found his eyes lingering upon her mud and dirt smudged skin and the near alabaster where the wear and muck of the day had not yet found.

The swordsman took it upon himself to search for her purple gown in the holding packs and was delighted to find it.

Erevan silently came up behind him and touched his shoulder. With an unspoken look, he told the man to get his rest. Braddok nodded in reply and quite easily fell into a deep slumber.

Duor was already out cold and mumbling to himself in his sleep about "riches" and "coin" and "take that!".

Erevan took a position beside the open passageway. His elvin sight allowed him a good amount of vision down the dark corridor. He set aside his bow and placed the few un-quivered arrows on the floor beside him. He took out his spellbook and quietly began to study, keeping his astute pointed ears open for any warning of approach.


----------



## steeldragons

The companions let Alaria and Fen sleep as long as they could. The half-elf, of course, required significantly less sleep than the human. But both were particularly pleased to feel refreshed and renewed in their energies.

Alaria gave her books and thorough perusal after changing into her violet gown (which Erevan, stoically, holding up her dark blue cloak to shield her from the others...well, from Festus particularly).

Haelan meditated quietly, as did Fen. 

Duor and Festus were eagerly poking through the treasures they'd claimed from the behir's cache. Acknowledging their position, with a bit of nudging from Braddok, the dwarf ignored most of the coins and gems (skillfully pocketing a few handfuls of coin and a couple of large gems without notice), and pulled out the objects that he thought might be magical or useful.

These included, three potions (one dark blue, one pinkish with red flecks and one transluscent and thick..."like clear milk" Haelan commented.), two scrolls which he quickly passed off to the spellcasters, a large helmet that had great white feathered wings attached over each ear-plate (this was summarily given to Braddok to replace his usual helm which had not been among the treasures.) and the coiled length of curious silvery thin rope (about 20 feet worth).

Festus joked that Braddok looked like one of the flying warrior women he'd heard songs about from the Gorunduun barbarians, to the north of Daenfrii. Haelan thought it looked "charming, though a bit like something Coerraine would wear." The daelvar then got melancholy to again think about their lost paladin friend.

Between Alaria and Erevan they quickly recognized most of the spells on the scrolls. Two incantations of the energy darts, though with something a bit "extra", in their words, to the spells they knew. One also had a spell of shocking grasp. As both mages alreay possessed this spell, noone objected to Alaria using it, immediately, to recharge the electrical shocking power of her staff. The other contained a spell neither mage knew, though Alaria could readily make out that it involved an evocation of fire-base.

Alaria's mystic site quickly concluded that the rope was magical, the helmet however, was not. Braddok shrugged, not at all disappointed, but lamented the wings were white instead of black, like his heraldic bird.

Alaria, with a kind smile invoked another simple cantrip and altered the coloring of the wings to ebony, which pleased Braddok greatly.

"Consider it a gift for finding my change of clothes amongst all of this clutter we now carry." the magess smiled coyly at the warrior. 

"My thanks, my lady." Braddok smiled in rturn and nodded a curt bow.   

"But wut's it do?" Duor said in frustration at the human's flirting, referring to the silvery rope he now held. He tossed it a couple of times at Festus.

The satyr looked unapproving as the coil of rope merely smacked against his bare (but hairy) muscled chest.

"If I may?" Fen said stoically, picking up the rope from the floor.

"But it's still mine!" Duor was quick to add. "I found it, fair n' square."

Fen nodded with rolling eyes at the dwarf, "Of course, master dwarf." Keeping his hand on one end of the rope, he threw the rest of the length above them, toward the curious opening in the ceiling.

In midair, the rope seemed to uncoil and "attach" itself (with nothing apparent to attach to!) to the edge of the circular opening. Fen gave it a couple of solid yanks and it did not dislodge or come down.

"Way t'go, druid! Now it's stuck." Duor said in frustration before his dwarven mind realized it was a magic rope to use for climbing.

"How does one get it down?" Haelan asked, thoroughly impressed with the enchantment of the rope.

Fen shrugged and tugged on it again.

Erevan walked over, calmly, took the end of the rope from Fen and gave the rope a shake, as if using a whip, the end at the opening, simply detached and the entire length came down and, by itself, recoiled in the elf's hand.

He tossed the silver rope to the dwarf as he said, "Rope of Climbing. Let's go."

The dwarf scowled at the elf, outwardly, while inside he was jumping up and down at the possibilities of such an item's use...if they ever returned to any civilized land.

"And these?" Festus said, swirling around one of the potions in his hand.

Alaria tore the vial out of the satyr's hand. "We can not say, as yet. But we will...*to be sure*, " she stared angrily at the satyr, "NOT be tasting them until we know."

"Yeah, yeah..." the ranger responded. "Unless it's an emergency, of course." he smirked a leering grin at the magess and winked.

Alaria did not return the humor, turning instead to Braddok and discussing their next move.

The passage was wide and high enough to walk in double file. So, Festus and Duor took the fore to scan for traps and peer as far as their differing vision could into the darkened passage. They were followed by Erevan. Some distance behind, Braddok walked with shield and glowing blue sword in hand.

The elf, dwarf and satyr could confirm that the magical light of the sword did not disrupt their vision...a welcomed surprise for all.

Still, Braddok stayed about fifteen feet behind the advance so that his light might aid Alaria's vision in the next rank, with Haelan. No need to light torches or for Alaria to invoke the much more severe/noticable blue-white sparking of her staff. Fen brought up the rear, sticking close to the wizard and priest. 

The Hilltender was again lamenting their deplorable care of the ferret, Buttercreamshadowfeet, who was left to her own devices somewhere in that awful swamp. He hoped and prayed to his goddess that she would not fall prey to the lizardfolk or deadly snakes or vampiric vines or goddess knew what else in that horrid place.

They moved a short way and the passage came to a door.

Duor listened carefully at it and reported quietly that there was some garbled mumbling voices behind it. A casual examination of the door revealed it was not trapped and seemed to open outwards (toward the party), making a surprise entry difficult.

Readying themselves for a battle, Duor threw open the portal and Festus, Erevan and Braddok charged in to find a small barracks of a sort, with four small beds and a small square table around which sat four goblins arguing over some game of cards and dice. Their arms were casually strewn about their cots and, while armored, none had shields or weapons ready.

Two of the four grey-green skinned creatures fell in moments, before Alaria came through the door and ordered one be taken alive...for information, of course. 

One made a break for stairwell on one wall (the companions realized they had no indication of what direction was what in this place). It made three steps before falling with two of Erevan's arrows in its back before it could even broach the first step. 

The last goblin, who had gone for his shield and shortsword on his bunk turned and looked defiantly at the interlopers. The poor thing saw seven heavily armed demihumans and humans in its chamber and threw its weapon and shield on the ground before raising its hands.

"No hurts! No hurts! Gives up!" the goblin croaked.

"Gotcher captive here, magess. Now what?" Duor said calmly to Alaria. The dwarf then casually began searching the room, looking over the weapons, lamentably, "shoddy goblin make" and looking into sacks and small chests looking for any sort of treasure he could find.

Duor found only strange small medallions, each with a black horned dragon face on them, more shoddy weapons, hole-riddled cloaks and other dirty day-to-day items and about two handfuls (20) copper pieces of strange make with unknown minting symbols upon them.

"What is your name?" Alaria said to the goblin.

The goblin, thoroughly shaken and shaking, did not answer.

"Lady asked you a question, filth." Festus said seriously as he moved his blade closer to the goblin's throat.

"Festus, there's no need for that." Alaria said calmly. She placed a soft hand upon the satyr's shoulder and pulled him away. "Your name?"

"Gak." the goblin said. "Me called Gak."

"Gak, we need to know what is up these stairs. What creatures inhabit this place? Where is the dragon and what does it hold?" Alaria said.

The goblin crooked its head to the side and furrowed its heavy brow.

"If he doesn't know, can I gut him now?" Festus said stepping forward again.

"No! No hurts! Gak knows!" the goblin quickly amended as the satyr took a step forward.

"Stairs goes to more gobbles...and the cells, the shadows...and the master's rooms after that. No goes to the master's rooms. Very bad mojos. You not hurts the master." Gak quickly blurted.

"Yeh watch us, goblin. We'll hurts the master." Duor said over his shoulder rifling through a moldy sack.

"And who is your master, Gak?" Alaria asked.

The little grey-green creature looked side to side, as if scared to answered. Finally, it leaned close toward Alaria and whispered, "The dragon's shadow is master."

"Gottit. Let's go." Festus said, moving in, again, to harm the creature.

"Festus! Knock it off." Haelan now interjected. Most of the companions were again caught off guard to hear the daelvar hill-priest making such a commanding statement.

"Does this dragon's shadow have a name?" Haelan said, now moving closer to the goblin.

The creature stretched its hunched form to sneer down at the halfling that was now shorter than it was. "You can not hurts the master."

"The master's name, Gak?" Alaria said. The magess was significantly more imposing to the creature, apparently and it quickly hunched over again in obvious deference.

"Says the master is...Tresahd...but gobbles calls it different...for many litters of gobbles." Gak responded.

"The Bulgruch? Is the Bulgruch your name for it?" Erevan supposed, his bow hand itching to put an arrow through this deplorable creature's skull. The elf knew, without any shadow of doubt that it would try to escape and/or betray them at its first opportunity.

The goblin placed a hand to its mouth to, unsuccessfully, cover its giggling. "Knows nothing. Pointy ears, knows nothing. Bulgruch serves the master. Destroys the elves with the Red Claws and buggy-bars."

Gak turned his head and looked sidelong at the companions. Gak was not stupid for goblin and was gleaning as much information for them as they were getting from him.

"Not knows so much? Heroes not knows. heeheeheeh." Gak said unprovoked.

"Then you will tell us!" Alaria said strongly and called the harmless but electrical sparking light to the end of her staff as she thrust it in Gak's direction.

The goblin soldier quickly realized he was not in any position to chuckle at these things. This one was a wizard too!

"No hurts! No hurts! Gak tells!" the goblin quickly cowered and huddled into a ball in the corner of the room.

"What are these?" Duor finally said, completing his search. The dwarf held up one of the four badges he'd found.

"Gak's tribe. Black Death. We serves the master. Red Talon serves the..." he looked with disdain at Erevan, "serves the Bulgruch...who serves the master."

"And what is it you call the master beside Tresahd?" Alaria asked, already fearful of the answer she would receive and hoped to Manat it was not so.

Gak looked long and hard at the magess, then to the other heroes about the room. "Can not wiiiinssss." Gak seethed quietly through clenched pointed teeth.

"The name, Gak!" Alaria commanded. "I grow tired of your avoiding the question. I might just let my friends here have their way." Alaria surprised herself that she, in fact, felt no remorse at the threat.

As Gak spoke it, Alaria felt the entire chamber grow dark and a chill rise up through her back (though in reality nothing about the torch lit chamber had changed).

"Dezzz-ay-ar-thillll." Gak smirked. The goblin could smell the fear coming off of the magess...and the others as the name passed his lips.

Alaria took a step back, her attempt to mask the fear on her face was unsuccessful. 

"Wait..." said Festus in his typically dim way, "Desaarthal_ is_ Tresahd?!"

"That's wut the goblin sed." Duor said impassively.  

"What does he want?" Braddok now stepped up and commanded a response from the smirking goblin.

Gak's toothy grin quickly left its face as the huge human warrior stepped forward. This human could obviously hurt him...very much.

"He?" Gak said, honestly confused.

"Yeah, I thought Des-...um...the dragon was a_ 'she_' that seduced Evaranthriine's father?" Haelan said. The shaking of his voice was evident to all of them.

Gak shook his head in affirmative. "She is the mother of the mountain. The master of Nor Gorthok. Always has been. Always will be."

"Mistress." Fen corrected, to noone's enjoyment.

"Wuts is miss-tress?" Gak said, now obviously confused.

"Nary you mind, Gak." Alaria interjected. This was bad. Very very bad. "What does the..um...'mother of the mountain' want? What is she trying to accomplish?"

Gak, again crooked his head to the side. His face, insofar as one could read a goblin's face, seemed sincerely confused by the question. "Will rule all. Brings the Great Doom to the world and return the gobbles to their _rrightful_ place!" Gak's last statement was obviously directed at Erevan with pure malice.

"The Great Doom?" Erevan said quietly. He turned and looked at Duor for confirmation that he was not translating into the goblin tongue he knew only casually.

The dwarf, who up til now had been sitting back and almost bored with the interogation, reflected the elf's concern. 

Braddok and Alaria and Fen looked from the elf to the dwarf and back again. Haelan and Festus ket their eyes on the goblin, but were thoroughly lacking in understanding.

"I don't get it..." Haelan said, "goblinese for 'Great Doom' would be...'zak sheer', right?"

"Flip it around Hilltender...and then pray to your goddess." Duor said.

"Sheer...zak...I don't gettit." Festus said.

Alaria put her hand to her forehead. "Sheer-zak...it's not a great leap to 'Shaarzak.'" she said in almost complete understanding.

"What's a 'sharzak'? I hope it's not anything like a Hargak!" Haelan said in alarm.

"Worse, Hilltender. Far...far worse." Fen said.

"Wasn't that the name of the big dragon your founder defeated?" Braddok said toward Erevan, searching for understanding. "You told us a story about it once...we were...on a boat?" the warriors memory was spotty, but he recalled something about that.

"Pronounce it like the dragons do, Haelan." Alaria explained. "Dez-ay-ar-thil...Shay-ar-zak. That same dragon that, yes Braddok, the founder of the Miralostae nation defeated...at the expense of her own life that her people might find a safe haven in which to live."

Alaria's mind raced with the tales she'd heard in R'Hath. The dread wyrm...far more dreaded than Desaarthal had been in the days of the Scourge Wars...the mother of dragons and a servant of the demon-godson, Aishapra. Shaarzak was a doom the realms could not contain. It was only with the power of the Eye of Arinane that the Lady Nirastelyn had defeated the beast...and the Eye of Arinane must surely have been one of the Repahlentim...the stone to which was attributed the powers of Life, according to Stenthil's research.

"Tresahd...who is Desaarthal...is trying to bring his...er...her..._ITS_ mother back into the world! He..._IT_ needs the Eye of Arinane to ensure she cannot be defeated when she is returned." Alaria began explaining.

"Or, perhaps, she.._.it _needs the Eye to bring Sharrzak back to the living...in any event, THAT'S why Tresahd wanted the Ihs Repahl...and others of the Repahlentim. THAT'S why he's attacking Miralostae, to regain the Eye!"

Alaria turned from Gak and began walking out of the chamber as fast as she could...back the way they'd come!

"Alaria! Where are you going?!" Haelan said in alarm.

"We can not stay here. We must return to Daenfrii and relay this information! I must reclaim the Ihs Repahl and we _must_ defeat the Bulgruch's forces from entering Ayla Nirai and capturing the Eye of Arinane. Tresahd...or Desaarthal can wait...they must wait. We do not have the power to stop him...her...it!" Alaria found her confusion over the gender pronoun annoying.

"But, magess, you forget...We cannot escape the way we came. If there is a way out, we must find another." Fen said calmly.

Alaria halted here the door they'd entered moments before this horrifying epiphany. Her head sunk. "You are correct of course, my friend. We must continue."

"And didn't you say there was something about this mountain? Something you'd seen before? Something we had to get...or stop?" Braddok added.

"I did, Braddok. I did." Alaria said.

She sounded defeated even though they'd only just arrived and gotten some very useful information, which Braddok thought the knowledge-driven wizard would be thankful for. 

"But I did not know it was THIS!" Alaria defended. "Our first priority must be to exit this place and return to Daenfrii as soon as we are able...or to Miralostae, to the battlefront, if that is not possible."

"Like HELLS!" Duor immediately protested. "We've come all of this way, been through all of these trials...to be on the dragon's doorstep!...Hells, INSIDE the dragon's doorstep...and you want to leave NOW?!"

"Duor, this information is too important to be lost searching in vanity_ and greed _for a dragon's hoard." Alaria replied with all seriousness.

"But we know Tresahd 'r Dessie-arthal or _wutever_ its name is_ isn't here_!" Duor argued.

"This is true." Festus answered.

"He's a wizard...a...SHE'S a dragon-wizard, Festus. Desaarthal could return any time it wants...most speedily." Erevan replied as he raised his bow and fired.

Stormriders went diving and ducking as the elf fire straight through the room...through THEM!...Objections began to raise from voices until all turned to see the goblin, Gak, with an arrow in the back of his skull as he had tried slinking toward the steps while the company was in discussion.

"Erevan!" Haelan said in objection, at first.

"He was trying to escape, Hilltender. If we are to escape this place, with or without dragon treasure, we must go unnoticed as much as possible." the elf replied coolly.

Haelan could not argue with that. Nor could any of the others.

"Onward then?" Fetus asked plainly. "Can't get out that way."

Alaria nodded and the company assumed their "standard marching order to climb the steps. The magess was thoroughly in thought.

"Wait!" she said as the first of the party was climbing the stairs.

"Haelan, Festus, search your packs. There was an emerald. A teardrop shaped emerald...it was magical so I expect it was given to the behir. If we have that, I might be able to kill two birds with one stone...quite literally."

Not in the habit of questioning the magess, the daelvar and satyr began rummaging through their packs of holding.


----------



## Gold Roger

Wew, finally got through and wanted to note that a nice storyhour to read is appreciated. Having tried a very short running one before, I know how much work it is.

I love how the behir acted. I'd also like to note that Duor is definitely my favorite, so try not to kill him to quickly.


----------



## steeldragons

*The Cells of Death*

Haelan and Festus set to doing as Alaria had asked, rifling through their packs to see if they had grabbed the emerald teardrop from the sack of behir treasure.

"It's gotta be in here. We grabbed everything from that sack!" Haelan said after a few frustrating moments. The sack was supposed to supply him with whatever he wanted...and while gems and coins were pouring "up" through his fingers, none of them matched the item Alaria was looking for.

Braddok, who was keeping an eye adjacent to the staircase, noted that Duor had backed away from the others, all of their attention on the satyr and daelvar.

The dwarf reached into one of his many pouches and began picking through a handful of gems he drew forth.

Braddok frowned.

"Hey! Heh heh aheh. Look here. Is this it?" the dwarf smiled and said in a very sad attempt to appear innocent. "Looks like I grabbed it when I was collecting my firestone shards."

He received disapproving looks from all of the companions.

"And your keen dwarvish senses did not notice one of your firestones was green instead of red?" Erevan said in annoyance.

"Honest mistake. It was dark in that cavern!" Duor defended.

Alaria simply rolled her eyes as she snatched the gem from Duor's offering fingers.

While she sat and began to concentrate, the rest of the party all but turned Duor on his head to see what else he had "mistakenly" grabbed from the treasure trove.

The magess steadied her mind and called out into the ether through the gem. Rhea's mind was powerful, to say the least. Surely she would be able to hear her "call."

A few moments passed and, while Alaria's mind's eye found herself in a vaguely greenish grey landscape...she could not discern any other presence. She called several times. And waited. Called again and waited. Nothing happened.

Why wasn't anything happening?!

In her trance, she could not determine how long had passed but when she again opened her eyes, the rest of the party was standing around looking and waiting for her.

"Did it work?" Haelan piped up immediately with a hopeful smile.

"No." Alaria snapped. Her frustration was entirely with herself and she apologized to the Hilltender or her tone.

"Do you recall, magess, " Erevan began, "when we were transported here? There was that abrupt...stop...and we fell at the edge of the swamp."

Alaria nodded. She had forgotten about that.

"What does that mean?" Festus asked.

"If the Feldmere and Nor Gorthok, specifically, are warded against intrusion, " Alaria replied before Erevan could voice his theory, "then it stands to reason that an ages old dragon would be capable of blocking other forms of magical entrance or egress."

The heroes nodded in their limited understanding of the ways of sorcery.

"Rhea did inform us that all of her and other diviners attempts to locate Tresahd were all met with failure. Perhaps I will try again when we exit the mountain. But I think it safe to assume we are on our own for the time being." Alaria said, somewhat defeated.

"Only way to go is up." Festus said with a smirk. "Who's first?"

After some discussion, it was determined that Duor and Erevan would scout ahead of them, at least for a distance, while the others remained in  the goblin barracks. It was made clear that an exit was what they were looking for...not more goblins or gods knew what other things...and definitely not to take any risks even if they fell into the dragon's treasure chamber, itself.

Festus was a bit put out that he wasn't included in the scouting...he _was_ a ranger after all. But it was decided that the elf and dwarf's silence would be more useful than the satyr's tracking skill and potential "clip-clopping" up the carved stone stairwell.

Erevan padded after the slow moving dwarf. The elf was somewhat annoyed with Duor for, what Erevan felt was, his "overly cautiousness" siting at one point that the goblins would not have a trap leading to their bedchambers.

Duor "Hmphed" a grumbling response under his beard.

But it wasn't just traps the dwarf was looking for. He was examining the stone around them in a way the elf could never possibly understand.

The stairs were carved from the natural stone...not "built" into the mountain. Like the goblin's chamber and, indeed, the chamber they'd slept in and adjoining passageway had been. They were not "in" Nor Gorthok...if indeed Nor Gorthok was the constructed citadel of Gorathgraard they had been led to believe it was.

He took exceptional care to feel and examine the rock face, the steps, the walls. Goblins were crafty, if nothing else. They could easily have made hidden corridors or doors, wrap-around passages and, yes (Duor admitted to himself), rock-based traps given enough time and care.

They climbed only a short distance, which still took some time, before coming to another shoddily built door to their right.

A few moments listening and both the elf and dwarf could tell there were goblins behind the door. At least two...perhaps three or more. The garbled tongue of the goblins and the odd pitches they incorporated in their speech patterns made discerning separate voices difficult.

They silently agreed to continue on for a distance before turning back.

They'd take care of these creatures with the rest of the party.

Another few tens of feet brought them to landing with a passage way on their left, no door. There was an opening they could see, another twenty of so feet up and ahead.

Duor first, and then Erevan (leaning over the crouching dwarf) peered around the corner to see an incredibly long and wide corridor. The walls on either side were lined with cells of iron bars, floor to ceiling. The passageway curved out of their view some forty or so feet ahead, but they could tell the cells seemed to continue around the bend.

Assorted moans, groans and garbled sounds told them there were prisoners in at least some of these cells. Though they could see no specific creatures from their vantage point.

The two jumped instinctively when they heard a long *CLANG* come from down the dungeons somewhere. Followed by a low voice in goblin growling "SHUT UP in there! One more peep and yer goin' to Rach'sha TODAY!"

Shortly after the echoing outburst, the corridor became very quiet and the scouts saw a very large and extra hairy bugbear come around the bed at the end of the passage. The creature carried a large club that had a band of metal spikes around the business end.

Being a bugbear it was impossible to determine where the creature's hide stopped and his furred tunic or loincloth began, but he jangled as he walked and Duor noted the large ring of keys at his thick leather belt. Looked like there was a thick curved "knife" (easily a short sword to any smaller creature) also tucked into the belt.

Duor pointed up to the end of the stairwell, indicating they should go see where it led.

Erevan vehemently shook his hed in the negative. 

Duor scowled and them thumbed at the passage to the left. The two of them, Duor thought to himself, could easily take out a single bugbear.

Erevan scowled in return. Better, the elf reasoned to _him_self, they should return with the party. A scuffle with this bugbear might easily bring the goblins out of the room below and they'd be cut off. Likewise, attacking the goblins below might easily attract the bugbear's notice.

The decision was not yet made, as the two disagreed silently to each on their course of action, when their attention was caught by a, "Wutthuh!" of surprise as the bugbear came around the corner and immediately spotted the two demihumans.

Duor, seeing Erevan's expression of surprise (a rare treat for the dwarf), did not even turn around before slashing in circle with his ethereal dagger.

The blade swiped clean cross the huge goblinoid's shins and drew blood.

The bugbear, caught unawares, but definitely knowing he'd been hurt, let out a roaring bellow of pain.

Erevan's arrows flew into his bow and shot up, both striking with uncanny aim. The first in the chest, the second in the creature's throat...abruptly halting its roar.

The creature fell back onto the landing with a loud thud. Its club, raised in preparation to smash the dwarf, crashed down beside him.

Erevan and Duor stood poised for a moment, looking down the stairwell waiting for a troop of goblins to come rushing out of the chamber. 

It seems the goblins were accustomed to loud cries of pain coming from the dungeon, as none bothered to appear.

Duor (in a moment of brilliance or a thief's expertise) grabbed the ring of keys from the bugbears belt. He gave the large knife a once over and opted against taking it.

"Shoddy goblin make piece of junk." he grumbled. "Well?" the dwarf said.

Erevan looked at the dwarf in confusion.

"Help me move it!" the dwarf said as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Between the two and with great difficulty, the elf and dwarf dragged the dead bugbear back into the passage of dungeons. Near to the door, before the cells began, was a large chair, a small table and a large trunk.

The trunk, neither trapped nor locked, opened to the dwarf's curious hands. It was filled with generic supplies one would need in a dungeon: ratty blankets, pewter plates and dishes, several sets of heavy iron chains and shackles, etc.

They could not prop the huge monster into the chair and opted to just crunch him up in the corner beside the trunk. Duor threw a couple of the moldy frayed blankets over it. He then looked at the floor and the very obvious and wide trail of blood that led straight from the landing to large lumpy cloth in the corner.

"Gonna do something about that?" the dwarf said in annoyance to the elf.

"Do you have a brush and soap?" Erevan replied ni annoyance.

"Yer magic, yeh daft point ear!" Duor voiced raised a bit in annoyance. He caught himself and continued quietly. "Alaria's cleanin' herself off all of the time. Can't you do that?!"

Erevan nodded in understanding. He was somewhat annoyed with himself that the dwarf was correct and that he had not thought of it himself. A simple "wiping" gesture and a couple of arcane syllables later and the trail of blood smear seemed to evaporate or soak in to the stone floor. There was no obvious trace of what had transpired.

"Back to the others." Erevan said when it was done.

"But wut about the end of the stairs?" Duor began to argue.

"Back to the others. Now." Erevan said calmly. "We can examine everything else later."

The two scouts moved back to the goblin barracks, as silently as they'd left. They relayed what they'd found. When asked about the end otf the corridor, Duor was all too happy to mention, "Mr. Elfy-pants was too 'fraidy-cat to go see."

Ready for, at least, the beginning of their delve, the party went up the stairs.

It was no great thing, between Braddok, Festus, Duor and Erevan, to dispatch of the other four goblins in the room to their right. They did so with practically no noise.

When they reached the landing of the dungeons, they moved with expert caution, however their need for a light source for the humans was sure to attract attention. Alaria stayed close (behind, but close) to Braddok and the steady cool bluish glow of his new bastard sword. Since it did not interfere with any of the other party's enhanced vision, they needed no other source than that...for the time being. 

The examinations of the cells was a bit, disconcerting. Several on either side were empty. What they did see/found, were two goblins in a sorry state of malnutrition. They looked dumbly at the party, not quite undertanding what these creatures were doing there. One, said weakly, "hoomuns? hoomuns!" apparently attempting to raise an alarm. His voice was far too weak to be heard by anyone outside of the dungeons, but it brought a good bit of attention from the other prisoners.

Erevan, owing to his natural lack of sympathy for goblins, offered to put them out of their misery.

Haelan wanted to. Even goblins should not be left in such a pitiful state as starving to death. Fen concurred.

Alaria nodded a silent ascent and continued on with Braddok. She didn't want to watch it, but couldn't argue with half of the company.

"Let us out! We helps. We guide you. Release us!" came the pleas from a rather hearty looking hobgoblin in another cell. He had his orange fleshed face pressed up again his bars as soon as the goblins made their "call."

"Yeh can help us by gettin' away from the bars n' keepin' silent!" Duor said with a clang on the bars with the pommel of his green glowing dagger.

"You asks, we helps. Anything. Anything you wants!" the hobgoblin replied, imploringly, toward Alaria.

"Yeh wanna go visit Rach'sha?!" Duor said again full of menace. 

This got the desired result and the hobgoblin slunk back into his cell and curled up on the floor. "No Rach'sha. No Rach'sha." he whispered over and over to himself.

"Duor, could we, perhaps, get some help and help them by letting them out. 'Sides we don't have any access to Rach'-" Haelan stopped mid-sentence when Duor shot him a fearsome look to shut. up!

"Haelan has a point." Braddok said, looking to Alaria for confirmation.

"What can you tell us of this place? What dwells here?..."Braddok asked at first, then added, "And where is the nearest way out of the mountain?"

The hobgoblin stood, cautiously and slunk up to the cell bars, though not close enough to be reached. "Lets us out? We tells everything." he said.

"No. Tells first." Braddok retorted. "Then, maybe we let you out...if the information is good and true."

"Fastest way out is through Rach'sha's belly." the hobgoblin said to the floor. "No ways out. Only death lives here...and the creatures. All creatures serve the master. But the master hates the creatures. Promises, promises, promises. Never does. No glory for the Blood-Cleavers. We honor. We fight. We does...just promises. Promises."    

"What are the...um...'Blood-Cleavers'?" Braddok replied.

"Hundu's clan. Best clan of hogomors." the hobgoblin replied. "Was best...but master don't likes anymores. We hates the master."

"What's a hogomor?" Braddok said to Alaria and Fen who were close and listening to the inquiry.

"It's what hobgoblins call themselves." Fen explained. "And you are Hundu?" the druid added.

The hobgoblin nodded with a face full of remorse. "Was Hundu...now Rach'sha food."

"He sounds sincere." Haelan mentioned. "If he doesn't like Tres-...the, uh, master...and his whole clan doesn't...maybe they could help?"

"Can't trust hob's any more than gob's, Haelan. If you don't know that already, you should." Erevan said in cool reply. The elf felt his bowstring finger getting twitchy. The more it spoke, the more the others might be swayed by its, what _had_ to be, lies.

"We need a way out of the mountain, Hundu. Do you know a way out?" Alaria now interjected. Leaving the hobgoblin in the cell was not any concern to her. Nor was attempting some alliance with a clan of hobgoblins. They had to leave, before they all died or, Manat forbid, Desaarthal returned to Nor Gorthok. 

"Death is the fastest..." the hobgoblin said softly.

"GUYS! Get it! STOP IT!" Festus' voice came echoing down the chamber from around the bend.

All of the company turned in alarm, weapons at the ready, but with Braddok's sword as the only light source, saw nothing to stop!

"Azzkanz!" Alaria cried instinctively, not caring, and her staff erupted in a flickering ball of electrical white light, filling the wide corridor.

Immediately, a shadow snake reared into view, surprised by the sudden illumination.

"Oh crap!" Duor said.

It was one of the larger variety, not just for observation, but apparently, this one was trying to make its way out of the dungeons.

One of Erevan's few magical arrows flew from his enchanted quiver and thunk into the semi-solid creature. Haelan voice was heard rising in prayer.

It's glowing red eyes and maw hissed loudly down at the companions.

A swipe of Fen's leaftip spear, now ensconced in the druid's green aura stabbed into the beast, leaving a glowing red stripe in its side.

Alaria swung at the creature, but did not connect. The creature doing its best to stay as far from the hateful light as possible.

Braddok's glowing blue sword swept up and delivered a telling gash through nearly three quarters of the shadow snakes length.

It "dove" and "wove", slithering through the air, apparently intent on making its escape. 

As it was about to leave the area of light, its glowing red wounds fading slightly as it reentered the darkness, the entire end of the dungeon's entranceway burst into sun-like luminance. The source was Haelan's pinecone-headed mace.

Again surprised by the painful rays, it looped back around and dove toward the only source of shadow in the immediate vicinity, Hundu's cell.

Hundu shrieked in surprise and fear as the creature coiled itself around the hobgoblin and hissed loudly.

As the hissing and shrieking subsided, the company realized the creature was not making the noise but the hobgoblin. Its skin immediately going a sickly yellow color and shriveling before their eyes, giving off a soft "ssss" sound.

Alaria and Erevan each sent a wave of magic missiles into the cell, unerringly striking the beast. Even as the shadow snake took full force of the magical energies, the wounds from Braddok and Fen seemed to be closing.

"It CANNOT escape!" Alaria cried in panic. "He'll know we're here!"

It released the hobgoblin who fell, dessicated to the cell floor.

"If he doesn't already." Duor added to everyone's disapproval.

Braddok and Fen stabbed and jabbed as best they could through the bars, but were unable to strike the again swirling serpent of shadow.

Alaria, lamentably, released another battery of energy missiles. The creature made a dive straight for the magess.

Festus now entered the fray, at once shoving Alaria aside with a none-too-gentle shove as he brought his magical short sword up to bare on the attacking snake.

The creature struck the satyr even as is "landed" upon his blade. Now outside of the cell bars, Braddok and Fen renewed their attacks with increased vigor.

In short order, and with an additional stab of Duor's ethereal blade, the creature hissed loudly in defiance even as its shadowy force seemed to shred and separate and finally disappear from view in wisps of shadow and green smokey energy.

"HA! 'Nuthuh kill fer the dwarf with the magic dagger!" Duor said triumphantly.

Haelan raced to the wounded Festus. There was no obvious wound, but the satyr ranger was shivering and shaking from the unseen bite of the shadow snake's fangs.

The Hilltender quickly invoked his goddess before any other effects could take hold and the ranger immediately felt renewed and (most importantly) warmed with a wave of the scent of honey and baked bread.

"Everyone else ok?" Haelan asked with tracemark sincerity and concern.

Braddok helped Alaria to her feet. The magess brushed off her violet robe/gown and held her arm which she'd landed on rather heavily, but was undamaged.

"_Arkanaviz!_" Alaria intoned and scanned the rest of the corridor as best she could see (up to the bend). There was no other indication of supernatural energies, other than the somewhat distracting auras of the litany of enchanted weapons her companions held.

"I think, we're clear....for now." Alaria said. "Festus, how did you see the creature?"

The satyr rubbed the back of his neck with a characteristic pride-filled smirk. "Well, ya know. I didn't exactly. I saw a tube of shadow slithering along the floor. And since you're the only companions I've had who ever had trouble with snakes made of shadow, I made an educated guess."

"Good guess, my friend." Braddok said. "But that was MUCH larger than the serpents I recall from Welford."

"Yeah, we'll fill yeh in some time. After we get outta here." Duor said. The dwarf looked into the cell where the entirely life-sucked hobgoblin laid. "Not gettin' anything outta him now."

Haelan bowed his head in sorrow for the attempting-to-be-helpful hobgoblin.

"Up side, don't hafta worry 'bout lettin' him out now." the dwarf added with a grin.

Haelan's lip curled in distaste at the dwarf's severe lack of empathy.

"What else did you see down aroudn the bend, ranger?" Fen asked stoically.

"Oh! Right. Something interesting. I'm not sure what it is though." Festus said.

The companions collected themselves and continued into the dungeons.

Festus signalled silently for everyone to stick to the left of the corridor as he came slowly up to one of the cells on their right. Just passed this final cell was a large thick looking door, banded in iron and obviously engraved with mystic symbols.

"Look in there." the satyr whispered to Duor and Fen who were the closest.

"Feorn's Beard!" Duor cursed.

"By the Balance!" Fen similarly gasped.

Inside the cell, hovering a few feet above the floor was a creature that looked a bit, in the various glowing light sources, like a giant floating jellyfish.

Closer inspection, as Braddok and Alaria neared with their light, revealed the creature's "body" appeared to be a giant brain...with a squid-like beak in the front. Hanging below it, for a good ten feet, was a tangle of long thick green tentacles. The twitching and weaving of them made their number impossible to determine.

It let out a weak but nasty sound that could, most closely, be described as a "caw." With the light now upon it, some of the tentacles reached forward, slowly. Whether this was out of some weakness or hunger or merely a ploy to lure them closer could not be determined.

"Abomination." Fen said with the usual seriousness he used with that word. "It must be..."

"No Fen. Not this time, I'm afraid." Alaria quickly interjected. "It is bound and it will remain so. We do not have time to waste on another battle. For all we know, Tresahd might be aware of our presence already. We must leave this place."

Alaria noted the feint aura of enchantment around the creature and had no desire to determine what else it might be capable of. The door before them, quite obviously even if she had not her mystic sight in effect, was magically barred, as well.

"Magess, I understand your urgency. But you must respect that such an affront to the Balance must be terminated. Such is my oath, at all times."

"Does the fact it is contained not meet your oath, killi?" Erevan attempted to reason. "It can not disturb the Balance trapped as it is.

"It might be released if left to live." the half-elf replied. He took a step closer to he cell and the leaf-shaped tip of his spear again flared with its spring-green light.

As the spear began to glow, the creature again cawed softly. A single tentacle now reached forward even as the blade neared the bars. The thick green appendage reached out through the bars and seemed to reach _for_ the spear. It cawed and almost "cooed" over and over.

"It sounds sad." Haelan said.

"Well, lookit it. Wouldn't you be if yeh looked like that?" Duor answered. He was all ready to bolt for the entrance if this fool of a druid was going to try to let it out.

"Fen, we cannot. Erevan, do something." Alaria argued. The magess' notice was now entirely upon the creature, the aura that surrounded it was taking a more definitely form and color...what was it?...transmutation?

Fen stabbed at the bars which caused the tentacle to flinch but then reach again for the spear.

"Fen...why's it want your spear?" Festus observed.

"This is madness. Duor, the keys." Braddok now commanded.

"Are yeh daft?! I'm not lettin' yeh let that thing out!" Duor said.

"We end this quickly. Sate Fen oath and move on. The longer we wait, the longer our presence might be  revealed." the warrior said sternly. "I think none of us are against fulfilling our respective vows."

"It's true, Duor. Think of Coerraine." Haelan said.

"I don not think, Fen, that this creature is what it appears." Alaria said.

"Of course not, it is abomination. It can not, should not appear as anything in the natural world." the druid replied again jabbing but not striking. 

The druid was now easily within the grasp of the thing's tentacles, but it did not attack the druid. It just kept reaching, now with multiple green "arms" for the spear...but was careful not to get cut.

"No, Fen. I mean, I do not think it _is_ an abomination. I _think _it is something...or someone...changed...by magic." Alaria explained.

The creature cawed again and several of its tentacles seemed to wave in Alaria's direction.

At this the druid quickly backed away. He whispered his own incantation for mystic sight in the order's sacred tongue. Sure enough, the druid immediately saw the slight flickering aura around the creature. The druid, however, could not discern varying enchantments as the magess could.

"Are you certain? It could just be the creature itself is magical...maybe it is enchanting _you_, Alaria. Or some worthless defensive glamour." Fen inquired.

"Do you understand me?" Alaria said cautiously. She refused to move closer.

The creature cooed.

"The keys, Duor. We do not have time for this. Are we killing it or not?" Braddok said, getting annoyed.

Now the creature cooed again softly and reached its green appendages toward Braddok.

"It...it wants to die?" Haelan said with some attempt at understanding from whence he knew not where. 

"Then we are in agreement!" Fen said and again moved closer to the cell.

"Fen wait!" Alaria tried to stop him but the druid moved closer and severred two of the thing's tentacles that were sticking through the bars.

The cawed out, loudly, in obvious pain. Then it floated closer to the bars, or as close as its bulbous form could get. All of its remaining tentacles were now flailing about reaching for the druid...or the druid's spear?

Alaria's lips began to invoke the spell of Unmaking. It was, by far, her most powerful incantation and the only of her highest tier. She had hoped not to use it so early in the day, if at all, but this nonsense had to stop!

As her mouth formed each syllable, the power rose around and through her. The threads and streams of magic that existed, throughout the world, became evident to her entranced sight. The feeling of power was more intoxicating than any spell she had cast to date. She had such control. Such command. She was a mistress of the Mysteries. She was a Magess of R'Hath. She _would_ undo what had been done to this creature..which was now in the trance of the spell, so clear to her senses.

Braddok now had moved in to protect Fen from the flailing tentacles. His new enchanted sword cut through the things like butter on a hot day.

As Alaria's voice rose to fill the corridor and the cell and the final syllable of power left her, the magess nearly felt her legs buckle at the release of energy. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Alaria subconsciously thought, "What a rush!"

There was a series of "stop motion" as flashes of sorcery competed with each other for dominance. With each flash of light (to Alaria and Fen's eyes at least), the creature was thrown side to side, up and down, crashing against the cell walls, the bars, the ceiling, the floor.

To the rest of the group, devoid of any magical detection senses, it just appeared the creature was thrashing about madly and shrieking caws erupted through the corridor from the thing's beaked maw.

Finally, the creature's shape altered and glowed and flickered and flashed. Each burst of visible energy revealed a shape similar but obviously different than the last. Ever-smaller. The tentacles and "brain body" shrank away. Were those legs? Did it have a neck now?

After a few tense moments of mystic strobing lights and flaring energies the significantly smaller form came to rest in the back corner of the cell. No longer a great bulbous "head" and mass of tentacles, but a very very elderly man with a long dirty and knotted beard and the remnants of what might have once been white robes, now utterly smeared with grey and brown and yellowed with age. The arms and legs they could see through the tears in his sleeves and robes were naught but skin and bones.

The old man's wrinkled face turned toward the party. His eyes did not open but he managed to weakly, hoarsely say, "Thank you." Then he slumped over unconscious.


----------



## steeldragons

Some of the party stood, staring agape at Alaria who leaned heavily upon her staff. Some stood staring agape at the old man in the cell who had, moments before been twisted floating horror.

"Give me the keys!" Haelan said, breaking the post magical silence.

"Wut? Nuh uh! Could still be some crazed magician or something." Duor protested even as Braddok reached over and grabbed the keys away from the dwarf.

After some fumbling, they found the correct one and Haelan raced inside the cell.

"He's alive. Barely." Haelan said. "Uh, Fen, you should look at this." the daelvar said with some shock before attempting to invoke his goddess to heal the man's old form.

The druid moved into the cell and the daelvar brushed aside the man's lengthy wiry and filthy beard, around the man's neck, clasping the remnants of his robes was the crescent moon set in a half-sun wooden carved symbol of Fen's Ancient Holy Order of Mistwood.

"What? How is that possible?" Fen said, sincerely sorrowful that he had attacted one of his brothers of the Order.

Haelan concluded his simple prayer and the man coughed...hacked really...and turned his head, still not opening his eyes. The daelvar recoiled at the sight of the man's eyes being_ sewn _shut. Lines of long blackened dried blood streaked part way down his dirty cheeks.

"Who's there?" he said meekly. The old man threw his arms up in a defensive, full of fear, manner. It was then the companions could plainly see, the man had no hands. The skin covering his wrists was obviously bruised and raw looking.

"_Brother. Forgive me! I am sorry to have attacked you. Who are you? What brought you to this awful place? How did you end up in that monstrous form?!_" <_translated from the Druidic tongue_> Fen said, full of concern. 

Haelan edged away, the sound of the archaic unknown language bit at his ears.

"_Brother?! You are of the Holy Order? Tell me the names of the sacred 10._" the old man said, staring through closed eyelids.

Fen looked quizzically at the old man. He knew the sacred tongue...but..."_Brother, there are 13 sacred trees._" he replied.

The old man coughed and grinned, close lipped. "Just so." he said in the common language of men.

"I am...Brother...Father?...I am here with others, my friends and companions, not of the order. Can you speak the Common tongue?" Fen asked gently.

"I can." he coughed again. "Ye hast undone the most cruel of curses. I would thank ye. But I fear, mine time is short. I am to finally return to the Cycle...long denied me." the old man said.

"Haelan! Can you heal him more?!" Fen turned to the daelvar who had moved back to the cell door.

"I...I can..."the Hilltender began to take a couple of steps toward the druids.

"Nay, Brother. Nay. Mine time is long done. I've been kept by the Deceiver for longer than I can recall. Twas a fit fate for my folly." the old man replied and then descended into another fit of hacking cough.

"Are....are you the druid that brought the Dark One to Gorathgraard?" Erevan asked, without any hint of emotion.

"Erevan! That would not be possible...even with magic." Fen said. It was the first time her realised later that he'd ever spoken to Erevan in haste or anger.

"Nay, my Brother...or my son perhaps? Your voice sounds as young men sound...Do not speak in anger. Your friend...elf is he?...he is correct. I am Ornfael the Long Cursed." the old man said.

"It was by my folly that I allowed the Dark One, Desaarthal, to come unhindered into Gorathgraard. It is my folly that I brought about the destruction of the Gleaming Land....and betrayed, unknownst to me, my lord's trust." 

Now the man seemed wracked with a twitching seizure. "My time is not long." he said. "What is the year?"  

"Nearly 5 centuries A.G." Alaria replied. "After the Godswar by today's accounting." she added, realizing, if this druid was actually from the time of Evaranthriine and Amthyriine, he would have no idea what "A.G." was.

"Godswar? The Gods of Men had a war? heh *hack* heh heh heh. Typical."

"High Father <Fen now realizing this druid could be no "Brother">, we can save you. you may again work the Holy Order's will." Fen said desperately.

"Nay. *cough* Nay. I did the Order's will...once...and brought about the fall of Gorathgraard. In seeking the Balance, in our hubris, we released a great evil the world was not prepared for. I will return now, to the Cycle and continue in a form that, I pray to the Balance, shall not bring more evil to Orea." the old man said. His face turned to the floor.

"Ornfael, might you have knowledge of a way out of this place?" Alaria asked gently.

"Alas,...wizard? Unless I miss my guess...I have been a creature of her design for more ages than your Godswar. Indeed, the time in this cell has passed without accounting of the sun or stars....I will miss the stars...but see them again."

"The time is short...give me your spear, son of Oak." Ornfael said.

Fen handed to him without question or thought. As soon as it entered the old man's hand, the blade flared into green flames much larger and brighter than Fen's enchantments ever did.

The old man began, again, speaking in the sacred tongue, loudly. Even Fen had to cover his ears! The syllables he intoned meant nothing to the young half-elf. 

The corridor, perhaps the whole mountain, seemed to shake with an alarming force. Several of the companions were thrown from their feet by the shuddering floor. Duor cursed under his beard, expecting a cave-in.

As the old man's chanting ended, the flame at the tip of his spear spread down the shaft and engulfed, first himself and then Fen as well.

The companions were helpless to attempt to aid their friend. They could barely stand and shielded their faces from the green flames that licked even to the outside of the bars.

Then everything subsided. Where the old man had been sat a small lump of dirt atop which grew bright green grass, Fen's spear laying beside it. The druid himself seemed completely unharmed.

From the mound, a sprout shot up and grew with incredible speed to become a great, wooden trunk. The pointed branches and leafing boughs forced their way through the ceiling and rumbled for some time before ending. 

Fen took up his spear and looked, in complete and utter shock up where the thick oaken trunk had pressed through the ceiling. Branches and bough struck out, periodically generating a wide enough opening that one could climb up through the hole. At the end of the twisting passage, Fen could see the bright light of real sun ad feel the sudden flow of fresh air. An...exit?!

_*Take them._* the voice of Ornfael sounded in Fen's mind. The half-elf looked down about the base of the tree trunk that now took up nearly half of the cell. There were a dozen acorns laying about the grassy mound. *_Use them with wisdom. Use them to restore the Balance I have sorely undone._*  

Fen did as he was bid. And then, again, looked up through the huge tree's opening.

The sunlight on his face and fresh air that streamed down into the stale dungeon caused the others to come into the cell.

Erevan first of all. He looked to Alaria and nodded an affirmative. "We can get out through this."

"Thank you, Ornfael. May your Balance bless you." Alaria said in relief.

"Buh...wutabout this magic door?" Festus asked looking at the thick door engraved with arcane symbols.

"Wut about the dragon's treasure?! I'm not goin' anywhere! We're here! Braved the swamp. Beat the behir. Found the traitorous druid...There's that other opening at the end of the stairs...Hells we even killed that crazy witch!" Duor argued. His voice faded off as one companion after the other began climbing the thick twisting tree.

There were thin branches or knobs in the bark or thick boughs that made getting hand and foot holds very simple.

Festus was the last standing at the base of the tree with the dwarf. He looked at his bearded companion and shrugged before taking a hand hold and beginning to climb the trunk.

"NO! No, Festus stay here! We'll do it ourselves! We'll do it together!" the dwarf implored in a manner he had never done before. A dwarf to beg, Duor thought to himself in disgust.

The sound of garbled hoops and hollers sounded through the corridor. Goblins...or goblinoids. Large numbers by the amount of noise.

This'll do it. Thought the dwarf. I'll get into a fight. The others will be forced to come to my rescue...daft wanna-be heroes. Stupid sorceress. Sentimental hairfoot. This'll do, nicely.

The dwarf raced out of the cell of Ornfael and ran to the bend in the cell corridor. Many tens of creatures were running back and forth passed the dungeons' entrance.

"_Here! They're here! Hurry! Hurry! They're freeing the druid! HOOMUNS! HOOMUNS n' ELVES!_" Duor shouted down the corridor in goblin.

Seeing more than a few goblins, hobgoblins and bugbears hear him and enter the dungeon corridor, shouting commands to others as they came.

The dwarf smirked to himself and ducked back around the bend, unnoticed. He backed into the now completely shadowed alcove across the way from the druid's cell.

His heel dipped over the edge of something.

Duor found himself plummeting into darkness only to come to a hard landing and begin tumbling, ass over head, to come to another free fall and another hard, metal hard, landing (inside an iron mining cart though he had no conscious awareness of that).

Consciousness slipped out of the dwarf's grasp as easily as had the lip of the circular opening in the floor that was used to transport Rach'sha's feedings to the cart below (which the goblins in the lower chamber would then push down the shaft through which the party entered and dump into the behir's cavern.)

 <_DM's note: 2 failed Dex checks later_. _Think there was even a  botched "climb walls" check, just to be nice- maybe he could have ended  or slowed his descent before dumping into the cart? Nope. Luck o' the dice, dear readers. Luck. O'. thuh. Dice. "Best laid plans" n' all o' that._>


----------



## Gold Roger

Oh no, not Duor!


----------



## steeldragons

Fen, Erevan and Haelan looekd up in disbelief at the enormous oak tree that stretched out and up from the opening beneath its roots, through which they had just climbed to exit the mountain of/at/around Nor Gorthok.

Alaria wasted no time to pull out the teardrop emerald and began to concentrate again. 

Braddok stood, alert and weapon drawn, near her and took in their surroundings.

Festus emerged from beneath the roots and let out a long whistle at the size and girth of the oak tree that formed a canopy of fresh green leaves, about 40 feet of shade, on the size of the craggy rocks.

"We should move." Fen said plainly.

"Why? Festus where's Duor?" Haelan asked.

Before the satyr could respond, the half-elf druid said, "It is nearly winter. The sudden appearance of a giant tree, in full summer bloom, on the side of the mountain is sure to draw attention...not the least from the lizard folk and behir below us somewhere. We'd best not be here when it does."

No one could argue with that.

"But where's Duor?" Haelan said again.

"He...um...I think...I mean, it seems...he is not coming. He wants to stay and get the treasure." Festus replied. 

"Damned idiot dwarf." Haelan said in a frustration and chastisement the companions were unaccustomed to. The daelvar hefted his mace to his shoulder and began to trek back toward the opening beneath the roots that had spread out on the surface of the rock face.

"Where are you going?" Erevan said, stepping in front of the halfling.

"Whatever else he is, " Haelan replied forcefully, "Duor is a Stormrider. And we've already lost one on this venture. I am not losing another. We don't leave anyone behind...least not if they're alive."

Erevan's right eyebrow arched in his typical way. Whether it was out of curiosity, concern, surprise at being rebuked by the Hilltender, or anything else was impossible to determine.

"He is a grown dwarf, Haelan. Right or wrong, he can make his own decisions." Alaria said, overhearing the exchange.

"Did it work?" Braddok asked the magess quietly as she placed the teardrop gem back into her belt pouch.

Alaria shook her head in the negative.

Haelan continued for the tree. Erevan had stepped out of his way and crossed his arms, but did say, "Alaria is right, Hilltender. Like it or not, he is a grown being. It is Duor's decision to make."

"Indeed it is." Haelan replied as he began crawling back between the twisted roots. "And it is mine that I will not let my companion and brother-at-arms meet a foul end with no support from us. We are the Stormriders and I will not lose another of us if it can be helped."

The other companions looked to each other and then to Alaria. Before the magess could speak, Haelan continued his argument.

"We must go back. Coerraine would never forgive us. I wouldn't forgive myself.

"Fen, you spoke of fulfilling your oath. Braddok, I know you are an honorable man and have given your word and sword to our cause all of this time. Alaria, you know Coerraine would not stand for us just leaving him...not to mention you said there is something here we are meant to do."

Alaria frowned at the halfling's presumption of arguing with her and then realized, to her own embarassment, that everything Haelan was saying was true.

"But...the Eye of Arinane...the Ihs Repahl...we need it to fight the dragon." Alaria made a half-hearted argument.

"So...I mean, I don't get all of the ins n' outs of magic stuff...but that crystal orb that we risked life n' hoof to get to the Dragonmange's keep in Daenfrii...specifically to keep it _away _from Tresahd...Your plan is to spend weeks returning to Daenfrii, get _that _same orb, and bring it back _right to_ the heart of where Tresahd, or at least his agents, might be?" Festus said.

He was polite in the query but obviously confused by this reasoning.     

Alaria had to admit it did not sound like a wise course of action.

"Well, when you put it like that..." Alaria looked to the swamp, spreading out before them, to the north if she wasn't mistaken. "...Maybe it isn't the best idea." she quietly finished.

"But we have these other treasures...we don't know what those potions do...or Braddok, this new enchanted blade of yours...By the Blue Star we don't even know where Duor might have gotten to by now." Alaria attempted to make further debate.

Braddok then felt a strange vibration in his hand. The handle of his sword was practically buzzing in his grip. A low hum came to his ears. The others seemed not to notice.

*_Can...doo....can...help....with that._* came an odd sounding buzz of a voice in his head.

"I...uh...what?" stammered the warrior.

*_Can...doo...see....for you..._* came the buzzing in his mind in reply.

Braddok nearly dropped the blue-glowing blade and then looked at it in disbelief.

"What was that Braddok?" Erevan said. The elf was replying in curiosity to what the swordsman said...not hearing the sword, itself.

"We should probably head back into the mountain." Festus interjected from abot ten feet below their position along a narrow ledge that wrapped toward the west of the mountain.

The satyr looked down from a small flat space of rock, though shielded frmo below by some craggy outcroppings. He readily saw what looked like the ruined remains of a gatehouse at the base of crater's ridge. It was the "tower-like" building from which they'd exited the lizardmen's lair. The long narrow trench that led from there to the base of the mountain was obvious. So too was the slightly elevated and thoroughly overgrown with vegetation of what must be the bulk of the lizardmen's colony.

The tree and most of the party would not have been visible from there and they were a good hundred or more feet above the crater's base. But from time to time, the astute satyr noticed the movements of figures through the tall grasses and brush that covered the mound. At this height the sprawling lair was easily identifiable, though from the ground, Festus knew, one might walk right passed it without knowing.

"The lizardmen might see the tree and wish to explore it. Or worse, that dragon-snake." the satyr concluded.

"Haelan is correct." Fen said finally after several moments of thought. "I am of the Ancient Holy Order first of all. But I am, as are we all, Stormriders. We should not..._do_ not abandon our own." he grinned his charming crooked grin at Alaria.

Alaria placed a delicate hand to her temple and closed her eyes. This was not what she wanted. This was not how things should go. _Why_ had she relinquished control of the group?

She took a few long calming breaths, as she had learned very early in her training, and opened her eyes. "Alright. You are correct Haelan...and Fen...and you, as well, Festus. I thank you for your reasonable arguments to my irrational reaction. Let's go save a dwarf and bag a dragon."

"Or bag a dwarf and save ourselves." Erevan smiled broadly in uncharacteristic joking response.  

The companions, one by one, RE-entered the passage, now thoroughly concealed by the tree's roots and patch of grass and small yellow flowers that had sprung up around it.

***

Duor groaned and half-opened his eyes...or eye, as the left was swollen shut. His whole body ached though nothing seemed broken. The dwarf looked and felt about in the total darkness. He was...in a box? A metal box? No...there was no lid. He stared up at the dark circle open hole in the ceiling.

He checked, in reflexive panic. He still had his weapons...and pouches clinked with his gems and coins. He...he wasn't dead, as best he could tell. Otherwise, surely, he'd be enjoying a large draught of ale beside the warming fires of the Great Forge. 

"Where in the hells am I?" the dwarf wondered to himself, silently, and then froze as his ears picked up the sounds of goblins speaking. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but they were getting closer.

"Great." thought Duor.


----------



## steeldragons

Duor laid in wait. His hand on his glowing dagger which he dared not draw in the utter darkness in which he found himself. He listened intently, though tried to keep himself covered in the dark grey cloak he'd recovered form the stash of "tribute" to the behir, Rach'sha.

Why it had been there, the dwarf had no idea. It had no magical properties just a well-worn, oiled against rain, dark grey hooded cloak. Perhaps too small/short to be of any interest or use to the lizardmen.

Finally, the voices came close enough to make out words.

<translated from Goblin> _"Shame 'bout Gak. Him nice guy. Killed my brother-in-law for me, once."_ said goblin 1.

_"Yeah..." _was the response from goblin 2. "_Him nice guy. Too bad."_ .

_"Commander says it was elves. I don't think so."_
_
"You question the Commander?! Him smart! And the Overseer listens to him."_

_"Pfft. Only way in is Rach'sha's cave. Only ones in Rach'sha's cave is the lizards...'Sides there's no elves in the swamp!" _goblin 1 said assuredly.

_"Ohhhh."_ goblin 2 seemed to be in agreement. _"You smart! Rach'sha eats everything else. Eats the lizards sometimes, too."_

_"Yep."_ said goblin 1 sounding like he was exerting himself. _"Unh!"_

With that, a mostly naked and bloody goblin came crashing down into the deep metal mining cart, next to Duor. The dwarf could determine that it was, in fact the goblin they'd questioned, called "Gak."

Then another...and a third directly on top of Duor. The goblins were obviously not paying too close attention to the contents of the cart. The caps of their leather capped heads were barely visible over the edge of the cart. 

Duor, properly assumed they had been sent to clear out the goblins they'd killed from the chamber down the hall. 

The dwarf then felt a nudge and could feel the cart moving. His best guess, direction wise, was that they were heading down the shaft they'd climbed up through from the behir's lair. 

That's not gonna work, Duor thought. The shaft is closed off and then these two will take that info back to this "commander."

In a stroke of utterly inspired brilliance, the dwarf formulated a plan.

He grabbed the corpse of Gak and began raising it up above him. Careful to only grip places that would not be seen over the rim of the cart, he forced Gak up through the other two dead bodies.

The cart stopped, abruptly.

"_What...by Maga-_" said goblin 1.

Duor withdrew his ethereal blade. The smoky green light of the dagger filled the interior of the cart and, Duor imagined, lent a lovely unworldly sheen to the dead goblin's grey skin.

"_Give meeee gobble braaaaainssss...._" Duor growled in his best goblinese. For added effect, he flopped/forced one of Gak's quickly stiffening arms over the edge of the cart.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!" came the cry from both goblins and trailed off back through the corridors that Duor knew the'd have to use to escape.

Well, that bought some time, Duor thought to himself. Probably not very much though.

He tossed the dead goblin back into the bin and climbed himself out. "Thanks a million, Gak. Seems you _are_ a nice guy. heh heh heh."

The thoroughly bruised and sore dwarf cautiously trotted back out as far as the chamber with the hole in the ceiling (through which he'd carelessly fallen) and looked up at it.

Duor's hand went to the silvery cord of rope he'd recently acquired and looked up at the hole.

*

Erevan insisted he be the first to climb back down through the "oak tunnel". His elven ears picked um mumblings, not very close, about half way down. The language was undoubtedly goblinese.

Festus was next with Haelan, satisfied they were going back down for their "fellow Stormrider" cautiously climbed down after the satyr.

Both Festus and Haelan were shocked when they were stopped by a silent hand motion from Erevan as they neared the opening in the jail cell ceiling.

The elf's smooth voice began intoning a series of syllables they did not understand but, even whispered, easily heard.

"_Hseeelp er repleesh_." said Erevan and immediately blinked out of view. The elf casually discarded the curious feelings of elation and slight intoxication, Alaria had told to him about, of working higher tiered spells.

He slipped down into the chamber and padded his way to the edge of the cell, silent and completely unseen.

Festus turned to Haelan with a look of surprise. "Now what?" the satyr whispered. "How're we s'posed to follow him if we can't see him?!" Festus turned back in the direction that the elvin tracker_ had_ been and hissed, "Lil' warnin' next time, Erevan!"

Very cautiously, the remaining party members finished their return and took positions around the cell. Festus, then Fen, carefully exited and stuck close to the wall.

Fen took a position just at the edge fo the bend in the corridor of holding cells and back against the wall. In a shimmer of darkness, the druid faded from view, appearing as nothing more than another crag in the rock wall.

Great, thought Festus, lost another one.

The satyr jumped, visibly, when the voice of the silver-haired elf came very near his ear.

"I am here, Festus. There are two hobgoblins guarding the entrance to the cells. I will remain unseen until absolutely necessary. Take care and stay quiet.

"_Killi_...?" the unseen elf then said.

"I am here." came Fen's voice even as the image of his hooded head seemed to 'rip' out of the rock face he had just 'become.'

Festus was thoroughly unsettled by the appearance of the half-elf's head, seemingly stuck through the wall. These elves and their magics, Festus thought to himself. I don't think I'll ever get used to it...and I've seen nymphs and dryads turn into plants or trees or water! I've seen swans turn into pegusi and plant monsters turn into warrior-princes. Still...just weird.

"Can you block the entrance somehow? I don't think slaying more guards would be good for our secrecy." Erevan's voice said.

"But," Festus interjected, thoroughly in confused awe that he was speaking to a hooded head sticking out of the rock and some invisible elf, "if we block the entrance how are we getting out of here? We'll be sitting ducks!"

"I could...but it would not be quiet." said Fen in a slightly apologetic tone.

All of the party had now come out into the corridor, secure in the knowledge they could not be seen around the bend.

"We could go through here." said Alaria quietly. The magess was thoroughly examining the heavily enchanted iron-banded door behind them.

"But is there was out of there? We might be backing ourselves into even more of a corner." Haelan, most astutely, asked.

"Um...ok...uh, I could ask the sword?" Braddok said.

This received many raised eyebrows and questioning glances from all of the [visible] companions.

"You could...what?" Festus finally asked.

"The sword..." Braddok began. He had sheathed the weapon so as to not have its blue glow give them away. "...out side, it...well, it...uh...'spoke' to me. Said it could see where Duor was...I think."

"They're waiting for some 'Overseer' to come examine the magic tree." came Erevan's voice again. Apparently, he'd returned to the guards in the doorway for more eavesdropping and had returned.

"Soooo...what then? Do we just make a break for it?" Festus asked, not believing, himself, what he was suggesting.

A fist-sized rock that had shaken loose during mini-earthquake of the druid Ornfael's transformation rose up off the floor, seemingly of its own accord.

"I could try to distract them with this." said Erevan's disembodied voice again. "Send them down the stairs, perhaps. We could make a break for the opening at the top."

"What about, if they didn't know we'd closed off the corridor?" Braddok said after a moment. "If we blocked it here, at the bend, or just behind. Could you do that without them noticing?" the warrior asked quietly.

The druid, who had become completely visible again, studied the corridor, the walls, the ceiling. "I...I'm really not sure." Fen answered truthfully.

"Can you get this door open? It looks very...um...protected." Haelan whispered to Alaria. The daelvar priest was also, now, examining the lines of runes on the door and even the bands of iron. "This here looks to be Old Selurian...I _think_ it is protected from more than just sorcery, Alaria."

The magess looked at the place indicated by the hill-priest. He was correct, as far as she could tell. While she was versed in the spoken language of the ancient empire, their magical significance or effects were beyond her understanding. 

"Oh fer the ever-lovin' Forge of Feorn, just help me up!" came the voice of Duor out of the darkness shrouded alcove across from the druid's cell.

"Duor?!" Haelan said in surprise and happiness. The daelvar's limited vision could make out the hands and top of the dwarf's head.

Unfortunately, the dwarf's ignorant exclamation echoed through the corridor and the hobgoblin guards easily heard the none-too-stealthy dwarf who was trying, unsuccessfully to hoist himself up out of the hole in the floor that none of the party had noticed before.

"_Who goes there?!_" called one of the guards in the garbled tongue of the goblinoids.

"That tore it." came Erevan's voice again. "Killi, now! Braddok, Festus don't let them get away!"

Fen rushed around the bend to see the two hobgoblins, both armored in thick scale and carrying nasty-looking serrated glaives, edging their way down the corridor toward the party. 

"_HALT THERE! Elves! Elves in the dungeon!_" called one guard. 

"That won't do." said Haelan and trotted back to the edge of the bend. The daelvar reached down and picked up a pebble sized piece of scree.

Even as Fen smacked his open hand against the wall and began to murmur his sacred tongue, the Hilltender raised his voice in prayer to Faerantha. A raised voice that quickly turned to a whisper and finally, though he still seemed to be speaking, was making no sound at all.

Haelan then threw the pebble with all of his might to land it somewhere behind the guards who were now charging down the corridor. Their shouts of alarm, or were they war-cries, faded from the ears of all of the companions, though the chanting of Fen was still audible.

Lost in the casting of his spell, the druid did not even notice when the wide hall was suddenly bathed in a blue glow as Braddok raced forward and unsheathed his mystic blade just in time to catch a swipe of one guard's glaive aimed at the half-elf's head. 

The catching blades clanged loudly...to the companions. However no sound escaped the dungeons thanks to Haelan's invocation of Silence. 

Even as Fen continued to chant, the walls and ceiling of the hall seemed to begin to melt and stretch and begin to form a wall behind the hobgoblins <_druid spell: Stone Shape_> but still around the bend of the corridor...hopefully, in theory, not obvious to anyone passing by the entrance.

Braddok took a solid swing at the hobgoblin who'd attempted to hit Fen. The blue glow faded from view for a moment as it passed, easily, through the thick scale mail and passed out the back of the soldier.

Festus, who rushed forward to engage the second guard made two swipes but failed to connect.

Seeing his fellow guard flop to the floor (nearly severed in two!) turned to race back out of the corridor.

"_Interlopers! Interlopers!_" he was yelling at the top of his lungs, though no one else in the mountain would know that.

The hobgoblin stopped in mid-retreat as he watched, in disbelief, as the very rock of the corridor coalesced before him forming a single small hole in the center.

As he stood in his shock, he felt the blade or blades sink into his back. As his vision faded into the deep darkness of death, he saw the last moments of the rock wall fully close off any view of the hall before him.

"I knew yeh couldn't give up the treasure...or yer ole pal Duor." said the dwarf, finally aided by Alaria and Haelan completely out of the hole. "Not even you lot are daft enough to give up a whole dragon's hoard cuz of a few goblin-kind."

"We came back, Duor...believe it or not...for_ you. _You have Haelan to thank, once again, for reminding us that we are the Stormriders." Alaria said.

"Heh heh. Ok, magess. Missed yeh too. Was a haggering 10 minutes, weren'it? Wut would yeh do without yer pal Duor?" the dwarf chuckled and gave the wizard a wink.

"Was more like a half an hour, Duor. Were were you?! What happened to you?" Haelan said with concern at the first good look at the dwarf's bruised and swollen face.

"Ach. Nothin' serious. Just fought off a dozen goblins on my own. A lil' of yer blessed Hill-Mother's magic wouldn't hurt." the dwarf said casually as he settled against the druid's cell bars to let the halfling cure his wounds.

Haelan was, of course, all too happy to oblige.

"Ok. Well...now what?!" Festus said in some consternation. He wiped the hobgoblin blood off of his blades and looked in concern at the newly formed magical stone wall...and then back down the corridor to the heavily enchanted iron-banded door...and back again. "Someone's bound to notice this is here." he added, knocked a knuckle against the magically smooth rock face.

"Now, it would seem...it's up to me." Alaria said with as much assurance as she could muster....though unsaid, the R'Hathi wizard was not at all assured about undoing the magics inscribed before her.

_*Next time: Tresahd's *_*Personal*_ *Dungeons*_.


----------



## steeldragons

"So, what now?" Haelan asked in typical ignorance.

"Now, Haelan, our magess impresses us again with her mastery of her Arts." Fen said with a smile toward Alaria.

Alaria half-smirked and half-scowled at the druid before turning her attentions, again, to the magically locked door that stood before them.

If their limited questioning of the goblins below was correct, these would lead to the "master's ", Tresahd (a.k.a. Desaarthal), rooms.

Alaria was not the only among them hoping that did not mean his personal sleeping chambers and, even moreso, that the wizard-posing dragon was not currently in residence.

The R'Hathi magess steadied her mind with practiced ease and began with her detection cantrip. The purple haze formed around her outstretched hand and filled her eyes. She concentrated for several moments. The longer she looked, the more surprised she was to see layer after level of arcane threads woven around the door. Whatever was on the other side was obviously quite important...or dangerous...or both.

Having spent her spell of Unmaking on changing the long-cursed druid, Ornfael, back to his mortal form...if even for a short time, Alaria was unclear how to proceed. She conferred with the Hilltender and druid and, still invisible, Erevan.

The other spell casters were unequipped to lend any sort of aid to dismiss the enchantments on the door. The best they could come up with was a defensive strategy. Everyone except for Alaria and Haelan backed into the druid's cell and/or climbed back up the oaken trunk to the relative cover above the ceiling. The companions were all instructed that the spell (if it worked, Alaria left that part out) would only last a short time and they would have to move quickly.

Haelan invoked his prayers to Faerantha to protect them from fire and heat. A soft glow of red surrounded the magess and cleric for a moment then faded from view. Haelan then invoked his circle of Sanctuary. The silvery ring flashed into being around them and also faded from view. Finally, he invoked a Protective field, specifically attuned to ward off Evil, should some of the door's enchantments not be fire-based.

When the halfling's chanting was complete, he nodded solemnly at the magess.

Alaria again focused her mind and began reciting the incantation of Opening which, thankfully, she had prepared for that morning, rightfully expecting that in the lair of a wizard, there might be magically locked portals.

"This is going to hurt." Alaria thought to herself as the spell began to take form around her.

The air swirled and rustled her hair and robe and cloak. Milky white light surrounded her hands as she reached out forward to the door and slapped the portal with her open palms.

Immediately, she felt herself in a battle of the Art. One layer of protections and then the next began to fight her attempts to push them aside. To her vision, the lines of light flared and bent, snapped back into place and brushed aside again. The magess strained to control the spell and the arcane weaves before her.

After what seemed a very long time to Alaria, but was in reality a mere moment, the door flared with the milky white light and flashed (visible to all) through the limited area in which the party was trapped. 

The magess was thrown clear of the door, out of the Sanctuary circle (with flashed out of existence at her passing) and into the stone-shaped wall some twenty feet behind her. She was shocked and had the air knocked form her lungs. But when she opened her eyes and looked at the door, it swung open slightly.

"Now! Hurry!" Alaria called and everyone raced through the portal. Haelan helped Alaria to her feet and the two raced to the door and dove through in the last moment as the portal slammed shut behind them with a thundering bang.

The party looked to the magess and hilltender with approving smiles. 
"Well done, magess." Braddok smiled. "Are you unharmed?"

Alaria shook her head and brushed the dust off of her robes as she rose to her feet. "I am. Let us hope there is another way out of here. I severely doubt I will be able to open that again without setting off the wards and traps."

The wide hall they found themselves in seemed to be a continuation of the one they had left.  It was about 30 feet wide and seemed to curve gently to the right beyond their vision. Alcoves lined either side of the corridor, some had bars in front of them, some did not. Periodically,  from certain alcoves, dull glows of blue or red or violet emanated providing some eerie light by which to see their surroundings.

Braddok drew his weapon. The blue glow did little to add to their vision but, keeping the blade low, was also not readily evident among the other colored lights.

Haelan and Fen both felt a chill up their spines. Haelan was again pressed upon his soul with a darkness he could not explain...a limiting to his senses of his connection with his goddess. Fen merely felt the "imbalance" he often sensed in the presence of undead or abominations...but this was different...stronger...more extreme.

"I dooon't like it here." Haelan said quietly. "There is an evil pressing upon my spirit. Like in that dreadful cursed chapel in Shafton...but different...worse. Do you feel it?"

The others admitted, though they definitely felt the foreboding and an imminent kind of danger, they could not say specifically if it was the feeling the priestly types were sensing.

They moved with quiet caution down the corridor. The first several alcoves they passed were empty though one, to the right, contained inscriptions upon the floor which were giving off an eerie red glow.

"*Do not* touch ANYthing! These circles could be meant for any number of purposes. Disrupting them could prove hazardous." Alaria said as she neared the markings.

She could make out a few protective sigils, but they were strange to her. Reversed, in a way. There was another that seemed similar to what little she knew of conjuration.

Alaria guessed, out loud, "The circle seems designed (as best she could tell) to protect from something_ within_ the circle as opposed to the symbols for keeping things out with which she was somewhat familiar.

"Release me." came a low voice from within the alcove. Even as the words met the ears of the party, a horrid visage came into view hovering above the circle.

It was sickly and bird-like...like a vulture or buzzard, though had reddish spiky hairs sprouting from its head instead of feathers.

A long neck became visible and finally, the hovering head was attached to a bipedal body of monstrous proportions. Nearly eight feet tall and hunched with thin black arms ending in talons and "feet" at the end of its goat-like legs that appeared to be hands. It was huge with black and red feathers sprouting from some areas and the sharp spiky hairs from others.

Alaria took a step back even as Festus and Braddok were nearing it. 

"NO!" shouted Alaria. "Do not touch it. Do not cross the circle!"

The warriors immediately stopped in their tracks.

"Release me and all manner of riches shall be yours." it said again.

Haelan was shaking in his toe-hairs at the sight of the creature that washed him in waves of despair and evil. "Is...Is that...a demon?" the Hilltender barely managed to wheeze out.

The hideous creature's face looked at the daelvar. It looked as if its hooked beak smirked in Haelan's direction. "You are no agents of the Dark One. Does the presence of power truly scare you so, little hill-priest?"

Haelan shifted to stand behind Braddok. Only his helmed head poking out from behind the warrior's trunk-like legs.

"I have no quarrel with you and yours, good magess. Release me that I might avenge myself upon the dark wizard who has held me here against my will. I will do whatever you ask." it said again, this time directing its statement to Alaria. 

"What are you called? From what plane do you hail?...and why is Tresahd keeping you here?" Alaria asked cautiously. Whatever it was, if it was in fact a creature of the "lower planes", the magess knew caution was of the utmost importance...and specificity. Her mind reeled to recall the lessons of her mentor for dealing with summoned creatures. She could almost certainly expect deceit and treachery if she got any straight answers at all!

The demon seemed to snort at Alaria's questions. "I am not bound to answer you...and I suspect you are not of a position or power to force my tongue."

"Quite right." said Alaria back at the creature. Then, as calmly as she could, to her companions, "Let's go." She turned in an imperious gesture and began to walk away.

"Wait!" called the demon. "Wait. I can help you...if you help me. It's only fair, is it not? Release me and I will tell you want you seek...the dragon's treasure perhaps?" it said slowly after a quick glance at Duor.

"Or a way to thwart the wizard's plans?" it said to Alaria's back. "The thing you are meant to do here? Why the Fates have seen you to this place?"

"We cannot believe a thing that it says. It must be destroyed. It is an assault upon the Balance." Fen spoke up, trying to distract from the demon's words.

"It is no threat to anyone, Fen. We are NOT releasing a demon, no matter what it says. It is also, technically, not _here._..not exactly. It is trapped, between the planes, no doubt to do Tresahd's bidding in some fashion."

"Cruel Treshad. He keeps me here to answer questions. He has bound me to unleash upon your world at his whim. I know not what he waits for, but I have been here long...so long." the demon offered.

"See, I have helped you. I have given you information you did not posses. I have warranted my release." it concluded.

"It's reading our minds!", Alaria realized. "Do not listen to it. Best to leave it and not look back.

"That information, I am afraid, will not do. As you noted, we can not help you." Alaria replied. "Come on." she said and began walking down the corridor.

"Magess! Magess I will do what you want! Just break the circle and let me go. I have no desire to remain here." the demon implored.

"Warrior! Your father's realm! I could help you. I am powerful. I could return your keep to you and decimate those that stole it from your family.

"DWARF! The treasure is near! So very near you could taste it! I call tell you where it is." it implored as one by one the companions wandered away from its alcove.

Seeing Duor hesitate a moment, Festus pointed out that since it was trapped in the this place in this circle, apparently, it would have no idea where the treasure was.

The dwarf scowled at the logic but could not find fault with it. 

"Sorry, demon. The satyr's right. And I have no desire to do battle with a creature of the Abyss this day." Duor snorted in reply.

As Haelan looked nervously back, to make sure the creature wasn't going to follow them down the hall, he saw the creature again fade from view until only its head was left. It opened its beak wide and shrieked down the hall after them. as it did so a hundred snakes seemed to sprout from its mouth. 

Haelan visibly jumped and ran further ahead but did note that neither the snakes nor the demon moved from the confines of the circle...thank Faerantha.

The demon's loud call echoed down through the corridor for several moments. Whether it was some form of warning or a curse in its twisted language none could tell, but the chill in the air was palpable to even the less spiritual of the group.

Sure enough, alcove after alcove they passed with similar glowing circles within, creatures of unthinkable, impossible forms came into view. 

It seemed, as best the party could discern, that circles glowing red were "occupied" and those that were violet or blue were not. It also seemed, as they passed, that all of them were being held against their will as most of the creatures made no sound or movement to assail the party. One particularly large creature looking like a horrid combination of a gorilla and a bear did thunder against its bonds. But a few sparks of red light were all its huge clawed hand-paws could do against the mystic prisons.

Haelan's hand went, instinctively to the holy symbol hanging upon his chest. It did little to assuage the halfling's fears that bit at his very bones. The Hilltender tried to call to mind the peace and tranquility of his goddess' presence. Images of a spring rain on a grassy knoll. The scent of freshly baked bread. The taste of a berry cobbler...or honey. He loved honey! None of them seemed to help.

The others, to less obvious degrees, shared the cleric's concerns. They were, obviously, in some kind of holding cells for demonic otherwordly creatures, summoned and bound by Tresahd's magics for gods knew what sinister purposes.

"Help me druid! Save me from this doom!" one particularly beautiful looking woman implored. She was "dressed" in a short tunic of leaves and twigs. Her hair seemed a mixture of fading green hair and leaves that were brown as the end of autumn.

"I have been here too long." she said weakly. "I must return to my tree or I shall die." tears came to the large doe-like eyes of green.

"A dryad?!" Fen said in surprise. "That fiend Tresahd will pay for this affront! Have no fear,  gentle one. We shall help you." The druid's sacred spear flared with green light and he stepped toward the alcove.

"Heh heh. Oh yeah. I'll _definitely_ help you out my lovely nymph." Festus leered and moved forward with the druid.

"Fen, Festus, NO!" Alaria called.

"But Alaria, surely this one is a true prisoner." Braddok began to defend, also taken in by the obviously weak lovely female.

Alaria called the electrical sparking ball at the end of her staff and thrust it between opening of the alcove and the druid and ranger, both mere steps from crossing the binding circle.

"Show your true form, evil one!" Alaria commanded of the dryad.

"I...I don't know what you mean, magess. I am so weak. Help me." the dryad replied.

"Alaria, I really must protest. The others, of course are better left where they are." Fen tried to reason. "But dryad's cannot live without their trees. She will die!"

"I doubt, Fen, that she is capable of ever dying. Not here, at least.

"How long have you been here?" Alaria said forcefully. "Answer quickly!"

"I...I really don't know...it seems an eternity." the dryad answered weakly and then placed a hand to her forehead and seemed to swoon, unconscious.

"Alaria, this is ridiculous!" Fen said with an agitation in his voice that was rarely heard. He pushed the wizard's staff aside and began to take another step.

"Haelan, can you look upon it with gifted sight?" Alaria asked quickly.

Haelan nodded dumbly and began to prayer to Faerantha to reveal evil to him.

"Fen, think...how long can a dryad live outside of her tree? If she's been here an 'eternity', shouldn't she be dead by now?"

This reasoning did give the druid pause as he recalled his training.

Haelan's eyes glowed with an amber colored light, much as Coerraine's used to. Immediately the halfling's eyes widened to see aura of pure evil nearly encase the whole of the binding circle.

The dryad before him appear to be a fully naked woman, with horns like Festus and a long tail, barbed at the end, twitching furiously back and forth. She also had two giant bat-like wings stretching out from her back. Cold, solid black, glossy eyes looked directly back at the Hilltender as her beautiful face twisted in fury and her perfectly formed pouty lips stretched inhumanly wide to reveal vampire-like fangs.

Haelan nearly tripped over himself backwards at the sight of the creature. The hairfoot stepped on Duor's toes in his mad dash to get behind any of the companions.

"Oy! Watch yerself, daft hairfoot." Duor protested.

"D-...D-D-...DEMON! It's an illusion! She's definitely a demon!" Haelan chattered, raising his mace before him. The weapon visibly shook in the Hilltender's hand.

The "unconscious dryad" now shimmered in their view and disappeared, revealing the true occupant that Haelan had just seen.

Festus and Fen similarly backed away in shock at the sight of the naked bat-winged woman. Though Festus did have a momentary thought "that the bat wings wouldn't really get in the way of some fun with so lovely a creature." The satyr had never slept with a proper demon before.

"T'ugh. FINE! You got me. There, you feel better, magess? There. You've bested me. My aren't you smart! True form and all. Get me out of here and I'll grant you whatever you wish. I'll give you a proper deal and everything. Immunity to attack, one boon, whatever you want, the whole nine." the newly revealed succubus said nonchalantly.

"A succubus. Not so surprising. Your kind I know full well enough. I also know not to 'deal' with demons." Alaria replied. "And yes...I am intelligent." she added as she waited for the males to continue down the corridor.

Fen took this "close encounter" as a sign that he needed to be more careful in the bowels of an evil wizard's belly and summoned up his own magical sight to scan their way as long as he could. 

It was not long before the druid's precaution bore fruit as the form of a large shadow snake was revealed hovering very near the ceiling of the place. A short battle ensued as the companions were now more than experienced in dealing with them. A few strikes of magical weapons, Braddok's new sword seemed particularly effective, and some well placed "light" made short work of the shadow-summoned creature.

The next alcove they came to that glowed with an "active" binding circle revealed something none of the Stormriders were expecting to see.


----------



## steeldragons

The band came around the last bend in the corridor of conjured "prisoners" to the final alcove. It was set a bit more distant from the rest and appeared a bit larger. The corridor ended with a raised platform that appeared to be of the natural stone of the surroundings.

Fen noted with his magic sight still in effect, that the platform radiated some form of powerful magic. But that was relatively ignored at the odd sight within the final chamber.

A demon, for sure. It was small, not more than a foot long, purple and red scaled with four horns, two sticking straight up and two sticking rather perpendicular to its head. Its thin long arms were crossed across its chest and its similarly skinny legs, ending in two-toed clawed feet were also casually crossed. It was reclined against the wall, obviously relaxed. It had a thin barbed tail wrapped around a two-pronged pitchfork that couldn't have been more than 3 feet long. It was "holding" the pitchfork with its tail and using the prongs to pick at its many pointed teeth that protruded from every angle of a roudn circle of a mouth.

A bit away from it, toward the center of the alcove was a puddle of steaming water. The wisps of steam seemed to be coelescing a few feet above it, just billowing, formign a small cloud of mist/steam/fog, in mid-air.

The creature pulled the pitchfork out of its mouth and looked at the party casually with hollow black eyes.

"Zzzixzik ZAK? Zak ak!" it said in what sounded like annoyance.

Receiving no response from the confused party, it raised its voice and its abyssal inquiries became more annoyed...or forceful...or something.

"ZAX! Zik zix? Zizzz!"

"Sorry scree. We don't speak demon." Duor said offhanded.

Then the party began to hear, very weak at first and then gaining volume a low "sssssss" as the last of the water evaporated and flowed into the cloud.

"Ssssssssshhhhh" the sound came again longre and marginally louder. Two parts of the cloud seemed to darken into what appeared to be darker grey ovals of "eyes" within the cloud. 

"No way." said Duor at first.

A slice of mist darkened below the "eyes" and widened open into what looked like a mouth "howling". 

"Shhhhhhhahhhhhsssss..." came the sound again.

Now the little demon got to its feet and shouted its incomprehensible language at the cloud. It took the pitchwork in its clawed hands and jabbed in the direction of the cloud. The mist seemed to float away from the demon.

"That...is that...?" Haelan asked uncertainly.

"It can't be....can it?" Fen was the next to ask...anyone.

"I'm...not sure...but if it is..." Alaria said studying the cloud of mist.

"What?! What's everyone talking about?!" Festus said with some irritation.

A portion of the cloud slowly began to take form. Two long pointed ears formed to theside of a small flatish head. The eyesw took a more definite shape and long wisps of steam seemed to form "eyebrows" that almost looked like they floated off of the face. A long hooked nose elongated off the face and the mouth became more fully formed.

"Meeeeeessssssssshhhhhh" the face said weakly.

"Mister Meesh!?!?" Braddok said in complete surprise, not knowing from where in his memory this name came forth.

"What's a Meesh?" said Festus, still in the dark.

"Mihhhssssstrihhhhsssss hehhhlpssss Meeeeeessssshhhhhh..." the face managed to say before the diminutive demon jumped forward and stabbed the cloud with the pitchfork.

There was a cry of apparent pain from the mist and a loud "HHSSSSHHH!" as the cloud completely dispersed and plopped down to the floor in a splash of steaming water. 

The puddle just laid there for a moment before, again, slowly, wisps of steam began to rise from it and again start to form the small cloud.

"We need to get him out of there." Alaria said.

"Him who?!" Festus said.

"Mister Meesh!" Haelan said as if it was the obvious answer. Then realizing the satyr had not been with them during the excursion to Dragonbone Isle, the daelvar explained in brief. "A steam mephit that we encountered when we first encountered Tresahd. He was enslaved by him but helped us get that crystal orb, and this mystic pearl we were after...and he was set free!

"Why is he here, Alaria? We have to help him." Haelan said in his pleading way, to the magess.

"We will Haelan...I'm just not sure how right now. To act rashly could prove fatal...even with so small a demon." Alaria answered.

"It would seem the dark wizard conjured him again. No doubt to punish him for his betrayal." Erevan said dispassionately.

"Could be another trick, though." Duor said. "Demons are demons after all. Might be another illusion to bait us into a trap."

Fen confirmed that while there was magic active in the alcove and the body of the puddle of water gave off a slight dweomer of its own, it was no greater or more foreboding than that of fairies or other magical or elemental creatures.

"Well, what're we waiting for then. Let's destroy this tormentor and free him again!" Braddok said and without awaiting consensus, stepped into the alcove, his magic blade before him.

As the blade passed the boundaries of the magic circle inscribed around the alcove the enchantments of the blade and the circles flashed angrily with/around each other. Braddok felt a tingling around him as his body passed the sorcerous perimeter.

"ZAZK!?" said the tiny demon in complete surprise and turned toward the invading warrior.

Braddok swung his blue-glowing blade with expert precision but the demon, due to size or magic or demonic nature, was preternaturally fast! It lept up to the wall of the alcove, crouching there just fine, jabbing its pitchfork menacingly at the large human, "Zz-ing" and "Ak-ing" angrily.

Fen, knowing that they were in "it" now, rushed forward, his leaf-tip spear blazing with the natural energies of the Green and stabbed at the creature on the wall.

It, again, easily avoided the blow, leaping clear across the alcove to the other wall and scurrying higher toward the ceiling.

"_Everx zar_!" came Erevan's voice from behind the two men and blue-green shards of energy flew between them and smacked into the small demon. The impact flung it to the floor at the back of the alcove.

Before the creature could recover, Braddok and Fen were upon it striking deep into the creature. In a small burst of purple and black flames and highpitched "ZZZzzzzeeeeeee", there was nothing left of it but a small blackened patch of stone and the three foot long two-pronged pitchfork of cold black iron.

The party watched, in concern as the cloud of mist again formed and lowered itself to the remaining moisture on the floor. The three foot tall humanoid with small wisps of steaming wings laid there on the alcove floor looking, weakly at the party.

"Meeessh ihssss freeeee onsssse more. Meeessh thhhhankssss the mihssstrissss."

"No thanks are necessary Meesh." Alaria replied.

"Meeessh." the mephit corrected quietly.

"Yes. Right, sorry. Meeessh." Alaria corrected her pronunciation of his name, recalling his general annoyance about it at their first meeting.

"What does it...do?" Festus asked in wonder. He'd never seen a "mephit" before...or even heard of one for that matter.

"It's an elemental creature of water vapor and air...hot air...steam, to be precise. It is not of this world." Erevan explained.

"Can help him, Haelan?" Braddok said, looking at the apparently weakened and frail form of the mephit.

"I...well...I don't actually know." Haelan admitted. "I've never tried to heal anything that wasn't...you know...a real person."

The mephit's wispy eyebrows seemed the slant into a furrow. "Meeessh ihssss reeeeal." the creature was trying to convey its annoyance, but it was so weak it finally just slumped where it had half-laid during his reformation and looked at the floor.

"We're sorry Mister Meeessh. Of course you are. Let me try." Haelan said, feeling sincerely sorry at insulting the poor trapped thing. "This shouldn't hurt at all..." (I hope, thought Haelan.)

The daelvar Hilltender knelt beside the frail mephit and attempted to invoke his goddess' blessing of healing. The pressing evil of the place weighed down upon him, but he felt the glimmer of a connection to his beloved Hill Mother.

Unfortunately, that glimmer was just about all he could perceive and the slightest, faintest of faint feminine voices came to the halfling's mind, *My graces do not extend to such as these, my gentle one.*

"I...I can't?...Faerantha says I can't." Haelan said in utter surprise. "I'm sorry Mister Meesh."

"Meeessh!" the mephit said with more force this time.

Erevan was examining the pitchfork with his magical sight and could determine nothing inherently enchanted about it. Though a residual aura of blackness surrounded it...and the space where the demon had been vanquished. Hearing the halfling's defeat, "Perhaps Fen can help." the elf suggested offhanded.

"He is a creature of the elemental planes, Fen. Maybe your order's affinity for those energies_ could_ be more useful." Alaria posed. Her concern for the mephit was now replaced with her innate curiosity at the working of Fen's druidic magics which, from all she'd observed, worked rather differently than her own. 

The druid shrugged and decided to give it a try, though technically (he kept to himself) it was not a creature of this world and thus not, specifically, _within_ the Balance. He quietly incanted a spell of healing which, to his utter surprise, seemed to morph in his mouth even as he spoke...the healing energies were not forthcoming, but a flow of water manifested instead.

In short order, a gallon or so of water had sprouted from his hands and streamed "into" the mephit's shape. Meeessh's face took on its more fully round form, as did its belly and in a moment, the mephit stood of its own accord and looked at its rejuvenated shape.

"Mhyyyy thanksssshh druid...mhy many many thankshhh. Meeessh ihs muchhhh behtter!" the mephit hissed in approval. He jumped into the air, his small wings that looked as though they should not support his flight, fluttered quickly, leaving trails of steam as they did so. The mephit hissed what was presumed to be a giggle and did a back flip in mid-air. 'Muhhhhch behtterssshhhh!"

"Now, Mister Meeessh, if you are up to it. How did you arrive here? I thought you'd returned to your own home plane?" Alaria began her inquiry.

"Nahhhhstyyy mahhhhsssster sssssummonssss Meeessh againsssshhh. Hurtsss Meeessh fohhhr trehhhcherysss. Lockssss up wihhhhth nahhhhstyyyy demonsss. Hurtsss Meeessh mahnyyy timessss shhhhh." Meeessh explained obviously pained by the memories of his recent plight.

"Meeessh hehlpsss mihssstrissss ahnd frehhndsssss. Helpsss desssstroyssss nahsssty mahssster." Meeessh said as he alit in front of Alaria. "Meeessh hehlpsss."

"Great so we've got a meeshphit guide now!" Festus joked.

"MEEESSH!" the mephit corrected, looking up at the satyr in annoyance.

"Uh...yeah...Right. That's what I said." the satyr looked down at the mephit in confusion.

"Nevermind!" Alaria said, wantign to get back to business. "Meeessh, can you tell us what this plpatform is or does? Is there any other way out of this dungeon? We're trying to get to Nor Gorthok...Find what it is Tresahd is holding here that might be dangerous to our world."

"Nothin' here that I can see." Duor said from around the platform. The dwarf had been going over the walls and floors carefully, searching for some hidden passage or doorway.

Erevan confirmed that he, too, could find no mundane way out of the place.

Meeessh pointed at the platform and hissed, "Thihsss ihsss waysss out. Nahsssty mahssster cohhhmesss ahnd gohhhhsss thhhhrough thihhhsss."

Alaria now took some time to examine the platform. There were indeed arcane marking around the edge of it. She had seen them before. Though of a much smaller scale, the magess was certain they were similar to the runes and sigils of the teleportal platform they had used in Daenfrii to bring them to the Feldmere...Manat's star, Alaria wondered, how long ago _was_ that?! She realized what had been a few weeks seemed like an eternity...even not taking into account the "weeks" they'd spent in the dimensional folds of Gorathgraard.

The mephit went a flit up to the edge of the platform, beside Alaria.

"Do you know where it goes, Meeessh?" Alaria asked.

"Brohhht Meeessh frohhhmm nahsty mahsters hahhhll. Meeessh dohesn't knohhh where thaht ihsss. Meeessh wahs hhhohhhm! Ihn the mihhhssstsss. Hhhhappy Meeessh. Tohhhsssty hhhhot! Then wihth nahsty Tresssahhhd ahgain. Ihn the cohhhld stohhhn hhhahhhll. Poor Meeessh."

"How long ago was that, Meeessh?" Braddok inquired.

One of the memphit's wispy eyebrows rose at the warrior in a questioning look. The memphit merely shrugged, leaving two streams of steamy rising off of them.

"Were there other demons...or any kind of guards in the cold stone hall?" Alaria asked, gently.

Meeessh seemed to be thinking about this and finally answered that he had not seen any. His demonic tormentor had been conjured when he was already here in this alcove.

"What about other wizards or evil priests?" Fen asked.

A flash of comprehension flashed across Meeessh's steamy face. "Ahhhh, whihhhzzzzahdsss...yehsss. Ssssseverahl buhlack rohhhbsss...ssshhh. Wihth wuhhhite fasssesss...ssshhh."

This caused some concern among the party. Black robes with white faces? Could the mephit mean the bone-masked faces of Endoren priests? Given Tresahd/Desaarthal's plan to bring the monstrous dragon-mother, Shaarzak to the realms, and their limited contact with/information from the Endoren priest of undeath in Shafton, it made sense the wizard would need some help from the unholy order.

"You mean there's gonna be undead around here too?!" Haelan said with some concern. The memory of his triumphant clashes with undead since their time in Shafton helped to calm his fears a bit...but undead and demons...AND a dragon?! The daelvar really was not sure he was up for what probably lay ahead.

"Be stalwart my hairfooted friend." Braddok said reassuringly and clapped his large gloved hand on Haelan's shoulder.

The daelvar looked up at the warrior with a forced smile.

"Well, we can't get out the other way...again. Can I just suggest, you know, as a formal Stormrider member, that we stop cutting off our avenues of retreat?" Festus piped. He received several looks from the party. "You know, just as a precaution."

"A wise strategy, indeed, friend Festus. I must concur." said Braddok. 

The satyr smiled widely at receiving some affirmation from the swordsman.

"So...how's this thing work? We ain't got some old elf to send us on our way, this time." Duor said, rubbing his bearded chin, and careful not to get onto the platform before anyone else.

Alaria had been examining the runes and with a bit of luck (QUITE a bit), believed she had found the activation phrase among the arcane writing.

Unwilling to "take a break" in the demonically evil pressing dungeon, the companions steeled themselves to whatever might lie ahead.

One by one they stepped onto the platform. Alaria and Mister Meeessh beside her were the last. 

"Ready?" Alaria asked tentatively. She wasn't certain she, herself, was.

Grim nods from her companions, who all held weapons at the ready, told her it was "now or never."

"THREZAS KAZKREL!" the magess shouted and in a flash of violet light, the party disappeared.

***
The succubus, Athrizz, had been listening to the goings-on at the end of the hall with great interest. She heard the command word of the teleportal platform and saw the flash of purple light.

A smirk formed across her beautiful face as she calmly stepped_ over _her "binding circle" and _out_ of her alcove "prison" into the corridor.

Yes, Athrizz grinned to herself, this information was sure to glean her quite a bit of favor with the Overseer...perhaps even warrant her release..or at least one or two of the companions' souls to play with. That warrior was a handsome one. 

In a billowing column of acrid smelling smoke the succubus, also, disappeared from the dungeon corridor.


----------



## steeldragons

The company stood, tense and battle-ready, as the purple light and remaining energies floated off of them like smoke. 

Their initial expectation of meeting with resistance soon faded as they came to realize the figures they saw "standing" about the huge pillared hall did not move. 

The whole place flickered in the light of many braziers and torches set in sconces along the innumerable pillars that extended far above them into shadow.

They stood upon a dais at one end of this chamber. Not far from them sat an immense throne of crystal. The back of the throne was shaped like a great swan. Its long neck arched up over and looked down upon the seat of the throne. Two outstretched wings flanked the back of the throne. The whole thing glittered with a thousand facets in the flaming light.

Sensing no imminent danger, movement or sound, the party spread out cautiously to take in their immediate vicinity.

The pillars and hall seemed to extend beyond their vision to either side of the throned dais and stretched out before them into a forest of carved columns. Any entrance to the hall was far beyond their view, though the flickering glow of unseen torches could be seen for some way.

Festus and a still invisible Erevan padded their way to the nearest of the pillars. They revealed a multitude of figures and carvings. Swans, birds, vines and trees with squirrels and songbirds climbing among them. In several places, carvings had been vandalized, either smashed in places or scrawled with black smears. There were several skeletons that appeared to be long bound and/or "pressed"_ into_ the columns.

Braddok stayed near Alaria who was examining a small console of stone that was raised near the circle they'd just appeared in. It was akin to the console in the teleportal chamber in Daenfrii. Alaria hoped against hope that it might prove a direct exit for them...if she could decipher how to operate it. 

Haelan and Fen were most interested in the crystal throne. The druid wandered down the few steps of the dais to examine the closest "figure" standing near the bottom step. It was a statue of am man. Rather tall and regal looking. The detail of his finery and face were uncanny. A neatly trimmed beard and bejeweled crown about his brow lent to his noble appearance. He was partially turned, as if looking back at the throne. A mild look of surprise or questioning on his face.

"I think we've found Lord Gorathiel." the druid said quietly. 

"Haelan, do you or Fen sense anything here?" Braddok asked in a hushed tone.

The daelvar and half-elf confirmed that the pressing "evilness" of the demons' alcoves was not present here. Just the foreboding shadows of the unseen ceiling and a general staleness in the air. The whole place just felt...and smelled "musty." Not even a whiff of smoke from all of the fires burning. A fact that Festus and Haelan found odd.

"Undoubtedly, they are magically fueled. The elves of my homeland use similar enchantments to light our halls. Though not so crass as flickering flames." Erevan's disembodied voice whispered. 

Alaria was trying in vain to decipher the [what she assumed to be] "controls" for the teleportal circle on the dais. She was loathe to resort to magic to read the advanced sigils and runes. The day had severely depleted her energies for the day and she feared they would not be leaving this cursed mountain without at least one other fight. Still, as best she could tell...from their brief time outside the mountain, that the sun would not have set just yet.

Duor, to no one's notice, had wandered a bit further into the hall, taking in the carvings in the pillars. Other statues were placed around, most had been destroyed, smashed into various pieces by who knew what. He did note more than a few of the pieces and some of the bones of skeletons about seemed to be goblins and hobgoblins, as well as several that he presumed to be humans...or whatever it was those sorceress daughters from the dimensional realms had been.

"Think it's safe to say we're actually_ in _Nor Gorthok now. We have to be getting close to the treasure. I can feel it in my beard." Duor wondered out loud. His voice carried quite a ways through the cavernous hall which caused several of his companions to cringe.

"Erevan's right, Duor...You are by far, the least, stealthy rogue I've ever encountered." Festus chastised to the dwarf who was somewhere he couldn't see.

Duor's head poked out from behind a pillar to retort, "And yer the least stealthy ranger, hoof-foot."

"Be still!" Erevan's voice hissed. If he'd been visible, the party might have noted the elf's ears twitch as an unseen sound caught his attention. 

It was a...like a shuffle...like the sound of robes dragging upon the mostly dust-covered ground. It moved slowly. Almost a like a scrape to the elf's enhanced senses. There was another...maybe a third? Erevan could not be sure.

Then he saw a shadow cast upon one of the pillars some distance from them. It shuffled along, no speed to its moment. Erevan pointed in the direction and then realized that no one could see him!

"I hear it too, now." Festus said and quickly traded his dual blades for his short bow.

Then, about 30 feet into the chamber (by the party's vantage point) a figure, hunched over, came shambling into the light from behind a pillar.

Its flesh was entirely white and drawn close to its bones. A haphazard mess of course black hair sat upon its head, like a nest. Its clothing, which at one time might have been a fine gown or robe was so dirty and tattered as to make its original color of appearance unable to be discerned. Some jewelry hung from its thin neck and gaunt wrists. It looked at the party with cold but darkly intelligent eyes.

"WIGHT!" cried Haelan in alarm. His hand going immediately for his holy symbol.

The creature made no sudden or menacing movements. Merely continued to shamble toward the dais and stop some distance away.

"How do you know?" Braddok asked. He'd never encountered a wight before.

"LOOK at it!" Haelan said in alarm. "It's WHITE!"

"Haelan, I don't think that's how..." Fen began to correct, though the druid's innate sensitivity to the abomination of undeath was rising in his hackles.

"What do you want heeeere?" said the scratchy hoarse voice.

"It talks!?!" Festus said in surprise. In their time together, Festus had never encountered an undead thing that could speak.

Duor, to everyone's surprise, strode out to within a few feet of the thing and replied in his most commanding tone. "We've come to relieve your master of his treasure. Where might that be, exactly?" the dwarf said, unabashed.

"Heh heheheh HA! Heeheeheeheeeee!" the thing laughed in response.

"You can't take the treasure. None can. Would you carry it all yourself little thieeeeef?" the once noble-woman of Gorathgraard replied.

"Don't you worry 'bout that. We'll make do." Duor said nonchalantly. "Now, where is it?"

"You should not beeee heeeere. There is naught but death in Gorarthgraarrrrrd." the wight said.

"Yeah. Yeah. We're heard it before. But here we are. Now, the treasure if you please." Duor said.

"Duor, get away, there are more than one!" Erevan's voice now raised through the hall a moment before the elf's form became visible again, firing arrows passed Duor on his left flank to slam into a column inches away from the crouching form of another of the hunched white figures.

The addressing wight seemed surprised by this assault and growled before she opened her fang filled mouth and shrieked at the top of her lungs.

"KREEEEEEEE! INTERLOPERS! INVADERS IN THE LORD'S THRONE! TO ARMS! DEFEND THE MASTER'S HALL!" again she let out a peeling shriek that echoed throughout the hall.  

With that, several other of the hunched undead creatures bounded from behind or upon the pillars. Shadows of their forms could be seen against the columns in the distance of the hall.

Fen ran forward, his sacred spear blade bursting with the holy green aura to defend the Balance. Festus let fly two bolts from his short bow at the wight that Erevan had missed.

The creature jumped up onto another of the columns to avoid the first, the second sunk into the creature's shoulder.

Braddok ripped the blue-glowing bastard sword from its sheathe once more and charged for Duor even as the robed wight pounced with amazing speed at the nearby dwarf. 

The rogue, anticipating an attack, easily evaded the creature's first swipe of its claws. The second, however, bit into his calf as he dove away.

Immediately an icy chill filled the dwarf's being. His strength seemed sapped away...like when those shadows attacked him. He recovered enough to roll away from another of the creature's who'd lept out of hiding.

"Lil' help now would be good, Hilltender." Duor shouted through clenched teeth as he drew his green glowing dagger and swiped at the new attacker.

The strike dug into the wight's reaching arm and it jumped back in surprise at the pain of the mystic blade's ethereal energies. The wound trailed a bit of green glowing "smoke."  

Another wight pounced upon Festus' back as the satyr was again taking aim at the with across the hall from him. It's claws raked through his cloak and unarmored back. 

The satyr cried out in pain as the unearthly cold filled his being and sapped his strength. 

Erevan, in elvin grace, whirled about, whipping his long sword out of its scabbard and sliced into the creature atop Festus, sending it rolling away.

The ranger was not dead...yet...but nearly felt like Death itself was gripping his neck. Even getting back to his feet required a huge effort.

Two wight bounded for Fen and Braddok. The swordsman easily avoided their attacks. The sword in his his practically felt as if it were singing (?!) in his head as is bit deeply into one of them. 

The thing did not die, but appeared sorely wounded.

The second swiped at the druid. Fen's half-elvin blood again came to his rescue as with a fluid grace to rival Erevan's, he whirled around passed its clawing attacks and swiped across its back with his spear's blade. It was wounded, though far from slain.

"Fen! Braddok! GET BACK!" Alaria called from the dais. The magess was not going to dare to go further into the chamber and released one of her few remaining lightning bolts from her staff. The electrical discharge flew through the chamber and blasted both of the creatures assaulting the warrior and druid. Both laid some tens of feet back away from where they'd stood, blackened and smoking. Neither rose again.

 Erevan was now dancing around with the wight that had attacked Festus. The two traded minor blows against the other. UNfortunately, the wight's "minor" blows seemed to do quite a bit more damage to the elf than the other way around. But at least, thought the elf, its attention was off of the satyr.

Duor tried, in vain, to race toward the protection (or at least more advantageous position) of the dais only to be clawed and grabbed twice more by his two assailants.

"DAMMIT! Haelannn..." the dwarf felt as weak as the satyr. He tripped and fell after the second attack and could not muster the strength to rise again. Reaching in a panicked look toward the halfling and magess near the throne.

"FAERANTHA SHOWER THESE DEFILED SOULS IN YOUR GLORY! REMOVE THEIR UNHOLY PRESENCE FROM YOUR GRACE AND PROTECT YOUR LOYAL FOLLOWERS!" Haelan cried out, the pinecone shaped holy symbol held high above his head.

There was a momentary breath of a pause...enough for Alaria to question (and worry) that the plea would go unanswered. Then, the whole of area was bathed in the honey colored daylight emanating from the daelvar.

It seemed to "pulse" a bit, unlike any other time they'd seen the channeling effect. But with each pulse, threw its divine light further and further into the chamber until it reached just beyond where Duor laid on the ground.

The wight that had been fighting Erevan immediately threw up its arms as if to protect itself from the hateful holiness. It was, effectively "thrown" out of the area of the daelvar's light. The two about the rend Duor to shreds were also thrust away from the rogue. Rolling to a distance, just beyond the extent of the light. The creatures reeled in pain and smoked where the light had burned into their undead skin.

Even as the Hilltender strained, obviously, to maintain his field of protection, Braddok and Fen ran up to aid the dwarf to his feet and drag him toward the dais. Erevan did likewise with the severely wounded Festus.

"We need another way out of here! ANY way out of here!" Braddok shouted.

Alaria saw, with great alarm, the figures racing toward them from somewhere at the other end of the hall. They were roughly human sized, armored and baring weapons, long polearms mostly from what she could see.

Hobgoblins? They would not be kept at bay by the halfling's "turning."

Fen left Duor to the swordsman and turned at the goblinoid hoops and hollers. With a quickly cast incantation, vines and roots broke up through the floor of the hall in as long a line as he could muster, forming a "wall" of sorts among the first rank of the charging hobgoblin soliders. It wouldn't stop them for long. The rest would just have to go around the enchanted plants, but at least for a moment, they were halted.

"Alaria...I...I can't..." Haelan said with obvious strain in his voice.

"Just a another few moments, Haelan. Another few moments. You can do it!" Alaria cried in attempted assurance as she ran back to the console by the teleportal circle. She had no choice now. They needed to get out of here...wherever that might take them.

She quickly called to mind the spell for comprehending languages and hoped that it would show her what she _needed_ to know.

The spell took effect and the sigils began to make sense to her. Then her attention was broken by the sound of something...splashing? and then the cries of pain and the acrid smell of sulphur and something else burning.

"NOOOO!!!!" Fen cried out. Utter agony filled his voice.

Alaria turned with a jump at the mournful sound to take in the scene in an instant. Braddok was helping Duor up onto the dais. A few steps behind, Fen stood, staring in horror at the melted blobs of bones and blood and tattered pieces of fabric, sitting in a pool of orange liquid that sizzled and steamed acrid fumes from the floor and twisted form.

Part of that form was the upper half of Erevan staring blankly, in complete shock, up at the dais...at her! The elf's mouth seemed to move weakly, though no sound escaped as his handsome face fell to the floor and began to disintegrate in the acid pool beneath him.

"Ooooohoohoo....Pink flesh....Silly pink flesh. I tooooold yooooou we'd play again soohoon. Ooooohoohoohoo." came an all too familiar lilting voice.

From behind the wall of entangling vines, circling down one of the columns like a snake and "clapping" its forearms together in glee, was the behir, Rach'sha.

Braddok had dragged Duor back to the teleportal circle and, more or less tossed him inside the inscribed runes. He ran back down to the druid who stood, staring in shock as the last of his _killi_ dissolved before his tear filled eyes.

The large muscled human threw his strong arms around the half-elf and pulled away from the shock. Fen watched, but offered no resistance, even as Braddok dragged him up the stairs to the teleportal circle. Seeing Alaria, similarly, staring in shock, the warrior shouted at the magess in as commanding a tone as he could. "ALARIA! NOW! HURRY!"

The R'Hathi magess only half-heard the Grinlian swordsman. She only half noticed as the daylike honey colored light subsided. and the wights took up positions with the advancing hobgoblins who only slowly neared the dais as the behir coiled his way down the rest of the column behind the lines of hobgoblin soldiers.

It was only the faint tug on the sleeve of her robe that caused Alaria to look, dumbly, down at Haelan's tear-filled eyes.

"Alaria, we have to go. We have to go now." Haelan chocked through his tears gently.

The image from Alaria's spell sleep burst into her mind and she was again 100% in this room...this room of death and defeat and doom.

"Yes! Yes of course."

Holding Fen tightly in his grip, Braddok watched as Haelan backed into the circle and Alaria, with another glance at the console, pressed a few of the curious shaped crystals.

"Come now, pink flesh...can't get out that way." said the behir. "Surrender and we can go back to my lair to play some more. I promise."

"Yes, Rach'sha. We shall play again. But not this day." Alaria replied, her voice full of threat.

The behir gave a command in some language and the hobgoblins and wights raced for the dais.

"THREZAS KAZKREL, Bridgetower!" Alaria commanded.

In a burst of violet light the companions were gone from the great hall of Nor Gorthok.

As the wisps of purple energy trailed off where they had stood and the hobgoblins turned to look, confused at the behir, Rach'sha merely said, more to himself than any of the other, "Hunh. Guess you_ can_ get out that way."

*

The party felt the esoteric "banging" of striking an unseen barrier. In the corners of her mind, Alaria recalled that the tower of Bridgetower was barred from magical intrusion, as was the whole of the keep of the Dragonmage (which was why she'd elected for Bridgetower instead). 

The party materialized just outside the tower, upon the wide bridge that spanned the river D'Evand, connecting the gatehouse to the tower itself.

Braddok looked around in alarm as blue-tabbarded guards came racing up to their position from either side. The warrior had never been in Bridgetower and, at first, was concerned they were in for another fight or capture.

"It's alright, Braddok. We're safe. These are friends." Haelan said gently to the warrior. But enough to cause the swordsman to lower his weapon.

Alaira looked blankly at the guard who demanded to know who they were before a familiar moustached sergeant...or was he a lieutenant now?...pushed his way through...

"Magess?" the man said. "Stand down! Stand down! The Stormriders are returned to Bridgetower!" the man commanded his men.

Alaria nodded weakly and then collapsed into wracking sobs.

Braddok moved to console her and looked with sorrow at the face of the lieutenant who moved forward to do the same. The seasoned veteran did not need any explanation from the swordsman.

Fen just stared off the bridge, on his knees. The tears flowed silently down his cheeks in the waning light of the evening.

"Fen...I can't...I don't know...I'm so sorry." Haelan said quietly with a hand upon the druid's shoulder. If Fen heard the Hilltender's gentle condolence he made no indication. He simply stared down the length of the Silver River and cried in silence.

"Call the Daughters! Summon Old Midge!" called lieutenant Goren.

The priestesses of the healing goddess, Gilea, were quick to arrive.

As the rosy light slipped from the day, the remaining Stormriders were attended and ushered, gently, into the Tower.

<_Author/DM's note: Not all paths lead to riches and glory, dear readers, and the Stormriders know/knew that better than most. Not every foe is able to be defeated at all times. Sometimes you get lucky...and our troupe has been many many times. But, sometimes...you don't.

R.I.P. Erevan and Festus. You were great characters in this saga of Orea and were/would be missed. Yes, this means they're gone "for good." The party, at this point, was not nearly powerful or rich enough to bring them back without a body. Twas a dark day [session] for the Stormriders, indeed._ _One of my worst/saddest, on record, as a DM._>

EDIT: Just realized I relayed this entire "episode" with no mention of Mister Meeessh. Well, it might come as little surprise that Meeessh is essentially a "cohort" or "follower", to use the vernacular, for Alaria, though not technically a "familiar." It can be assumed that Meeessh is hiding behind Alaria's robe/skirts throughout this encounter...and upon their arrival in Bridgetower, was told that he's "ok"/not to mess with him./EDIT


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria sat at the table, staring idly at the spiced wine and tray of food brought to the chambers by the attending Daughters of Gilea.

It was a similar set of chambers as she'd stayed in on her last visit to Bridgetower. But were obviously elsewhere in the tower.

Braddok stared out the narrow window into the night sky. A goblet of wine in his hand. He turned to look at the "shellshocked" magess. His heart cried for and with her, though her tears had stopped flowing some time ago.

"Alaria, are you sure you don't want to retire? A good night of sleep might proof a world of good for you." the swordsman offered cautiously.

The wizard just shook her head and continued to stare into her goblet. She was tired, to be sure...but it just didn't seem right for her to sleep...when Festus and Erevan couldn't...It didn't make sense and she knew that. But she just couldn't bring herself to go to bed.

Haelan entered the chamber. "They've restored Duor. He is sleeping, but intact. Fen...well, Fen is another matter." the daelvar trailed off as he climbed into one of the chairs at the table near Alaria and poured himself a smaller cup of the spiced wine.

"What's wrong with Fen?" Braddok said, seeing Alaria was not going to ask.

"Well...that's the thing. Nothing is 'wrong' with him. He is unhurt and suffered no wounds from those unholy horrors. He's just...well...not really 'there', if you know what I mean. He just stares and tears come out of his eyes...but he makes no sound. Acknowledges no one or nothing. I've never really seen the like. Ole Midge says she's seen it before and he'll kjust 'snap out of it' when he's ready...but she's done all she can do." the daelvar said with a deep swig of the wine. 

Haelan, himself, had run out of tears some time before and while his heart was heavy at the loss to the company, he simply had no more tears to shed at the moment. 

Braddok solemnly nodded his head in understanding. "He'll snap out of it...sooner or later...You have to, eventually." Braddok's thoughts turned to the horrors he'd seen when Barforth had fallen to the usurper. He'd been just a boy and had been in that sort of..."catatonia" the priests had called it at the time...for a while before coming to his senses.

"What do we do now?" Haelan asked Braddok, specifically. "Word among the guards is that the fight goes badly in Miralostae. Some say the Steel Dragons met with defeat...though others disagree."

"We shouldn't have gone." Alaria said quietly. 

Braddok's eyebrows rose in surprise at the first words Alaria had said since their return, as did Haelan's.

"We didn't really have a choice, my lady." Braddok said calmly.

"No...we did...and we made the wrong ones. We opted for greed and glory when we should have opted for the more valorous path." Alaria said, again to her goblet as opposed to the others. "And now Festus and Erevan..._and_ Coerraine, have paid for our folly."

"You can not blame yourself, Alaria. It was all of our choice." Haelan attempted to soothe.

"No...I'm not to blame...that blasted dwarf is. I curse the day I ever offered to bring him with us." the magess replied.

"You speak in anger, Alaria. You know, in your heart, that is untrue. You did the right thing then...and Duor has been a valuable companion. He's helped us through a great many trials." Haelan said.

"And gotten us into a great many more!" Alaria spat. She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes in exhaustion. "You are right, of course, Haelan. I just am not in the mood to hear it right now. And I fear for Fen."

"He'll be alright, magess." Braddok offered. "He just needs a bit of time."

"Time we don't have! All of Orea might not have!" Alaria barked back and then, again, ashamed of her outburst, put her head back in her hands.

A soft knock at the door was met by Haelan. One of the acolyte Daughters of Gilea entered with a tray holding three small cups and was followed by Ole Midge.

"Here you are, dearling. I thought for sure you'd be back in Stenthil's library working on your magics." the gentle old woman grinned. Her attempt at a warm hearted greeting was met with silence.

"Well, I've brought you these. They will help you sleep." the elder priestess nodded at the young woman with the tray and she placed the cups upon the table and with a silent nod of a bow to Haelan and Braddok retired from the room.

"There will be much to discuss tomorrow, Magess Alaria. The seneschal has already declared that you take precedence to meet with him tomorrow...whenever you like. The Hilltender has told me what's happened and there's nothing else you can do about it, this day." Midge said with obvious sympathy and offered the cup to Alaria.

Alaria nodded at the old priestess and sipped at the cup. It was warm and sweet...minty.

"Yes. Yes, of course. There will be much to do tomorrow." Alaria replied weakly. "I am tired. I shall adjourn to my chamber and begin anew tomorrow."

Midge smiled and began to exit. She turned in surprise as Alaria's hand gripped her sleeve strongly. 

"Thank you, Midge. Please convey our thanks to the holy Daughters." Alaria said as she rose from the table.

Midge grinned back, the gentle grin of a grandmother. "No thanks at all are necessary, Magess. The Merciful Mother be praised that you and the others were returned to us safely. Now...rest."

Alaria nodded dumbly and left the common room.

Meeessh watched her go with obvious concern. He then took a position near the warming glow of the fireplace and, as he appeared to fall "asleep" or whatever it was mephits did, he kind of "evaporated" out of view.

Haelan and Braddok watched her go and observed with curiosity as the mephit "left", as did Midge. 

"You boys too!" Midge said with a wink when Alaria's door had shut. "I suspect you have a long day ahead...and much yet to do. Hilltender Haelan, I think the druid will be in sore need of your attention."

"Thank you, Midge. I will look after him." said Haelan.

"We shant be up late." added Braddok.

With a grin and a nod, the elder priestess took her leave.

"So...what do we do next?" Haelan asked the swordsman again.

"We do what we are trained to, Haelan. We do what good we can, where we can...and eventually, some day, we avenge our friends against the forces of the dark wizard...dragon...whatever he or she is." Braddok replied absently, staring out the window at the starlit sky.

Haelan nodded in agreement and sipped at his wine. The two adventurers passed the remaining time in silence and contemplation before saying their goodnights and retiring to their respective beds.

*

Braddok awoke with a start at the screaming of Alaria.

The swordsman lept from his small bed, naked, grabbed his scabbard and raced from his room. He barged into Alaria's bedchamber to see the wizardess sitting bolt upright, her night-shift covered in sweat. She was panting and staring straight forward...at least until the warrior had burst her door open, blade flaring.

"What is it!?!" Braddok said, ready to slay anything he saw in the room. There was nothing there. "Are you alright?"

Alaria looked at the warrior in surprise...His chest heaved in expectation of combat. She looked at his naked form in the moonlight filtering into her room. "I...uh...Braddok?..."

He relaxed his stance and sheathed his blade, not seeing any obvious intruder. Looking down, the warrior blushed and placed the sapphire studded scabbard over his...privy.

"I heard a scream! WHOA!" Haelan said in surprise. The daelvar had come racing from his room as well. He had his mace and shield and was clumsily trying to set the slightly oversized helmet on his head. He got it adjusted just in time to see Braddok's bare buttocks very close to his face.

"I'm fine, Haelan...I'm sorry. To you both. I was having a nightmare. But I'm fine now." Alaria said calmly...attempting as best she could to keep her eyes off of Braddok's glistening torso...at the very least above his waist.

"Uh...huh...O...K." Haelan said, also averting his eyes to the nape of the swordsman's broad back. "I'll...uh...I'll be going back to bed, then." Not awaiting any comment the halfling blushed his way back into his bed.

"Yeah...I'll...uh...I mean...I should...uh...go...then...too." Braddok stammered and threw a thumb over his shoulder as he edged his way, backward, toward the door.

Confident that Haelan had gone, Alaria stopped the swordsman. 

"Braddok, wait...don't go. I think..." she looked toward the moonlight streaming in the narrow slit of a window.

"I think I'd rather not be alone tonight." Alaria said quietly.

"Alaria? I mean...my lady...I mean..you want...?" Braddok couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Stay with me...please?" Alaria asked softly.

"If you...I mean...if that's your wish?" the swordsman forced himself to respond. He looked over his shoulder as if someone might hear him saying what he was saying.

Alaria nodded and drew back the down comforter from the vacant side of the bed. "I think...no, I know, it is."

The warrior gently placed his sword down beside the bed and climbed into the bed. 

The two bereft adventurers looked at each other for a while before Alaria lay back down and snuggled up to Braddok's muscled form.

"Yes...this is better." Alaria said softly. "You will keep me safe" she added as sleep quickly drifted over her once more.

"Always, magess." Braddok said quietly.

Braddok placed a thick arm over her. After a few moments, he too drifted into slumber.

The warrior dreamed of awakening with tentacles instead of arms. But after once being shocked awake by that image, to find the still clothed magess in his actual human arms, he fell back to sleep.

_*Next time: Of Druids and Dwarves.*_


----------



## steeldragons

Fen's bright green eyes opened and stared at a stone ceiling. 

He felt the stiffness on his cheeks where tears had dried while he slept.

He weakly turned his head to the side. The dull glow of dawn was filtering through a narrow slit of a window in this small room. He laid upon a bed. He saw, with not interest, his sacred cloak handing upon a peg at the opposite wall. His leaf-tipped sacred spear leaned against it and his boots sat upon the floor near his pack and pouches. The druid realized, with no emotion, that he was still in his leather armor and leggings.

Shortly after his waking there was a soft knock upon his door. The half-elf could not be bothered to rise from his bed. Not that it mattered.

A moment after the door softly creaked open a crack and he heard Haelan's soft voice calling to him.

"Fen? Are you awake?" the daelvar all but whispered.

The druid stared at the rays of the dawn striking into his chamber like a plane of gold.

"Oh! You are up. That's great!" came the daelvar's voice again. He neared the bedside and place a small tray (though large in the halfling's arms) upon the small bedside table.

"I've brought you a break fast. Midge says you need to eat. There's some nice honey buns here...and nuts and some of the Tower's freshest berries. I know how you like berries." the daelvar smiled down at the half-elf.

Fen just stared at the rays of light. He had no appetite. Somewhere inside him, he knew the daelvar had a good heart and meant the best for him...he just couldn't be bothered to acknowledge his presence...the size of the daelvar's heart had no baring on the fact that his was shattered.

"Come on Fen...there's some fresh milk here too. I don't know if you like milk...but Midge said it would be good for you. Rejuvenates the blood, she says." the daelvar chuckled to himself. He lifted the cup of milk toward the druid. 

Fen's body made no motion to take it. What's the point? kept flowing through his mind.

"Ok...well, some berries then? Or a bun? The honey buns are particularly good. I confess I tried one on the way up. I hope you can forgive me." the daelvar said with characteristic cheerfulness. 

If only I would ever feel that cheer again, thought Fen. But I will never.

The Hilltender just looked at the druid for a moment and sadness filled his eyes. This caused Fen some inward pain...he did not want the daelvar to feel sad...he felt sad enough for all of Orea.

"Please...Fen...say something!" Haelan asked as he returned the plate of berries and nuts to the tray. "This isn't healthy. You need to eat or you will expire. It's been three days now!"

Had it? Fen thought inwardly...a pittance of time to those of the star-blood...and even though his was diluted, he still did not feel time pass as these others...and his _kiili_ would never feel the passage of time, however slight, again.

"We need to get going, Fen. There is much to do...and we need you to do it with us. We won't leave you. You want to help us, don't you?" after a moment of consideration, Haelan added, ever-so gently, "Erevan would want you to. Don't you think?"

Erevan? Erevan...yes, his _kiili_...his lost 'dear one.'

The unbidden image of his face melting into a pool of goo assaulted Fen's mind.

Erevan would want nothing from him...never wanted anything from him...just to share their minds and bodies...just to _BE_ with each other as those of the star-blood wanted...This silly hairfoot, kind and gentle as his heart might be, could never understand that.

"Fen, please..." the halfling's voice seemed to crack from some sorrow...but the sunlight was nice to see...

"We need you. You have to come back to us. Alaria and Braddok...well, they're mad with revenge...but seem to be...uh...consoling each other pretty well..." Haelan's voice went from a conversational tone to a whisper to add, "You know, how humans do?"

Haelan grinned at the blankly staring at what he thought a fine, but not vulgar, joke.

"Duor is ready to go too...though Midge thinks he should remain abed for a bit more." the cleric added.

Duor...DUOR!...the name raked at the half-elf's mind and something clicked (or snapped).

The half-elf's eyes blinked and he sat bolt up in his bed. 

Haelan spat our a bit of milk and nearly choked on the mouthful of honey bun he'd been helping himself to from Fen's tray.

"FEN! Oh, breff vuh Hill Muvuh, *swallow* I knew you'd come back!" said spitting crumbs of honey bun all over the front of himself.

"Duor...Where is he?!" the druid said absently, not looking at the halfling cleric wiping crumbs off of his newly gifted pine green tabbard.

"Well, he's in just next door. You're both in the..." Haelan began to explain, thankful at the druid's apparent return to life. He did think it odd that the half-elf jumped up from his bed and grabbed his cloak from the peg and took up his spear.

"...the Daughters' special private infirmary rooms." Haelan finished as the druid exited the room in a flourish of green, brown and grey cloak. Eyes widened in understanding.

"Oh dear."

Stuffing the last of the honey bun into his mouth, Haelan raced out after the druid.

He was barely into the hall when a scream of alarm came up from the chamber next door. A young Daughter of Gilea in her pristine white robes edged in pink thorny vines came running out, linens flying from her arms. She almost ran over the halfling. 

"FEN! DON'T!" Haelan called as he entered the room.

The druid was stabbing the bed, over and over again. With each full force jab, tear-strained words came out of the druid's mouth.

"IT'S. YOUR. FAULT. IT'S. YOUR. FAULT. DAMNED! GREEDY! DWARF!" cried Fen.

Feathers of down flew around the room like a blizzard as the druid stabbed, over and over, into the empty bed where the acolyte cleric had been changing the linens.

"Fen!? STOP IT!" called Haelan, invoking a bit of divine presence behind his words <_cleric spell: Command._> The druid halted his attack on the empty bed, immediately, and turned with a feral fury in his green eyes toward the Hilltender.

"Where is he, Haelan?! you can't protect him. Where is he!? He will pay! It's his fault and you know it! TELL ME WHERE HE IS!" Fen cried at Haelan.

"Where who is?" said Duor coming into view in the doorway behind the Hilltender, taking a munch out of an apple.

Aw, horse pucky, thought Haelan. Not now!

"YOU!" the half-elf lunged at the dwarf, easily thrusting aside the halfling.

"WOAH!" Duor said and dove to the side of the doorway into the hall. 

In a flash of green, the druid was in the hall and looking to stab at the dwarf, who had regained his footing some feet away from the druid.

"Have ye lost yer mind, druid?!" Duor cried in alarm.

"I'm sorry, Fen, but you leave me little choice..._Beatius Faerantha benifica spiritum con u guda rihvahlt!_" invoked Haelan again <_cleric spell: Hold Person_>.

The druid's spear tip halted, inches from the dwarf's face...and shook there. Unsure of the extent of Haelan's enchantment, Duor quickly scampered out from under the spear and trotted several tens of feet down the hall.

"Look, Fen. I'm sorry about Erevan. I'm sorry about Festus too! He was a great drinkin' partner. Best satyr I ever knew...well, the only one...but still...However things was we said to each other, I had a great deal of respect for the bloody point-ear...and I'd like to think he for me." Duor said in an attempt to placate the half-elf.

The druid was obviously fighting against Haelan's magic and making some progress and his arms broke free of the spell to finish the thrust which moments before would have dug into the dwarf.

Tears streamed down the half-elf's face in frustration or sorrow, none could say.

"We were comrades, the elf and me...like_ you _and me!...we did our best. It was friendly jabs...you know how it is...I never in an age and a half wanted him dead..." Duor continued.

The druid broke enough of the enchantment to move his head and mouth and cry out in pain and sorrow at the word "dead".

"Duor, SHUT. UP!" Haelan commanded down the hall. "You're not helping! Get out of here!" beads of sweat were forming on the halfling's forehead...the druid was fighting the cleric with everything he had...Haelan had never felt such a resistance.

"Look...I know you blame me. You SHOULD!" Duor continued (in typical fashion not listening to anyone else). "Everyone else does...and I blame myself, too! It wasn't right what happened. It _was_ MY fault! I _KNOW_ that, now...and I'll do everything I can to avenge their loss and see that bastard dragon-snake worn as a belt...There's plenty of him to make belts for all of us!" Duor ended with an attempt at levity.

Haelan fell back as Fen burst out of his holding spell. He scrambled to the doorway, expecting to see Duor skewered on the end of Fen's spear.

Instead, thankfully, he saw Fen on his knees, crying uncontrollably. His leaf tip spear lying on the ground beside him.

After a moment of this, Duor relaxed his stance and stood watching...A grown man to cry was a pitiable sight among dwarves...but Fen wasn't a dwarf, and Duor understood that. The rogue wiped a tear from his eye before anyone could see.

Haelan put his hands upon Fen's shoulders and simply held them as the half-elf wracked himself with sobs.

"Let's get you back to bed, Fen...you can eat later, huh? That'd be ok won't it?" Haelan said gently.

Without a word, Fen rose to his feet and reentered his room, leaving his spear on the floor of the hall. He threw the sacred cloak to the floor and flopped back down in the bed.

Duor and Haelan waved away the guards who had come at the young Daughter of Gilea's alarm. 

The dwarf handed the halfling the sacred spear and Haelan indicated it would be best for Duor to go. 

As the dwarf exited Fen's room, Haelan offered softly, "And Duor...perhaps it would be best if you took other chambers."

The dwarf nodded and left, again wiping a tear away that no one saw.

_*Next time: Elves n' Ninjas n' Elves n' thangs.*_


----------



## Lwaxy

Oh wow, lots happened.   Looks like a new character needs to be rolled up. 

The nightmare scene made me laugh


----------



## SolitonMan

Loving the story, SD!!    It was quite the treat to log in last night after a few days' time and see so much new material.  Thank you for continuing to entertain us with the adventures of the Stormriders.

It was so sad to lose Festus and Erevan, but I think it was portrayed in a manner which was keen and heartfelt.  It's so easy when playing the game to miss out on the emotional impact of a character's death, but you've captured it here in elegant fashion.  Please keep up the great work, I'm looking forward to reading more!


----------



## steeldragons

The first days in Bridgetower passed in something of blur for Alaria.

Following the first night, which she had passed with Braddok and to her surprise and somewhat embarrassment she had thoroughly enjoyed, her days were filled with the activity of one bereaved...just looking for anything and everything she could do to keep busy.

She had had her first report and meeting with Captain Rynthis, followed by a visit to Magist Stenthil. They arranged to meet later in the week to identify the companions' unidentified items and recharge her staff. Stenthil apologized for his lack of time, but the Captain, it seemed, had the old magist scrying day and night to keep tabs on the borders of the realm and occasionally to see how things went on the front.

The second afternoon had presented a lengthy and somewhat tiresome afternoon tea with the Lady Elhianne. Her sincerity and well-meaning nature was, however, difficult to be annoyed with. The lady's condolences had been heartfelt and her utter dismay at the horrors Alaria had endured in the passed weeks was completely sympathetic.

Later that day, she had sent one of her ladies to the party's chambers to offer Alaria an array of gowns and robes, one more elaborate and poofy than the next (having been horrified at the tale of Alaria "loosing her clothes" to some magical trap in the lizardmen's den). Though beautifully crafted, Alaria had to admit, they were not exactly conducive to travel and adventure. Still, Alaria selected one of deep midnight blue velvet with elegant silver trimming that had sparked an idea.

Arrangements had begun to be planned for a memorial for the fallen Stormriders, though all agreed it would be inappropriate to hold them without Fen's presence. So that would wait.

Braddok spent his days familiarizing himself with tower and small keep, befriending several of the soldiers and shared an ale one evening with Lieutenant Goren who, after little conversation, Braddok remembered slightly. The two traded "battle stories" like two old veterans would.

His nights, to his great surprise, were being spent in Alaria's bed and he found himself acknowledging and enjoying feelings he had held for some time, it seemed.

Though he spent much of his first days praying and waiting and chatting with the catatonic druid, Haelan the Hilltender was surprised to find himself hailed as something of hero, separate from the rest. He enjoyed much time in the kitchens with Bridgetower's head chef, Mrs. Pottle. To his utter glee, the egg-laying hen, Elsie, had been not only kept safe in the keep, but had a sign outside its private coop reading "The Hilltender's Holy Hen."

It seemed many of the locals from the surrounding lands came to make visits and leave "gifts" of feed for the chicken, in exchange for ONE of her allegedly "holy eggs." Haelan thought this silly, but as the wise Mrs. Pottle pointed out, "Folks need sumthin' to give them comfort in uncertain times like these. And your Elsie is the best egg-layer I've ever seen!"

Haelan, though uncomfortable still, was forced to see the wisdom of this statement. He did request the sign be changed to "The Hill MOTHER'S Holy Hen" as the daelvar was quite sure the blessing of the chicken's bounty ought rightfully be due Faerantha and not himself. Mrs. Pottle promised it to be done that day.

Following their...altercation in the infirmary ward, Duor had moved in to the party's collective chambers and shared a room with Braddok, though in effect had the room to himself as the warrior was busy "smelting with the magess", as the dwarf jabbed in good-nature. 

On their fourth day, the party sat about taking in their break fast.

They were not accustomed to the attention and soft spoken "awe" the servants and guards around Bridgetower offered them and preferred to take meals themselves. While normally it would be seen as rude, the Lady Elhianne insisted that the companions be given as much privacy as they wanted in their time of mourning...though, as etiquette demanded, sent daily invitations to join her in the main hall for supper.

They had already decided that as soon as Fen were able and Alaria had completed whatever she was spending hours a day doing with Stenthil in the library, they would be off to Miralostae to aid in the fight and defense of the elvin capitol. Specifically, the treasure within, the mystic Eye of Arinane, was their main concern.

To their surprise, Fen entered the chamber, fully clothed and holding a pack and his spear, in apparent readiness to leave.

"FEN!" Haelan cheered with all of the brightness and smiles the halfling so easily conjured. He rushed over and gave the druid a tight hug around his waist.

Alaria, also, jumped up from the table and through her arms around the half-elf's neck. She said nothing but a light tear came down her cheek.

Fen returned the embrace and grinned, ever so slightly."It is alright, magess. I am alright."

The steamy form of Mister Meeessh floated over from [what had become] his place near the fireplace that burned all day and night, keeping the mephit as warm as it could in the near constant chill of the encroaching winter. He stood and looked up from with hands clasped together. "Meeessh ihs happy to shhheee mahssster Fehhn ihsss well."

"Thank you Meeessh. Good to see you too." the druid smiled back. He'd all but forgotten the mephit was in their company.

Duor had silently gotten up from his seat and edge his way to stand behind Braddok.

"It is fine, Duor. I hold no blame upon you...anymore. You were merely acting as is your nature. I have had my tears...and my crazed moments. I hope you will forgive my outburst and am please our friend, Haelan, was able to stay my angry hand.

"What transpired, and transpires still, is all the will of the Balance and I can only accept that Erevan and Festus are returned to the Cycle and shall, again, work their bravery and good for Orea in their own time...in their own new ways." Fen explained seeing the nervousness on the dwarf's face.

"Welcome back, my friend. Are you going somewhere?" Braddok asked with a smile, taking in the druid's traveling gear, as he gripped forearms and clasped him on the shoulder once Haelan and Alaria had backed away.

A look of shock flashed on Haelan's face. "Go somewhere? No, Fen, you can't! We have to..."

"Alas, my friends. I must away. It has been too long since I've conferred with my order and I have much to report. It may be they, also, have some insight that might aid our cause." the druid said in all seriousness.

Haelan's eyes again filled with tears. They'd only just gotten Fen "back" only to lose him, too! It was almost more than the halfling could bare. "But...you can't...not you too..."

"Do not feel sorrow, friend Haelan. I have not the words or means to thank you for your unerring attention and care. But do not fear. I will return before the greater moon's next fullness. I shall rejoin you as soon as I am able...wherever you may be." Fen explained.

Alaria, also shocked with the news, could make no argument. The druid had to do as he willed...or rather as his order willed. She had no doubts he spoke true and they would see him again as soon as he could.

"Be well, Fen. Keep yourself safe." Alaria said calmly, though tears also welled up in her eyes.

"And you, magess. You all!" Fen replied. "By the next full silver moon. I promise...my friends."

Braddok gave the half-elf another tight grip on the forearm and a serious but understanding nod.

The druid turned to leave before Duor said, through a throat-clearing cough, "Fen...take care o' yerself."

The half-elf looked over his shoulder at the dwarf and grinned slightly with a nod. Then he left the chamber.

Haelan looked at Alaria, then Braddok, then Duor...just the four of them now...well, and Meeessh. "What are we going to do? What about the memorial? What about Miralostae?"

Alaria sniffed back the tears in her eyes and sat back down to finished her tea and light breakfast. "We do as we planned, Haelan. You heard Fen, we'll see him in a couple of weeks. Til then..."

"We do what we do, Hilltender. Remember?" Braddok said with a reassuring hand on the daelvar's shoulder. 

*

The whole of the tower thundered and clapped with the unknown flurry of magics being set off within the library. Servants shook and guards gave each other nervous looks with each long rumbling. Everyone had been alerted that the Magess Alaria "Stormrider" and Magist Stenthil would be in deep conference for the extent of the day and under NO circumstances were they to be disturbed.

A particularly loud crash of thunder caused Haelan to flinch visibly. The halfling stood outside the doors of the library as Braddok came walking up.

"By the gods, what are they doing in there? Am I early? Is Alaria alright? She said to come at one bell passed midday." the swordsman said.

"I believe..." the daelvar flinched as another peel of thunder shook the hallway, "...they are recharging Alaria's lightning staff. But, yes. you're on time...I think, though I could not hear the bell above all of this fury."

Inside the library, Alaria stood back, her lightning spell exhausted almost as much as she.

Stenthil, on the other hand, was giddy with power. He exercised his magical craft in a way he hadn't done (or had cause to do) in years. "HAHAHA! By the Blue Star, I'd forgotten how FUN this is!" the grey-bearded wizard chuckled.

The lap-drake, Amarys, had found herself a spot on a shelf, buried under rolls of scrolls, clasping her forearms over her unseen ears.

By contrast, Meeessh flitted and flipped through the air all around the staff that hovered across the library from the two mages. The mephit was letting out a constant stream of tea-kettle like hisses and whistles which alaria took to be laughing. Being a creature of air and water vapor, the mephit had no fear of electricity and found the discharging and residual sparks lovely and tickling...as close to being in his own plane as he had encountered in this strange "solid" world.

"That should be enough, I think, Master Stenthil." Alaria said finally. "Perhaps one more...Devrim, would you care to do the honors?" she said turning to the awestruck apprentice who had been standing by with a tray of wool and copper wires and some beverages for the "true Magi." The young man's dark hair stood on end in all directions from the static that pervaded the entire library.

"Really?!" he said excitedly, almost dropping the tray. At Stenthil's instruction, he'd studied the incantation for shocking grasp, but had not dared to dream that in the presence of these "powerful wizards" he would be called upon to _help_!

Stenthil looked at his pupil and smiled. "Go ahead, young Devrim. Give it a try! Just like we've practiced."

Devrim neared the staff and reached out cautiously. 

"Don't ACTUALLY touch it, mind! Just near...That's right." the kindly old magist offered instruction and encouragement.

Devrim cast the spell. He'd memorized it and ran it over in his mind a hundred times that morning. His hand burst into a ball of electrical sparks and, almost immediately, felt the energy being pulled...ripped...from around his wrist and into the banded staff.

"Wow!" Devrim said with as much excitement as he had uttered before the spell. "That was awesome!"

"Heh heh heh. Yes, Devrim...it is. Well done." Stenthil smiled in approval.

Alaria, similarly, grinned at Devrim. Though the man was little younger than she, if at all, she still thought of the young man as a child...and in the ways of the Mysteries, he was. She went and grabbed the staff out of midair.

The staff sparked at her touch and Alaria felt the give and flow of the energies within it. Yes, this would do nicely...for a time, she thought.

"Now!" Stenthil clapped his hands rubbed his palms together. "What's next? You've some items, I believe? Won't be as exciting as this has been...but still a good lesson."

Alaria shook her head in agreement and ushered in Haelan and Braddok. The halfling toted their one remaining pack of holding and Braddok with the sapphire studded scabbard hanging from his swordbelt that clasped the warriors soft long blue tunic around his waist.

By Manat, he was handsome, Alaria thought to herself. As fact she had been noticing more and more with each passing day. The two humans shared a grin of mutual admiration and affection.

Haelan pretended not to notice, though his eyes rolled in reflex. This "lovey dovey stuff" had been going on more and more every day since their arrival. The Hilltender wished the image of Braddok's butt an inch away from his face would leave his mind forever.  

"Very good. Very good. Just here. Place them here. What do we have then?" Stenthil said as he hastily cleared away some tomes and scrolls from one of the many tables scattered around the library.

"Let's start simple." Alaria said and instructed Haelan to remove the potions they'd found in the behir's treasure trove. Thankfully, to all of them, Haelan had somehow become the unofficial "carrier of the potions" and so they had not been lost, as so much of the coins and gems had been, with Festus' demise. Alaria shook the image of the blob of melting flesh and bone in the acid pool from her mind.

"Ah yes. Excellent. Pay heed, young Devrim. The Divination of Identification is one of the Mysteries most valuable and closely guarded secrets. It will tell you everything you need to know about what an item does and cannot do, how to access their powers and, perhaps, if you're lucky" Stenthil winked at the assembled audience, "a bit of its history as well."

He looked over the various flasks of colored liquids with great interest. "Now, there are many in the Craft that can identify potions simply on sight and smell. Alchemists, mostly, but there are others with the experience or knowledge.

"You friend, Magess, the Emerald Lady...what is it they crudely call her in the Laklans? Ah yes, the 'Green Witch'. heh heh heh. Ah country folk...Manat bless them. But she is particularly skilled in the identification and crafting of potion.

"THIS, " the old wizard exclaimed, holding up the blue potion, "should smell like winter berries and if I don't miss my guess would offer the imbiber great strength." The wizard pulled out the stopper and took a brief whiff. "We shall see, eh? Yes, we shall see. But you have to make sure!" he said with a tone of warning to the apprentice. "Potions, like any other magic, are never a sure thing and might be cursed or enchanted to appear as other than they are. 

"HENCE, the divination of identification is always advised, if not strictly necessary. I will require ABSOLUTE silence to heed the pings of the ether." he finally concluded. 

With some intricate hand movements (like fingers playing a piano) Stenthil passed his hands over the bare table. He mumbled some unheard syllables and a ring of arcane symbols appeared in a circle, glowing just above the top of the table.  

He placed the vial of blue liquid in to the circle and placed a hand to his forehead.

"Uh huh...uh huh...Yes...it's coming..." the others simply watched the curiosu old man.

"What's an 'imbiber'?" Braddok whispered to Haelan.

"The guy who drinks it." Haelan whispered back.

"SILENCE!" Stenthil said, without opening his eyes. His voice echoed through the library as much as the thunder. Haelan and Braddok's eyes opened wide.

The two seasoned adventurers looked like youths with their hands caught in the cookie jar under a disapproving glance from Alaria.

"Yes...there it is. HA!" Stenthil said in triumph as his eyes snapped open and he picked up the blue potion from the circle. "A potion of strength...just as I said. Heh heh heh. Old Stenthil's still got it!"

Next he sniffed at the pink potion with red flecks in it. "This...*sniff again* This is curious...I'm not sure...smells like *sniff a third time* PHEW! Body sweat and...blood?"

He placed the potion within the glowing circle of runes. Closed his eyes and placed a hand to his forehead again. 

"Ahhhh..." the wizard intoned before quickly opening his eyes and removing the potion from the circle. "This is NOT to be ingested orally!"

"Huh?" Braddok said.

"You don't drink it." Haelan said as way of explanation.

"Quite right. Quite right, Hilltender." Stenthil explained. "It is an elixir to return a petrified creature to its normal, flesh and blood, state. Terribly handy if you happen to be come across a basilisk...or the medusae...There are the spells for it also, of course, attributed to the ancient necromancer Themgrior, which cause a similar effect...Terrible fate for any, I tell you that! The breath of a gorgon is said to cause the transformation also..." Stenthil began to ramble.

"Magus Stenthil...if you please. The next potion?" Alaria interrupted recalling at once the magist's propensity for long-winded, however informative, monologues.

"Ah yes, indeed..." he pulled the stopper off of the flask of the clear but thick liquid. "It...huh...it smells like...well...like you, Meesh. heh heh." said the wizard.

"Meeessh! Mhyyy name ihsss Meeessh! Meeessh nohhhht smehhhhll!" the mephit said in annoyance. 

Stenthil looked at the mephit in confusion...that's what he'd said, or so he thought. He again closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment.

"Ah...uh huh...yes quite..." Stenthil said to himself more than his audience.

After a moment the three companions seemed ready to fall into the table leaning forward awaiting the wizard's discernment.

He pulled the flask out of the circle of runes and put the stopper back in.

Another few beats passed. 

"Well?!" Alaria finally said in frustration.

"Oh, yes quite. This potion will give the imbiber the form of mist...a sentient gas for up to a day's time, unless they wish to return to a solid form. Now, mind! Once you've become solid again, the transmutation is spent. But you will be aware, able to see and hear and move upon the air, even as a cloud, for the length of you intangibility."

Alaria nodded in apparent understanding. Between "sentient" and "transmutation" and "intangibility" Braddok was thoroughly lost, but he felt he had the gist...and if Alaria understood, he had no worries.

"Now...this sword?" Stenthil said and held out a hand to Braddok. "Magess Alaria, would you care to conference? You are familiar with the identification divination, are you not?"

"I am...by your own generosity and that of Bridgetower. [_Alaria had transcribed the spell in this very library...I think, though had never had the time to invoke it in their travels._] Thank you, Magus. I shall indeed." Alaria said with all formality.

She had memorized this spell specifically for this purpose, though she had wished to be able to get a gleaning of those magic acorns Fen had received as well...the curious blade had puzzled her ever since Braddok's assertion that it "spoke" to him.

Alaria moved closer to the table, beside Stenthil, and ran her hands over the surface of the table in flickering fingers just as Stenthil had and spoke the same syllables. The ring of runes floating slightly above the table grew in size to an oval before the two wizards.

Stenthil gently placed the sword, still in its scabbard, upon the table within the oval. It stuck outside the runes at either end (being nearly the length of Braddok's impressive arm span).

The two wizards placed hands to their forehead and closed their eyes in tandem.

"Oh my...yes...very powerful...Do you see that, Magess?...This _is_ some thing..." Stenthil began to babble before his eyes shot open as he called out, "MANAT'S STAR!"

As the older wizard was exclaiming, Alaria's eyes also shot open, but instead of her eyes, bright blue light shown forth. Alaria's mouth opened and began to speak, and the light shown from her mouth as well.

The magess' voice ushered forth but was...behind?...or within, a different voice, sharp...it sounded...emotionless...cold...metallic?

Braddok moved toward the table but Haelan pressed a hand into his abdomen to stay him. 

Devrim backed away from the table and made the five-pointed star  motion with his hand of Manat's Blue Star to protect him from the unknown magic.

"_I am Kandu...Fourth of Six...as is evident from my gems of power...We, brothers and sisters all, were forged in the Dawning Age by the titan Grangidon...our sole [or was that "soul"?] purpose to bring Order to the Chaos of Ahl's making..._"

"Alaria?" Braddok asked softly.

Her mouth again opened and the blue light ushered forth again, "_I am, BY FAR, the most intelligent of us...I can see afar at great distance...as I told you, though was not fully awake after so long left to sleep...I can reveal the defilement of evil and magic upon a whim...None under enchantment escape my notice...My specific purpose to destroy the horrors of the Chaosbringer...None can escape my notice...nor resist my wrath...And with my jeweled sleeve, no effect of the Unholy shall again assault your body or soul..."
_
"Well, that sounds...all good...doesn't it? Uh...Mister Kandu...sword-guy, sir...can we have our magess back, please?" Haelan cautiously offered.

The daelvar was unceremoniously shushed by Stenthil, "Do not break the trance!" the wizard whispered in wonder.     

"_I have read your heart, Braddok Kar Barforth, and find you true and righteous...I am yours to wield in this time of trouble...I have seen your mind and trials, your unfortunate past and present...I will be your arm and you shall be mine. Together we shall quash the rising tide of evil as was and ever has been the intention of my maker._.._to the never ending glory of Ahl_ _and Zho and all of the forces of good in this world..._"

Alaria closed her mouth. The light faded from Alaria's eyes even as she closed them, unconscious, and fell to the floor in a feint.

Braddok jumped over the table as Stenthil and Haelan rushed around. She was already returning to consciousness.

Devrim ran to get a cup of water from the tray he'd previously held. The magess took it and gulped thirstily.

"Are you alright?" Braddok said, his voice full of concern. "If that weapon has cursed you in any way, I shall cast it into the river even now." The swordsman looked at the weapon lying on the table.

The ring of runes was fading from view. The sapphires in the scabbard glittered a bit, whether it was the light from the glowing runes or some internal magic, he could not say, but in a blink they looked as they always had.

"I am fine, Braddok...but did not realize the identification divination left one without memory! What is the point of that?" Alaria said with mild annoyance.

"You don't remember, Magess?" Stenthil said in confusion.

Alaria shook her head.

"Well, it seems your man Braddok, here, has found himself quite the enchanted blade. seems we have much more to do!" Stenthil said as Braddok helped Alaria, who protested several times that she was fine, to her feet.

"Yes, much more research is needed. If you are up to it, Magess, your aid will be most welcome. My good warrior, will it be alright if we keep this weapon for a few hours more? I have so many questions!" Stenthil more said than asked.

"If...uh...if Alaria thinks you should. Then yeah, fine." Braddok answered. "But I'm staying too."

"Yes, yes. Of course." Stenthil said over his shoulder as he moved to the rows of books and scrolls. "DEVRIM! Bring me _Abalard's Accounts of Ancient Arms_...OH! And the histories of the Dawning Age...you are welcome to stay as well, Hilltender...eight eyes are better than six, after all. heh heh...Eh, you can read can you not?" the wizard said as he disappeared into the rows of shelves.

"Of course I can read!" said Haelan indignantly. "But this seems a bit more of Alaria's area. If you please, I shall go find Duor and take in a bit of lunch."

"Amarys, get outta there! I need the Treatise of Titans...Grangidon... Grangidon..." the mage's voice returned as it trailed off as he moved further and further back into the library.  

"Good sword you have there, Braddok. See you later." Haelan said with a cautious look at the sheathed sword on the table. "And...uh...nice to meet you, too, Kandu."

Alaria looked at the daelvar's back curiously before turning to Braddok.

"Who's Kandu?" she asked.


----------



## steeldragons

The hours in the day passed, slowly.

The sun had set an hour or so ago and the two experienced wizards continued to pour over various books and scrolls. They had declined Haelan's invitation to come to dinner and had barely touched the tray of food the daelvar priest had had sent to the library for them. 

Braddok had fallen asleep in one of the more comfortable chairs at a different table from where the wizards worked. Poor Devrim had also drifted off, his occasional snores reminding the magi that he was face down in some large manual. The lap-drake, Amarys had similarly curled up in one of her favored nap spaces in the stacks somewhere. A periodic hissing, like steam escaping a kettle, told Alaria that Meeessh was still about soundly sleeping.

Alaria took a break from the research to work on edging her new dark blue gown with runes of protection. She had removed several of the underskirts so that it fit and fell more simply and would allow better movement in her travels. Some simple cantrips aided in her removing and re-sewing the silver trim. She had never really spent time learning the finer points of embroidery, much to her mother's displeasure.

When all was said and done, Alaria hoped, the robe might lend her some added protection from various magics and elements, much like Fen's sacred druid cloak. 

The afternoon, evening, and now early night were proving useful and informative. It did not take long for Stenthil to track down that "Grangidon" had been a titan of the Dawning Age. Not the least of his accolades was fathering the legendary titan smith, Doron, creator of the great artifacts of power known collectively, now, simply as the "Gifts of Doron." They were attributed amazing powers throughout the histories and myths of Orea and were said to bring about the Age of Order out of Chaos, long long ago. Ages, even, before the Godswar.

Gragidon, himself, had also been a master smith (as many of the Children of Ahl, the great titans of old were well-versed in the working of stone and the riches of the earth). Among the tales of his achievements was the crafting of a series of blades simply referred to as "The Six." Each was imbued with powerful magics, as only the titans possessed.

They were described in Stenthil's ancient book, to Alaria's initial confusion, as daggers or knives. Stenthil was quick to point out that what would be a "dagger" to a titan would easily be a sword, even a very large one, to human hands.

Each of the blades were named and decorated with various gems (the perfection of the beauty of the treasures of Ahl's earth being one of the titans' greatest pleasures). Sunstone, Emerald, Amethyst, Sapphire, Moonstone and Ruby were all mentioned, in order. The fact that Kandu's scabbard was decorated with four sapphires seemed to confirm the sword's assertion that "he" was "Fourth of Six."

This caused Braddok to immediately think back to the inn of the Ruby Scabbard and the great two-handed sword and scabbard crusted with six giant rubies, that hung over Bobrik's bar in Hawkview.

Stenthil and Alaria agreed that this could, very possibly, be one of the titan's great works.

As to the location of other of the mystic blades, there was some limited detail to their powers and proposed uses, but no inkling as to their whereabouts all of these ages later. Alaria had little interest in this, believing their possession of ONE of the great swords was more than enough to handle at this point.

Alaria and Stenthil also spent some time seeking anything they could find about the realm once called "Gorathgraard", "Nor Gorthok", the Lord Gorathiel and his daughters. Of this, they could find very little other than one account of a clan of dwarves from Naradun who came to the east to construct and renovate a great citadel for what was called an "great aelfin king and lord of magic."

The tale went on to assert it became one of "the great Nors" which this same clan constructed across the north in the days before the Five Tribes of Men had moved throughout the world. They included Nor Gorthok, Nor Tyrilith (also constructed for a "great aelfin warrior-king"), Nor Caerkiard (reputed to be destroyed during the reshaping of the realms during the Godswar), and Nor Avadok (which Alaria and Stenthil concurred was the current fortress-city of the now elf realm of Miralostae called Nor Evand). 

Shortly after eight bells, Haelan returned to the library. "The seneschal's boy came to the chambers. He said Captain Rynthis needed to see us, right now! All of us."

Alaria apologetically took her leave from Stenthil and the large library where she felt so at home. They roused Braddok and Meeessh and the group met Duor outside of the captain's office.

Being ushered in at all speed, Rynthis greeted the party and moved the side table behind which, Alaria knew, was the hidden room with the giant magic mirror (via which Bridgetower maintained contact with the Dragonmage's keep two days deeper into the realm).

"My apologies for calling on you at this hour, Magess, but the Stormriders are summoned." 

Rynthis explained hastily as the party moved into the hidden chamber lined with sconches that rose in flames to light the room and flicker across the massive reflective surface. "They are here, my lady."

The surface of the mirror glowed faintly and rippled and the image of the Lady of the Emerald Tear, Rhea, appeared larger than life within the glass.

"My greetings and condolences to you all, Stormriders. Captain Rynthis has relayed the reports of your recent losses." Rhea began. "I am sorry to not be able to convey them in person, but the time grows short for the security of the realms. It is, however, good to see you again among the living, Braddok kar Barforth." the lady smiled poltiely.

"My thanks, Rhea. What can we do for you?" Alaria replied. The magess felt herself blushing to recall the words of the Green Witch from their time in Welford about men being "good for some things." Alaria prayed to herself that Rhea would not be reading her mind and the all too fresh memories of being in Braddok's arms. In an attempt to not linger upon those thoughts, Alaria quickly continued, "We have heard conflicting reports of the Steel Dragons' time on the battlefront. I trust you all are well?"  

"The Dragonmage-apparent did suffer a grave wound some weeks ago. He is well now. However, that does go to what I wanted to speak with you about.

"The Lordmage, Montor's father, has forbidden his sons' return to the front. The line of the Dragonmage is far too tenuous at this time to risk his life further. Montor, of course, is not pleased by this decree, but is in no position or inclination to disobey his father. Silran and his sister, Erilyn, remain in Miralostae aiding their people...as is their duty. Carak remained as well. But the rest of us have returned to Daenfrii to do what we can to thwart the rising tide from here.

"Your news has proven most enlightening. Though the Lordmage's war council considers the word of a goblin as scant proof, even the possibility that Tresahd might be, in fact, the wyrm Desaarthal in some cloaked form is too grave to ignore. The supposition that the necromancer might be trying to take the Eye of Arinane and revive Shaarzak is doubly troubling."

"I had meant to send word about that, actually. Is the Ihs Repahl safe? Might it be possible for me to reclaim the orb? I think it would be a great boon to our cause." Alaria interjected.

Rhea looked at the magess with curiosity. "The orb remains secure, however, it is the decision of the council that the dark wizard's quest for the Eye to be our greatest threat. The powers of the elves' sacred orb are not entirely known and if Tresahd is able to claim it, the consequences could well prove unstoppable. My Sight has recently proven unable to pierce the veils of the future...there are too many forces in flux." Rhea admitted with some evident disappointment.

After a moment of thought, Rhea continued, "As to returning the Ihs Repahl to your hands, Magess...I am afraid I can not say. I shall propose it to the council. Though I can already imagine the idea will meet with resistance.

"Our request for you, Stormriders, if you choose to accept it, would be to journey to Miralostae and do some reconnaissance. Hopefully provide some solid evidence of Tresahd's intentions and, if possible, his true identity."

"Well, we were going there anyway." Haelan now piped in. "I know Erevan would want us to."

The others were quick to agree and accept the mission.

"Very well. I shall arrange transport for you on the morrow. You will meet an ally upon your arrival in Evandrial. An aid in our cause. From there, he can help direct you on your way.

"You have our thanks, Stormriders, and the thanks of the Lordmage. May the gods heed our prayers for your safety and success." Rhea said in closing.

As her image began to fade from the mirror, the Emerald Lady glanced at Alaria and gave her a knowing grin and a wink.

In the magess' mind, Rhea's words echoed across the ether, *_And Magess Alaria? Good for you._* 

Then Rhea was gone and the mirror went dark, simply reflecting the company and flickering magical flames around the room.

Alaria returned to the library to continue her projects while the others all retired to bed. 

Tomorrow was sure to prove a long day on their continuing adventure. Haelan, moreso than the rest, wondered repeatedly at who this "ally" might be.

"Nuthuh point-ear, no doubt. Won't be any substitue fer Erevan, though. I'll tell yeh that." Duor responded in sincerity.   

"Of course not, Duor. But any aid will be welcomed." Braddok replied, sharing the dwarf's unspoken mourn.


----------



## steeldragons

"I...HATE...THIIIISSSSS!" Duor cried into the wind as the world blurred beneath him from the back of the great hawk.

"YOU ATE WHAT?!" came Haelan's unseen voice from somewhere else in the air.

"IT'S NOT LONG NOW, DUOR." Alaria's also unseen voice replied to the dwarf.
*
An hour or two before...*

The companions, minus Alaria, rose and had a hearty breakfast. Braddok had woefully noted that Alaria had not returned to her chambers that night but was informed by the servant that brought their morning meal, "The Magess spent her night in the library. We've brought her and Master Stenthil their breakfast there." This was enough to waylay Braddok's concerns and the warrior broke his fast with Haelan and Duor. 

Haelan had to admit, through a full mouth (of course) of bacon and eggs, that "haffin' home cooked meavs ish *swallow* much nice than the food from the stone bowl. Don't you think?"

Duor ate in relative silence. The dwarf wasn't sure whether the daelvar's table manners or his unending cheerfulness in the mornings was the more annoying trait. What the dwarf _did_ know, was that the loss of three companions on their last venture (Duor did not count Coerraine's death as specifically his "fault" as he did for Festus or Erevan) but he was going to do everything in his power (even give his BEARD!) to avenge their deaths and thwart the plans of the evil Tresahd/Desaarthal...if the Bulgruch, as it appeared, were directly involved, he'd feel the dwarf's dagger in his back as well...and any other wizard or dragon, dragon-snake or goblinoid 
that got in his way.

Girded for travel, freshly supplied and freshly clothed, armor and arms well-oiled, and travel cloaks clasped (all of the Stormriders had been gifted fresh new traveling cloaks in the blue and grey striped style of the Bridgetower guard by the Lady Elhianne) the men were guided by Captain Rynthis' manservant to the large open top of the great tower.

To their surprise, two giant hawks and a griffon and their armored elvin riders awaited their arrival. From the highly elevated vantage point, they could see the dusting of snow that had fallen the previous night, quickly melting in various places of their immediate vicinity, but providing a solid blanket of white to the north.

Haelan was sure to keep behind Braddok...the giant hawks made the daelvar incredibly nervous even if they were "tamed."

To their greater surprise, as well as Braddok's appreciation, Alaria stood with one of the elf warriors and the magist, Stenthil. She had donned the midnight blue sleeveless robe, a long slit up the right leg. All of the edges were trimmed in silver runes that sparkled in the bright morning light. Her dark blue cloak billowed in the cold air of the full-on winter morning. Her long dark brown hair, normally free flowing, was bound high on the back of her head into a thick ponytail held by a thick silver clasp engraved with winding scrolling lines. She held her Staff of Azanna and was girded with a belt of white leather, also clasped with silver. The multitude of pouches and sacks that normally cluttered her belt was much reduced in number, but a cord held two scroll cases to one side.

She was a lovely vision to behold in the bright morning, thought Braddok.

"Alaria! You look lovely! Very...uh...wizardy." Haelan was the first to admire, from his "safe place" behind Braddok's thick thighs. 

She smiled at the compliment. "I'm glad you approve, Haelan. Your new tabbard is equally sharp...very fetching. And you all."

The Hilltender smoothed out the front of his new pine-green tabbard with a smile of pride. The Hilltender's wooden holy symbol had been replaced with one of silver, as a gesture from Ole Midge. The large amulet in the shape of a pinecone sitting on a bed of pine needles also glittered in the morning sun. The daelvar had also taken the time and a few coins, to have the slightly oversized helmet of the fallen elvin defender of Silverfall resized in the passed days by the resident smith. It's fresh polish gave the halfling's head a halo of sorts.

Braddok had also acquired a new long flowing blue tunic, one of the Bridgetower soldier's uniform, to wear over his armor. The sapphire studded scabbard and freshly shined shield emblazoned with the stylized swallowtail hawk of his family crest also shone in the early light.

Duor's dark brown armor and dark grey cloak had also been mended and cleaned, but maintained its lusterless plain color, exactly as the dwavish rogue desired.

Meeessh looked as Meeessh always looked, giving off wisps of steam from any bent point or edge. Though, the companions noted, he was nearly invisible as the morning sun passed through his white-bluish-grey misty form.

They did, indeed, look like a group of heroes from legend.

"These are your Stormriders, Magess? I had been told you were a larger group." said the elf lieutenant. His nose curled up in an obvious lingering sneer at the dwarf, "That they were more...diverse. Where is the half-human? I had also been told there was a kiiri of Eres'ka Aiiri?"

"I'll give yeh some diversity right now, point-ear." said Duor in direct opposition.

"Alas, lieutenant, we are those that remain. Our druid companion shall meet us in Evandrial (Alaria very much hoped). Your kiiri, to our great sorrow, met his end on our last foray." Alaria replied coolly.

"I do hope this won't pose a problem for you or your men."

"Not at all, Magess. Though we are greatly grieved to hear of our kiiri's loss. The songs shall be sung beneath the moons." the lieutenant replied, seemingly unperturbed by the magess' condescension.

"You and the warrior may join me atop the griffon. The vaari and dwarf may take their places on the backs of the hawk-riders."

No sooner had they said their farewells to Stenthil and Rynthis and a teary-eyed Elhianne than the companions mounted their respective winged transports and risen into the air. They moved away from the tower with great speed before, at the lieutenant's lead, the three elvin riders intoned a simple masking spell and the griffon and two hawks disappeared from view.

A few hours later, not even yet midday, they were whisking above a thick green wood that seemed to show no signs of having been snowed upon and with a stomach-jolting dive circled around down into view of a village?...no much larger and more intricate than a village...of domiciles of white wood, arching and spiring among the talled tree tops.

Upon another command from the lieutenant, the griffon and hawks again became visible to each other during their descent. They alit upon a wide open platform at the end of a railed walkway that extended out along an unnaturally thick branch of one of the silver-trimmed leafy trees.

Two guards stood at the perimeter of the platform.

The guards made no movements at the party's arrival. They simply watched, standing stoically with quivered bows and elegantly curved spears in hand. Their flowing silver and green tunics and cloaks rustled in the wind created by the great winged creatures' landing.

The lieutenant, Althan by name, dismounted and held out a chivalrous hand to aid Alaria off of the giant lion-eagle beast. "Be welcomed to Evandrial, Alaria of the Stormriders." Althan said. 

Duor landed, quite unceremoniously on his face and simply looked up at the hawk-rider that had easily lept off of the giant bird's back. The elf looked down at the dwarf but made no comment.

Haelan was more lifted down than aided by his hawk's rider.

"Thank you, Eliel." Haelan said gratefully. "That was quite a trip. And thank you, Soral." the daelvar added patting the golden brown hawk's side with an appreciative but still cautious hand.

"Not at all, Hilltender. It was a glorious flight." replied the hawk.

Haelan jumped in surprise at the talking beast. "Yes...uh...it was. Well done. heh heh. Thanks again." he smiled up at the giant curved beak that could easily snap him in twain before trotting over to where Alaria and Braddok waited.

"Did you hear that?!" Haelan said in an excited whisper. "My hawk talked! Duor, did yours talk?! Can you imagine? I mean, I knew the realm of the elves was a magical place...but talking hawks!"

Lieutenant Althan smiled down at the daelvar cleric as one would a child. "Yes, indeed, Hilltender. Evandrial is a realm of wonder...and one we seek very much to protect. I believe you are to meet with Lord Seniiris. This way please."

The party was led to a comfortable space. Puffballs of blue-white light sat in sconces shaped like opened lilies along the impossibly narrow columns carved and etched to appear as leafy boughs themselves. They turned to pointed arches high over the party's heads and sloped, further, into a high pointed done inscribed with imagines of stars and clouds and birds flying.

The "chamber", if it could be so called, was open via these arches on all sides, providing breath-taking views of the surrounding "city" of Evandrial and the Miralostae forest. They could easily see many elves going about their daily business, moving to and fro other similarly open "buildings" over branch paths and delicate bridges...some of which seemed to have no supports at all, merely sticking out of the side of the trees.

Duor knocked upon the bleached white wood and scoffed. "Pff. Wouldn't stand up to a single hammer strike. Daft point-ears don't know how to construct a proper stronghold."

With a disapproving look from Haelan, the dwarf added/defended, "Well, I don't mean Erevan! He weren't any engineer. But whoever constructed this place didn't know his archways from his elbows."

"I suspect, Duor," Alaria offered as she poured herself a bit of clear water from an elegant silver pitcher into a crystalline goblet that was also shaped like a lily, "that the elves support their construction with magics. However, humans have been making perfectly good construction with timber for as long as there have been humans on Orea."

"Aye. True enough, Magess. But not this skinny!" Duor retorted in apparent disapproval. "I mean, lookit this! How'd yeh hide behind this thing?! I've got thicker ankles!" Duor said and stood before one of the slender arches. The dwarf's girth easy extended a foot to either side of the "column."

"Ehem!" came a surprising sound from one end of the chamber behind the companions.

They turned to see an elf in a silver and green flowing tunic. He...or was it a she?...was slender and beautiful. The chiseled features and bright green sparkling eyes of the elf reminded Alaria of Erevan's inhuman beauty. Golden flowing hair that seemed to move in some unfelt breeze trailed off his?...her?...back, unbound save for a delicate silver ring around its brow.

Alaria, who had long desired to visit the elf realm, envied the overall air of natural beauty and unearthly freedom that exuded from the elf. From everywhere they had been since their arrival.

"The Lord Regent will see you now. This way if you please." the elf said calmly. He or she turned with a disapproving glance at Duor, and led the party down a long bridge of white wood. 

The railings were carved to also appear as leafy boughs and vines...occasionally there was the image of a squirrel or chipmunk climbing among the foliage or the occasional finch or robin with its beak opened in song.

Haelan was surprised and felt, for sure, he'd seen one actually move! A chipmunk climbed up and along the bridge with them as they passed, until it came to rest and hold up some nut or seed to its mouth. Haelan was going to say something, but thought the others would find him foolish. After a blink or two, the "eating chipmunk" appeared unmoving, as nothing more than another carving.

The party continued at an even, though somewhat slow pace, as they passed over the bridge and along another path that spiraled around an impossibly wide tree trunk, eventually becoming wide open stairs that led up.

They finally came to a huge platform at what they presumed had to be the top of the tree. The "hall" was again, mostly open on all sides, though a few solid walls appeared here and there. 

Some were obvious construction, all engraved and carved heavily to appear as if they were in the tree itself, and some looked to be the actual branches of the living tree.

There were many small tall tripod tables on slender legs. Some held pitchers and goblets, others crystal bowls of fruits and berries and nuts, while still others were completely bare.

Around these tables stood many elves. Most were dressed in long almost gossamer robes or flowing tunics. They each bore delicate jewels of glittering metals and precious stones about their heads, necks and wrists. They were wrapped with the various colors of nature. Most were the deep blues and violets of a night starlit sky. But there were others in the rosy pink of dawn, the purest palest blue of an untouched stream, the soft silvery greens of the silverleaf trees that surrounded them.

None spoke, to the party or each other, simply watched with emotionless faces and a sparkling diversity of vibrant eye color, as the party followed their guide, directly through the center of the hall to another collection of figures upon a dais at the far end.

Meeessh made flourishing waves to either side at the observing elves. A broad smile on his misty face. He was a few paces behind the others and so did not receive any rebuke from Alaria.

"My lord, Seniiris, regent of Evandrial, I bring to you the Stormriders as requested by the Emerald Lady of Daenfrii." the guide said calmly.

The central figure upon the throneless dais, turned slowly and nodded at the guide before returning to speak in hushed tones to the others with him upon the dais.

The guide, with an unacknowledged nod in return, turned and left the hall.

The Stormriders stood for a moment. Uncomfortable enough with the apparent attention their entrance had warranted. They were made to shift more uncomfortably to simply standing, ignored (?), by the elflord they had been told they were come to see. 

"Well...?" Duor said. His voice, somehow, in this elegant audience chamber, sounded crass and hard and louder than he had actually been...completely out of place among these regal figures and surroundings.

Alaria stayed any further word from the dwarf with a quick motion and disapproving glance.

The lord regent slowly rose an arm to a doorway at the side of the dais and the elf he had been speaking to in unheard voice, turned with a nod and a glance at the Stormriders as he left.

Alaria and company noticed, for the first time, it was the lieutenant Althan. The magess was surprised just how similar all of the elf soldiers looked to each other. If not for the blond hair, green eyes, and heavier armor Alaria would have sworn it was Erevan, even at this close distance.

The Lord Regent Seniiris was tall and toned, the obvious muscles of his chest and arms that were free of the single-shouldered glittering white tunic he wore, bulged. The lord regent had hair that extended nearly to his knee, bound in a silver circle at his head with two long strands bound to either side of his face (in front of his pointed ears) with silver star-adorned circlets, and flowing unbound down his back. His eyes were a penetrating deep blue that seemed to glint with silver in the shimmering lights of the chamber.

The whole place seemed in a perpetual state of twilight even though, beyond the open archways, the bright midday sun filtered down among the high branches.

Bands of silver and gold circled his biceps and forearms, his bare thigh and, Alaria noticed, his ankle? The magess noticed the regent wore no shoes. She looked, as inconspicuously as she could, behind them to see that, in fact, none of the assembled elves wore shoes or boots or even sandals of any kind. All of the adorning jewelry was thin and delicately woven, looking like vines and/or leaves and/or many-pointed stars meeting at their points.

Just as Alaria was gearing up to break the uncomfortable silence, the Lord of Evandrial, the elvin province that translated as "Silversong" in the common tongue, spoke first.

His voice was thick and low, but seemed to trickle like honey over the party's ears. It too was easily heard throughout the hall though there was no hint of the elflord raising his voice at all.

"Greetings to you, Stormriders of Daenfrii." Seniiris said, plainly.

Alaria and Braddok, followed by Haelan and a reluctant Duor, bowed deeply at the elvin regent.

"Greetings Lord Seniiris. We..." Alaria began to reply before being cut off.

"I have heard of great deeds done by your company. The Emerald Lady and the seneschal of Bridgetower have spoken quite highly of your prowess." he said evenly...and again stopped.

"We are humb..." Alaria attempted to begin again.

"You are welcomed to Evandrial and Eres'ka Staliirosta in these dark times." the lord regent again addressed with seeming disregard for the magess' attempted responses.

This time, Alaria made no reply even though the others looked at her in question during the uncomfortably (to the humans, daelvar and dwarf) long pause.

"May I present to you, my first, Alharanda, the Morning Sun." the regent said and slowly stretched out an arm to the elvin woman (at least she was evidently a female!) to his right.

She all but shown with sunlight. Whether the glittering about her was due to the reflections of her shining dress or some elf magic said to be innate to the fabled star elves, the companions could not say.

The Lady Alharanda was dressed in a gown of shimmering gold, like the sun out of these doors. 

Her jewels and adornment was almost entirely gold as opposed to the mostly silver of the regent and many of the other elves present. Oddly, the only bit of her that did not include gold (including the flecks in her violet eyes), was her silvery hair that was bound in bands of more shining yellow gold, almost to the floor.

"Very nice to meet you Lady Alharanda." Haelan managed to get out as the whole of the company bowed again at, what they properly assumed to be Seniiris' wife...and further presumed "first" wife.

The companions received the smallest of nods in acknowledgement from the shining elvin noblewoman.

"This," the regent continued in his slow even-metered speech, "is my eldest...the Prince Parthyr." Seniiris turned, ever so slightly and raised his other arm to indicate the male elf to his left.

The Prince Parthyr, Alaria was SURE could have been Erevan. His eyes were almost the exact shade of lavender, offset somewhat starkly and yet complimented by the metallic coppery red tresses that flowed free (other than the glittering copper circlet around his brow) to the middle of his back. The prince wore a jerkin of deep violet purple edged in silver. He also, wore no leggings or shoes of any kind, his ankle and shin wrapped in a flowing band of silver and copper that looked something like a vine twining its way up his leg.

Parthyr gave the companions no nod of acknowledgement, just a slight blink in his penetrating stare.

"Oh! So you're Silran's brother then!?" Haelan again piped up with a bright smile. "We've met him. Fine elf, yes indeed. Saved our bacon back in Daenfrii. Wonderful swordsman!"

Parthyr just looked blankly, emotionless, at the Hilltender's (shocking to the prince) direct address.

"Silran is my third. I thank you, vaari, for your kind words. He is, indeed skilled in his arms." Seniiris replied.

Making progress, Alaria thought to herself. At least the regent was acknowledging something that had actually been uttered.

"My lord, Seniiris. You have our thanks at your hospitality in this most glorious of realms." 

Alaria paused in due ceremony. 

"And our arms are here at the behest of the Emerald Lady, directly...To aid in whatever way we can to the destruction and defeat of the dark forces rising throughout Miralostae."

"Nay, Magess." Seniiris replied with his palm held out toward Alaria. "The evil 'rises' not. It is in no way of the making of Miralostae...It is an invader that seeks to undo the whole of our realm...Our entire world if possible."

Alaria lowered her head. "Indeed, my lord. My Apologies for my misspeak."

"Have you not the child of Mistwood with you?" Seniiris said, not apparently swayed (or simply not caring) by Alaria's apology.

"Fen will be along shortly. By the next full silver, he said." Haelan offered.

The lord regent's midnight pupils shifted to the daelvar and he blinked in a slow nod. It seemed this was all of the acknowledgement he felt the daelvar needed.

"Apologies for our haste, my lord. But evil knows no propriety nor slows its pace." Alaria interjected, "We were told there would be an ally for us to meet here before we continued on to the front for our allotted mission."

"Indeed." Seniiris said. Another pregnant pause followed.

"Bloody hellfire and dragon's bones!" Duor finally said in exasperation. "Where's this ally of ours? And where's the front. Don't bother yerself! Just point us in the right direction!"

Alaria wanted, once again, to throttle the dwarf. Braddok's eyebrows rose in surprise as well. 

"Duor!" Haelan chastised outwardly made a backhanded slap in the dwarf's stomach.

"Oof. What?! We gonna wait around here all day?! Day's a-wastin'!" Duor answered angrily.

"I have been...forgetful...of the speed with which your kind experience the world. The apologies...are mine, dwarf." The regent, slowly, placed his palms together and nodded toward the party.

Apologies aside, it seemed among these elves, Duor would not be afforded any complimentary or human realm titles. "Dwarf" was the only name they had for his kind. "Feorn's beard, we're never gettin' out of here.", Duor thought to himself.

Seniiris, not noticing (or, again, caring) about the dwarf's indignity, turned and looked to an attendant at another of the formerly unnoticed doorways out of this hall.

The party waited but no one was immediately forthcoming. Unsure how to proceed, Alaria opened her mouth to again make pleasantries with the Lord Regent. She closed it before she made a sound as the golden lady Alharanda made a motion toward some other elf in the hall. Two robed elves came to the party. One with a tray of refreshment and one with a bowl of fruits and nuts.

"Please, take refreshment." Alharanda offered in what, compared to Seniiris, sounded a kindly manner.

"Got any meat?" Duor said in an obvious displeasure at the fruits and nuts offered.

Unphased, Alharanda made another slow motion with her arm and another elf came forward with a tray sporting a collection of cured and salted meats and pale but firm cheeses.

"Oh...well...uh...Thanks." Duor said in mild embarrassment.

"Your ally shall join us...shortly." Seniiris said stoically.

"Care to join us?" Haelan offered in friendship. "These are bloody good fruits! And this wine is fantastic!"

Alharanda smirked. Again, Haelan was met with the smile one would offer a child. "Our thanks, vaari. The kindly spirit of your race is a rare pleasure for us. Please, enjoy." the lady answered.

To everyone's surprise, the attending elves with the trays made their way to the single step of the dais and the royal family took, each, a goblet of wine and a single fruit, nut and piece of cheese, respectively.

"The songs shall be sung for the son of Eres'ka Aiiri this night." Seniiris offered, seemingly out of nowhere. "If you remain, you are most welcomed to partake."

"Our thanks, my lord regent. But I feel that we should be on our way as soon as possible. Erevan...er...the son of Eres'ka Aiiri would want it that way, we feel." Alaria replied in that casual but formal way one might at a cocktail party to someone one doesn't know well.

She sipped the simply luscious golden elfvine and grinned at the 'royal' family. She turned and nervously raised her glass to the other elves further back in the hall. This elicited a few nods and some soft grins. She was entirely uncomfortable to be partaking of refreshment in the presence of these noble elves when the others did not. It was like they were on display!

Duor had no such qualms. "Got any proper ale?" the dwarf said through a mouthful of thinly sliced salted venison.

"Regrettably, dwarf, we do not...Is the wine not to your liking?" Alharanda said after a moment.

A nudge in the ribs from Haelan's elbow altered the dwarf's initial response to a smiling "Oh yeah. It's great! Good venison too!"  

The lady and lord regent looked at each other, turning their heads in tandem ever so slightly and slowly. The regent, his wife and the prince stood, motionless while the party had a polite modest (standing!?) repast.

"My lord, " Alaria began attempting to be formal but casual again, "can you tell us anything of the Eye of Arinane? We fear that may be the goal of the evil ones' invasion."

"We have known this for some time." Seniiris replied. "The Eye shall never fall into the hands of evil. It has not for the entirety of our history. Even when my mother brought it from the Everyoung land...The Eye of Arinane has never left the hands of the ShiStaliiri."

This received a few low murmurs and agreeing nods among the assembled elves. Even a giggle or two. The Eye of Arinane to be taken from Miralostae? Out of the hands of elves?! Laughable.

It did, however, confuse Alaria a bit. The ShiStaliiri, the elves "of the Blood of the Stars" were the fabled elves of the realm far to the west and southern region of the continent. The Miralostae, to her knowledge, were a different race of elves who left and/or were subsequently expelled from that kingdom...apparently referred to as "the Everyoung Land" by these elves...for entering into Orea's defense against the demon-godson, Aishapra during the Scourge Wars nearly five centuries passed. The Miralostae were not, any longer according to her teachings, of the Star Blood...It seemed, however, these elves firmly believed...or wanted to believe, they were.

"So, your mother was the fabled sorceress Nirastelyn?" Alaria asked in somewhat more surprise than she intended. "Erevan spoke very highly of her." she attempted to cover.

"She was." Seniiris answered. There was no need to say more than that, the elflord felt. "She was no fable, magess. I promise you." he added. These poor limited creatures called humans. History became legend and legend myth in the blink of an eye for them.

"My lord Seniiris, regent of Evandrial, may I present..." began the elvin attendant who had returned unnoticed from wherever he or she had gone. The elf looked curiously at the figure that moved passed him (or her) without ceremony. 

Alaria deftly replaced her goblet of elfvine upon the tray of a nearby elf before they all nodded a bow and took steps further back into the hall. Apparently, the repast was concluded. She watched the figure enter with complete amazement...as did the other companions.

This figure, barely clothed in a short wrap of a fabric about his waist, sauntered into the hall. He was tall , as tall as Braddok if not an inch or two more, and thoroughly muscled. His skin was a bronzed tan broken only by the belt about his waist, on which hung an impressive looking single bladed axe to one side and a short curved sword (more of a long dagger really) on the other, and a thick harness of leather that cut across his rippled torso. Attached, it seemed, to that harness in the center of his back was a quiver filled with arrows and a short bow.

To either side of the quiver, from his back, sprouted two huge wings of near golden color. Stripes of what seemed metallic bronze striped the pinions and were mirrored in the multitude of feathers among his golden hair that flowed from his head down to his shoulders.

A zepharim?! Alaria thought, immediately recognizing the winged humanoid. Our new ally is a zepharim!?!

"He's got wings!" Haelan whispered (loudly).

"Thank you, Haelan. I see that." said Alaria.

Seniiris nodded to the new arrival and the zepharim took a step back from the dais. He looked, briefly, at the assembled companions and returned his attention to the lord regent.

"Stormriders, I present to your company, Pirnyon <_Author/Dm's note: "PEERN-ee-on"_>." Seniiris paused.

The companions stood with expectant looks of welcome and smiles to the back of the winged man. 

He made no further indication of their presence.

"An agent, " Seniiris continued, "of our good friend and ally...Car'Tyr...the Wind Wizard." 

Alaria looked again, askance, at the great muscled back and wings to their right but closer to the dais than they. Nope, he's not moving.

"He has been charged to aid your mission...You will find him a most capable companion." Seniiris concluded.

"My thanks, lord regent." Pirnyon said, finally, with nod before turning toward the Stormriders.

"Welcome, Peernion." Haelan said enthusiastically. "Are those real?! I've never seen an angel before. Are you a real angel?! I mean, you must be, right? Look at you!" the daelvar practically bubbled all over himself.

A wispy eyebrow of either hair or feather (it was tough to tell) rose over the zepharim's eagle-like round amber eye as he looked at the daelvar.

"Greetings Pirnyon. I am Alaria. This is Braddok kar Barforth and..." Alaria began to make introductions.

"I have learned on your names. I am Pirnyon." Pirnyon answered. "It is good to meet you. I am...in sorrow?...No, 'sorry'...I am sorry that it is under the dark circumstances we find ourselves around...Apologies that my human speech is not as very good as I would like." the winged man said calmly. His face did betray a hint of sincerity and embarrassment and overall relaxed softness that the elvin faces they'd been around all day lacked. Though his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw could have belonged to an elf.

"Sounds fluent enough to me! You speak very well!" Haelan said in another broad smile.

"Oh yeah, this guy's gonna be a barrel of laughs." Duor said under his beard. Unfortunately the acoustics (or more of the blasted elfin magic) made his mutterings easily heard by all.

"My lord regent, may we adjourn to chambers to discuss our next move?" Alaria asked cautiously of the elflord.

"Of course." Seniiris replied. He raised another slow arm and the guide that had brought them to the hall returned after a moment and led them back to the open "chamber" where they had initially waited. 

Haelan gave a careful look at the carvings in the railings on the bridge. He noticed no movement...but didn't that bird have its wings open when they'd come by before?


----------



## steeldragons

Celerion stood to the right of the great throne of Daenfrii, slightly in front. He stood watching and listening as the members of the Lordmage's council debated amongst themselves at Rhea's "preposterous" suggestion that the Ihs Rephal be returned to the fledgling magess of this band of "heroes" called the Stormriders.

The Lordmage Arganor similarly sat upon the throne and listened with little interest. Such debates were to be expected and allowed...for a time. His eyes looked over to the Staff of Wyr, standing upright of its own accord, the golden wings of the dragon carving atop it tightly closed, covering the great diamond-shaped sapphire within its clutches.

"My lord, I must protest and renew the desire of Manat's Witch-Priests to have the Repahlentim orb moved to our temple in Zarcha for safe keeping." said a young blue robed cleric of the goddess of magic from behind his blue five-pounted star tattoo/dyed mask.

The witch-priest's name was Endrom. He was an enthusiastic and capable advocate for the temple's desires though, Arganor (and several others in the Lormdage's court) felt simply liked to hear his own voice far too much.

"My consultations with high-priestess Corandralla are private and most thorough. You do your lady's house honor with your steadfast interest to her wishes. But she is in complete agreement that the Ihs Repahl is in safe keeping in Daenfrii's hands and has absolute confidence in our judgement. Rest assured all possible precautions have been taken." the Lordmage finally retorted. The Lordmage's steady tone brought an abrupt end to all other debate and all eyes turned to the high seat of the throne room.

"Zhiranth, what says the Tower of Wyr?" Arganor asked of another older looking man in plain brown robes tied with a simple length of rope. The man had a chest length golden brown beard which he stroked thoughtfully as he'd listened to all of the earlier uproar.

"Alas my lord, on this matter, the Halls of Wyr are silent. We await confirmation of the Stormriders' supposition that the necromancer is indeed the age old wyrm Dessarthal. Once they know this, one way or the other, they may have more to offer." the man said clearly.

"Matron Uma, do Gilea's Sacred Daughters have anything to weight this request?" Arganor posed to the elderly, white haired woman sitting calmly at one of the long council tables. She looked to the Lordmage, her face a wizened visage of tranquility and peace, as she stood from her seat. Her flowing white robes trimmed in the twining thorny vines and occasional bright red and white roses of her goddess and station cascaded off of a rounded matronly form.

"The Merciful Mother's care and protection are, as always, unending for our house and cause, my lord." Uma began. "However, beyond those assurances, I can offer no counsel. The concerns of the White Rose for our health and safety, heretofore, have not extended into the comings and goings of such arcane artifacts. I shall defer to the will of the council on this matter and, as always, trust in your judgement." she concluded and calmly returned to her seat.

Arganor nodded politely to the old high-priestess of the healer goddess.

A large gloved fist slammed into the table across the hall from the table where collected priests and priestesses sat. The large mailed form of the Steel Dragon, Malak, rose from his seat as the younger prince spoke with some force.

"Father, allow me to assemble a team to raze this mountain of Nor Gorthok to the ground. Surely, the Steel Dragons would prove more than a match for the motley forces of the evil one's stronghold. We could bring this threat of a returning Shaarzak, possibly the entire war, to an immediate end!" Malak said impassioned.

Arganor raised his hand calmly. "My son, the Stormriders' account of the forces arrayed at Nor Gorthok was far from complete. We have no way of knowing what is actually arrayed there..." the Lordmage began.

"But father..." Malak attempted to interject.

"..._*and*_ I will not put my sons at further peril, regardless of their good intentions.  Our first priority is, and shall remain, aiding the defense of our allies in Miralostae. Following the unthinkable fall of Ayla Nirai, then Daenfrii's own defense must take priority." Arganor continued.

"I am certain we could..." Malak again tried to argue his point. The warrior-prince had little to no interest in this council of mages and priests. His place was on the front lines, matching steel and ending, in no uncertain terms, the evil that assaulted their lands and allies.

"I am afraid, my son, on these points, our judgement is absolute." Arganor again cut off his son without the slightest hint of anger or reproach.

Malak sat. He knew his father's will was unmovable once he had decided a course of action.

"Does the Emerald Tear have any further insights or recommendations, Lady Rhea? What says the Hidden Halls?" Arganor said, turning his attention back to Rhea (who had remained standing throughout these exchanges, at her place beside Malak). 

"I am afraid, my Lord Arganor, that I have not been in conference with my master. Our last communication revealed no more of the coming times as my own Sight." Rhea replied, somewhat quietly. It was embarrassing for her to admit her own shortcoming, but to admit that of the master of her order, the great seer Krellen, whose own clairvoyance and precognition far exceeded her own, was...troubling to say the least.

"I do feel, however, the Stormriders to be a capable force and true ally to our cause. It is my recommendation that Magess Alaria's request be granted."

Arganor nodded his acknowledgement of the vote of confidence. He leaned slightly toward the aged elf chamberlain.

"Where is Car'Tyr's representative?" Arganor said, aside (though still heard by the assembled council), to Celerion.

"The Herald, Thillian, and his contingent left to return to the south mountains this morning, my lord. He was quite explicit that the Wind Wizard, as he so often does, defers and relies upon your wise judgement and that of the council."

"Just so." Arganor said in some annoyance. He did not require, of most of Daenfrii's visitors or ambassadors, a personal request to leave. Still, it was in bad form, thought the Lordmage, particularly of so close and longstanding a friend and ally as Car'Tyr.

However, the lordmage admitted to himself, the wizard's herald and representative was of the Shi'Cynallae and so did as he willed, as most of Car'Tyr's servants (as the wizard himself), with the blowing of the winds.

"How says the council, then? Does the Magess...Alaria, is it?" he looked to Celerion.

"Aye, my lord." the elderly elf nodded in agreement.

"Does the Magess Alaria warrant the return of the Ihs Repahl to aid in her coming trials?" Arganor posed.

The vote was close, with Rhea, the Steel Dragon protectress Lela Eth Mitar, prince Malak, and Matron Uma voting "Aye."

Witch-priest Endrom, high-priest Denlap of the temple of Astar, and the elvin representative from Miralostae (Silran's man who sat in on the council when the Evandrial prince was absent...whose name Arganor could never recall) voting "Nay."

Celerion, Zhiranth and two of the Lordmage's other captains-at-arms abstained. The warriors had little interest or understanding of these sorts of "wizard's affairs" and often declined to vote on such matters. The Lord Chamberlain and ambassador of Wyr simply being wise enough to not speak, endorse or decline, the possible ways the request might aid or threaten their cause.

The future, as for the others of wisdom and foresight, offering no direction.

Arganor thought on the matter for a time. The members of the council were accustomed to this long pensive moment after any vote.

"Very well. Celerion, see it done." Arganor finally said.

"As you will it, my lord." Celerion said with a limited bow, tightly gripping his twisted staff and with a ceremonial, "By your leave, my lord." the violet robed wizard turned and left the great hall.

None on the council dared to raise their voice in objection. 

"Now, Captain Bergus, what news of the north?" Arganor said calmly, moving the council on to their next order of business.

****

Fen stood in the calm glade. The dusting of snow from the previous night was melting slowly around him in the nearing midday sun. The clean crisp air was invigorating for the half-elf. He was certain, he was in the right place for his meeting...according to the raven that had brought word of his imminent report to the Ancient Holy Order of Mistwood. 

He was fairly surprised when the ferret, Buttercream, came shuffling through a nearby thicket. 

Fen immediately invoked the power to speak with animals to converse with the giant ferret.

She had more than a few unkind words about being left in the Feldmere by the company. But, still, as happy to see the druid well and hear of the Hilltender's safety and the companion's escape from the lizardmen's den. The news of the elf and satyr's demise seemed to effect her little. All part of the balance and the cycle...the ways of nature by which the ferret experienced the world.

"I lost half of my brothers and sisters in our first winter." Buttercream revealed as way of explanation. "It is the Way. There is no fighting it. You keep going for the spring to come."

Fen was taken aback by the hidden wisdom in such a statement and wondered how it was that Haelan had been gifted with speech with the ferret instead of himself.

She had been..."drawn", she said, to return to the environs of Bridgetower by some unknown force. But, was not terribly concerned with it. She did complain, more than once, about the cold and supposed that the company would be staying in Bridgetower for the winter.

"I think not, Buttercream, but we shall see." Fen said calmly.

"If you don't mind, I shall rest now. If you need me, I will be in this thicket here." the ferret shivered a bit. "And greencloak, please do not leave me again without some notice." she added over her shoulder as she disappeared under a holy bush.

"Of course, Buttercream. My...all of our apologies." the druid said to the ferret's rump. He received no reply.

a rustling from a different edge of the glade caught his attention and a lone red deer buck came into view. It stood, some distance away and stared at the druid.

The half-elf rose and took up his spear in the ceremonial position of greeting. He bowed his deep-hooded head at the deer.

The animal did the same before becoming ensconced in a pale green aura. When the light subsided, another druid in robes and hooded cloak, more grey almost white than green, stood before the half-elf. He appeared middle-aged, bearded with a chestnut beard beginning to be flecked with the greys of age.

<_translated from the druidic tongue_>"_Brother Fen?_" the man said, sounding unsure.

_"I am, Fen...of Moonglade. And you?"_ Fen answered. He had expected to see, as he usually did, Sister Sage. This member of the order he did not recognize.
_
"I am Brother Badger...of the wood of Anveram_ _in the Land of Sleeping Giants_." the man responded.

"_And yet you travel in the form of the buck._" Fen smiled a reply. Then, again, shot his gaze to his feet, recalling his past transgressions of protocol with Sage, who he was, at least, familiar with.

The man chuckled. "_Indeed. But the buck travels on much fleeter feet than the badger."_ the man said replied in explanation. "_Please, Brother, raise your eyes. We are not of such a circle as to require those archaic observances. Brothers all in the Cycle and the Balance, are we not?
_
Fen liked this guy already.
_
"Your time is well passed for a report to the Lord of Ash...oh yeah, and whose greetings I am tasked with relaying._" Brother Badger added, apparently unaccustomed to such missions and the protocols of the druids' greetings.

Fen began his recitation of the course of the party's actions since his last meeting with Sister Sage. It was lengthy and full of detail. The druids of the Ancient Order were trained for many years in accurate observation, and "perfect" perception. Their observations were required to be unaltered by emotion or personal desire. The retaining and, and most importantly, recitation of their memories was one of the druids' most sacred duties...and Fen had learned these skills particularly well. Even in the language of druids, such exacting accuracy required some time. The day was well into afternoon by the time the younger druid finished his tale.

"Distressing tidings to be sure. But well remembered. I do offer my condolences for the loss of your kiili, Fen of Moonglade." Brother Badger finally replied, having thoroughly absorbed and stored all of Fen's information.

Fen asked if the elder druid could identify the magical acorns that he'd been gifted by the druid Ornfael. Badger took a long time to mull them over and finally admitted he could not discern a specific purpose, other than they were highly enchanted.

"_I would say to you, Brother Fen, that if the ancient one told you to use them for that specific purpose, then that is what you should do._.._the Balance shall take care of the rest._" was all of the guidance Badger could offer.

"_Is my mission changed, brother? I do hope to continue on with my companions._" Fen finally asked. 

Brother Badger looked at him with a questioning shrug. "_I was told you were Willow. As such, I have no particular direction to point you. At least, I was given no specific instruction thereof. Do you know where your companions are?_"

Fen had to admit, he'd left them two days ago and could not be sure.

"Ok then...let's see here..." the older druid said in Common as he wandered over to one of the large oak trees that lined the glade. He stroked his beard and tapped upon the gnarled bark. "Hmmm...yes, this will do..."

Fen wandered over beside him. What was he doing?

Brother Badger made a few syllables in the sacred tongue and traced a circle with his finger about a knot in the trunk. The edges of the knot widened on their own and an image came into form within.

To Fen's complete surprise, it was Alaria and Braddok and the others, they were in some lovely tree filled place. The whole image had a haze of pale green over it.

"Oh! They're in Evandrial! Lucky devils. BURSTING with the Balance. Lovely place. Have you ever been?" Badger asked.

Fen shook his head that he had not.

"You're in for quite a treat, my boy. Be wary however...the powers of the elves hold sway there and Holy Mistwood's magics are...unpredictable." the man chuckled again at some unknown remembrance. "Yes...powerful...but unpredictable. Use care."

Fen nodded his understanding and conveyed his thanks. "I should be going then, Miralostae is a large place and I have several days to get there."

"Nonsense!" Brother Badger said in disagreement. He again intoned some words of the sacred tongue with which Fen was unfamiliar.

Fen could not believe his eyes as the knot in the tree opened to a size he could step through.

"There is your way, Brother of Willow." Badger said.

Fen called Buttercream. Badger was a bit surprised to see the giant ferret come out of the thicket of holy bushes.

"Are you serious?" the ferret said.

"Indeed, this is where the Hilltender is." Fen replied.

"Ok then." the ferret said, nonplussed and hopped up into the tree-door.

"My thanks, Brother Badger. I will not forget this kindness." Fen said as he too stepped through the tree.

"Not at all, Brother Fen. It's the least I can do." Badger replied. If the Fen heard his response, he could not say. But once the tree-door had closed and shrank back to nothing more than the knot in the side of the oak tree it had originally been, the elder druid chuckled again.

"You might not thank me so much once you've arrived, druid." Badger said to himself.

A column of acrid yellow smoke came into being around the older druid. When the column of smoke had subsided, the succubus Athrizz strutted off, to the edge of the glade. She disappeared from this awful world of "natural beauty" with a high pitched cackle.

Moments after the demoness' exit a red deer buck wandered into the empty glade. 

The deer waited, grazed, and waited some more. As the evening sun was dipping into the west, the buck turned and left.


----------



## steeldragons

"So from where do you hail, Peerion?" Haelan asked jovially as the companion Stormriders came back into their open chamber. The daelvar hopped up onto a divan of luscious velvet and grabbed some grapes form the bowl beside it.

"It is 'Pirnyon', friend hairfoot. I am a servant of Car'Tyr...the Wind Wizard. My people and I...we?...yes 'we', hail from the mountains called Daegun. My lord and master deemd fit to leav me here to aid in your mission. I have no...doubts?...yes?...doubts that my skills will aid in your cause." the winged humanoid said. He had wrapped his wings down about his shoulders. It gave the image of a jacket or cloak of feathers covering his torso.

"And what skills, exactly are those." Duor said, in his typical way as he plopped himself down on another two-seater divan.

"I am zephari!" said Pirnyon...as if this were or should be, obvious, answer enough.

"It is a great honor to meet one of your kind, Pirnyon. I have never had the pleasure. I have heard great tales of the powers of your people." Alaria said taking a seat in a velvet cushioned chair. An elf attendant came in with a tray of another pitcher and more elfvine. Alaria happily took another glass. 

Pirnyon nodded in acknowledgement of the magess' welcome and took a goblet of wine himself.

"I have been tell you are the leader of the company?" Pirnyon said to the magess. "I trust you shall be able to use my skills."

Alaria nodded an understanding of whatever it was the zephari was trying to say. Her mind raced to find the knowledge she had about the winged folk.

They were preternaturally tough and strong. The winged man's lack of armor or clothing was not any sign of vanity or hubris, but because their skin was unnaturally...some would say supernaturally...tough. An armor all its own. His wings, quite obviously allowed him flight. His eagle-like eyes afforded an incredible range of vision...beyond even that of elves. They resisted cold and snow and ice...out of necessity than any special "power" to survive the high peaks where they made their homes...and there were other innate "magical" abilities that Alaria could not fully recall. They were...tribal?...yes, Alaria was sure, in their social affiliations. 

"What was your place in your rook, Pirnyon?" Alaria asked. The R'Hathi magess did not doubt for a moment that this would be a wonderful ally to have.

"Rook?...AH! My rookery?! Yes...I am Hunter." the winged man replied. He took a soft fruit from one of the bowls that had been placed in the company's resting aerie.

"Excellent. That should prove most useful." Alaria answered. "Do you know of the dark wizard, Tresahd?"

"I have been learned on. Yes, magess." he answered most assuredly. "You, warrior. You are Braddok kar Barfoth? I have heard tell of your amazing...rising?...from the Grey Lands?! Is that so? It tells unbelievable." he said, very interested, to the Grinlian swordsman.

"It is so, Pirnyon. By the grateful sacrifice of these assembled here...and more." Braddok replied, moved to a moment of melancholy at their companions passing, from which they could NOT return.

"So, yer zepharim...what does that mean, exactly?" Duor asked unceremoniously.

Pirnyon looked at the dwarf in mild confusion. "I am zephari...yes." The winged man wasn't sure what else to say.

"Zephari' is the singular, Duor. 'Zepharim' is the plural." Alaria corrected.

Damned smarty-pants magess. Duor thought to himself. But, no matter, this bloke was hugely muscled, almost more than Braddok, and well-armed. Surely he could slice a few goblinoids to let Duor get to the object of his personal mission. "Yeh know how to use that axe?" the dwarf replied.

Pirnyon drew the axe from his belt. Before any of the Stormriders could protest, he threw it toward Duor. It passed the dwarf's head with a *whish* it sliced through the back of the divan in which he lounged and *thunked* into the thin column behind, nearly cleaving the "pole" (more than "column") clean through.

"Aye, master dwarf. I can use my axe." Pirnyon replied as he strutted across the chamber and pulled his axe from the wood. 

The narrow column, twinging in wooden carved vines, close itself as soon as the zephari removed the blade.

"Well...good. Quite good. He'll do." Duor said to the assembled companions...as if they needed his approval.

The companions sat around for the better part of an hour...talking stategy. To their disappointment, Pirnyon held no information about the battle front or any current goings-on there.

A green oval appeared to the edge of one side of the open chamber. Bradok made a move for his weapon, as did Pirnyon, but Alaria calmed them, assured that in the real of the elves no evil could befall them.

From the odd magical portal lept the giant ferrret Buttercream...followed by Fen.

Haelan was ecstatic at the return of the furry rodent. He jumped up and hugged the creature strong around the neck.

*Yeah. Yeah...You missed me so much you left me in the swamp.* Buttercream said to Haelan's ears. 

"NO! I mean...well...yes, we did...but you don't understand! There were the lizardmen and then there were wights and a behir and...Oh, I'm so sorry Buttercream." Haelan attempted to explain between tight grips around the ferret's fluffy neck. "We'll never leave ytou behind agaiN! I promise by the Hill Mother's Bread Pudding! How did you...*gasp* Are you magic?!...OH! Fen?!" the daelvar priest exclaimed. His gratitude and excitement practically bubbled over, out of his being.

"Whatever...but nice to see you again also, Hilltender...don't know why...but you make me feel happy." Buttercream replied even as the daelvar was rushing off to give the druid a tight hug around the waist.

Braddok and Alaria rose to welcome the druid.

"Done already, my friend?" Braddok said as he gave the druid a tight grip of the forrearm.

"My needs have been met, yes. What has transpired here? One of the zepharim? I thought we were in the elf-lands?" Fen looked confused at the newest arrival to the Stormriders' band.

Alaria made introductions. The druid and zephari "hunter" seemed to get along almost immediately. "Haelan, " said Alaria, "please convery my happiness and thanks that Buttercream is her with us again, safe." the mmagess asked.

The daelvar cleric translated to which he received an annoying "I understand them just fine! They just don't understand me!" from the ferret.

Mister Meeessh floated his way over to the ferret. "Dohhhn't remember thhhhihsss ohhhnnnn." the mephit said.

Buttercream hissed and took a swipe at the mephit who had gotten a bit too close.

Haelan chastised the ferret and everyone got introduced and was told to get along.

"Right...so we're all friends now...Bully." said Duor non-plussed by any of the new arrivals. "When're we gettin' outta this place? Not gonna stop Tresahd sittin' inna tree!"

"Quite right, Duor." Braddok answered. He looked to Alaria. "Can...I mean...should we go now?_ Can_ we go now? We don't even know where the front is." the warrior finally came around to answering his own questions.

"I'm up to my beard in smoked deer meat and this cheese *munch. munch*. S'got no taste! I say we just leave." the dwarf said, hopping up off of the freshly torn divan.

"That would be unadvisible." Alaria said. Pirnyon concurred.

"One does not leave Evandrial without the permission of the lord regent." the winged man said, as if this were the most obvious fact.

"Aw, bloody hells. We have to go talk to HIM again?!" Duor said in apparent disappointment.

"I think a runner will suffice." Alaria said, attempting to calm the dwarf. She got the attention of the attendant and relayed their wishes to depart.

The elf nodded in understanding and left. He...or she...was gone for quite a bit of time. Several more hours passed. The moons were rising. Should they not stay for the "singing of the songs" they had been told about?...and invited to!

"As you said, magess, evil knows no propriety nor slows for any reason." Duor said, trying to quote the magess from their initial audience with the lord regent.

"This is true, Duor, but we don't all share you kind's ability to see in the dark." Braddok said, seeing Alaria's indecision.

"That's true...and I think it would be good for Fen...apologies, Fen...for all of us, to partake of some official ceremony of loss." Haelan added.

Feorn's beard, thought Duor, the damned hairfoot's right...but so am I...we're NEVER gettin' out of this point-ear trap. "As you wish...and yeah...might be nice." the dwarf admitted.

The company, after receiving leave to go when they willed, agreed to stay for the "singing of the songs" of lamentation.

They were ushered, even as the green moon was rising and surpassing the great silver moon, back to the giant hall of the lord regent. There was a throng of elves present now. Their circular ascent up the tree to the hall had not allowed them the knowledge that they were standing, staring out to the east, watching the moons rise.

The chorus of voices rose with two moons. Harmonies, melodies, and individual soloists raised their voices in a sorrow and loss that matched the companions souls. The tears that had flown from Alaria, Haelan and, even Fen, had not come close to expressing the sorrow their ears now heard.

Fen was the only one capable of mixing in with the other's snong...as if something from his soul...words he'd never learned...songs he'd never heard, rose up within him.

While she understood the language, Alaria was unable to join...every time she opened her mouth, the tears and sobs overwhelmd her.

They sang for Erevan, Ryvsorai, son of Eras'ka Aiiri...they sang for Festus, the satyr...or as they sang (if Alaria had the translation correct) the "cousin, born of fey". 

Surprisingly to many of the company, a contigent of satyrs was in attendance, blowing their allegedly magical pipes and prancingaroudn in dance...in celebration of the satyr that had been.

Where they'd learned the details of their demise, Alaria could not be sure, but every instance of their lives and adventures together and the specific, awful, details of their death were all sung...for as grotesque the details, as Alaria remembered them all too readily, the tones and undertones and overtones meshed together in a completely cathartic melody and a...a TRIUMPH of their lives...not a hint of their deaths...They made it all sound beautiful...and at the end, all sound free and joyous. She was in complete awe of the music assaulting her ears. 

Braddok held her close and even he had tears in his eyes.

Duor wiped several tears, which he staunchly averred were from the "damnable pollen of these damnable trees" before leaving the great hall, his arms, obviously, wiping his eyes.

It was a...Alaria had no other word for it..."glorious" symphony of night. The songs were sung throughout the night...passed the settign of the green moon...passed the dipping of the greater silver moon. To her complete surprise the voices did not stop until the dim blue of morning rose up behind them (in the eastern sky).

Unable to see far from the tears blurring her vision, suddenly, the Lord Regent Seniiris stood before her. He held out a hand to her chin and cupped it. "You are more than friend to the Moonwatchers, magess. You and yours are truly of the old blood."

She gulped back tears and wiped her eyes to see more clearly and make a proper response to the high-vaunted lord of Evandrial. When her eyes were clear, he was not there?! The white of his glittering tunic was simply the white hair of the singing elf before her. She looked, left to right, but was thoroughly confused.

"It is time to go." Fen finally said, coming up to the warrior and magess. "Let us return to the chamber and soon we shall avenge our friends, my kiili, and the satyr, Festus. They have drifting to the moons and shall forever be above us...or with us in the Cycle."

With the druid's aid, Braddok led Alaria out of the great hall. The zephari, Pirnyon, walked softly after them, ushering the complete mess of a sobbing daelvar, Haelan. "All shall be well, Hilltender. All shall be well..." the winged man kept saying.

Where there had been divans and comfortable chairs before, now were several flats of mats and beds. The heroes fell into them and felt sleep grip them immediately. The fight would be there tomorrow, they all..."felt" more than "heard"...tomorrow it starts anew.


----------



## Lwaxy

Yay Buttercream Shadowfeet is back! I was about to ask about her.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

I just finished page 7 and am assuming that Gnobert and Buttercream are from a new player to the group.  Did something happen to another player, or did Erevan's player decide for a change?  Something else?  Enjoying the read.  GW


----------



## steeldragons

Graywolf-ELM said:


> I just finished page 7 and am assuming that Gnobert and Buttercream are from a new player to the group.  Did something happen to another player, or did Erevan's player decide for a change?  Something else?  Enjoying the read.  GW




Hey Graywolf! So glad you're enjoying the story thus far (hope it continues  ).

To answer the question, you are correct that Gnobert (and Buttercream) was a new player who came in (and subsequently left)...I don't quite recall the circumstances (this is some time ago).


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

I have fallen victim to Story Hour Syndrome yet again as a reader.  The nice backlog of a fun read and then you reach the end, followed by waiting for the next update.  Enjoyed and looking forward to the new character and interested to see what the party does next.


----------



## Lwaxy

Same here lol 

And even worse, my games/story hours are slow going because it is summer and people tend to do something else


----------



## steeldragons

Apologies for the lag time and infecting with the SHS. hahaha. Glad you're enjoying though.

I was traveling last week (back in the states now, for a time) and getting acclimated to EST again.

More soon...but here's a brief bit just to keep things moving (and hopefully offset a bit of the SHS 

--SD
----------
The following afternoon, the heroes rose. 

Pirnyon had risen before the others and came winging, effortlessly, back to the open chamber where the party had slept the first part of the day after their "allnighter" at the memorial of song for their fallen comrades.

They were led down the long wide ramp of a walkway down to the forest floor where they were met by the elf, Althan. He discussed their objective and direction for travel and led the group through the elvin wood toward the current battlefront.

As they moved they discussed possible strategy. How were they supposed to infiltrate the enemy camp and gain proof of Tresahd's true identity? How were they supposed to get back out again and return to Evandrial? Did they even want to return to Evandrial?

Relaying their findings to Daenfrii would be no problem as Alaria still possessed the emerald teardrop crystal. Alaria' proposed continuing to Ayla Nirai (the elf capitol) to see about securing the Eye of Arinane as there was no doubt the mystic gem of the Miralostae elves was the dark wizard's primary target.

Since Alaria possessed no magics to disguise them, and no longer had the stealthy elf tracker or ranger satyr with them, it seemed that they would be relying on Duor to do a good bit of the work. Fen's ability to disappear within the natural surroundings would prove most useful, as well and the zephari, Pirnyon, revealed that he, too, could easily go unnoticed.

So it was decided that, while Alaria, Braddok and Haelan (and Buttercream) would do what they could to aid the assaulted elvin army and (hopefully) provide adequate distraction for the goblinoid forces near their camp, the dwarf, half-elf and winged man would seek out tresahd's tent and do the sleuthing.

As the winter evening began to fall over the wood, only a few hours of marching after they took their leave of the eastern elf province, they neared the elves latest encampment.

Althan reported to the captains and introductions were made.

Haelan was overjoyed to meet one of his kind, the daelvar rogue (and Steel Dragon) Carak Hillside. Haelan knew of the Hillside clan from Tinkerhale, but had never actually met any of them.  To the Hilltender's knowledge the Spurthistles and Hillsides were not related, though it was joked about among the daelvar of the Free Hollows that all of the families were, in some way, connected by marriage or business or just generations long friendship over the years.

Carak was easy going and affable, though not as innocently cheery as Haelan. He was seven springs older than Haelan and had left the Hollows while Haelan had been an acolyte at the Mound of Faerantha, just beginning his religious studies.

The two shared some talk of the Free Hollows mutual friends, shared stories and some mead over a few laughs. The daelvar thief was impressed and a tad jealous of the amazing things Haelan and his companions had encountered and confronted. He was especially envious of the Hilltender's magical food-producing bowl.

Silran, it seemed was out on a patrol, spending the entire day harrassing the goblin forces that dared to move through the wood in the bright of day. Their forces were, almost constantly, trying to circumvent the elf forces and were, constantly, being thwarted.

Silran's sister, Erilyn, was in attendance at the elvin camp and traded a good bit of information with the Stormriders, particularly Alaria, as the elvin lady herself was a practitioner of the Mysteries in addition to being trained in blade and bow and stealth enough to rival the daelvar Steel Dragon, Carak.

It was decided the elvin princess and the hairfooted hero would accompany the Stormriders' infiltration group. None of the assembled heroes ffelt a group larger than five persons was wise.

Much to Haelan's dismay (and Fen's consternation) it was told that the goblin force was relying ever more on undead to bolster their ranks. Zombies, skeletons, ghouls...any creature that was felled on the field of battle seemed to "come back" the following day. No doubt due to the delegation of priests of the Plague Mistress, Endore. 

The elves were hard pressed against such creatures as the majority of their divine magic-users were holed up in Ayla Nirai. The elves were a spiritual people, to be sure, but not so regimented and concerned with religion, as an organization, as other races. As such, their spiritual magics were somewhat more limited than those of humans, dwarves or daelvar.

Most of the elvin captains were overjoyed to welcome the Hillltender among their ranks, though some were obvious in their disbelief that one of the kindly small vaaria <"people of the hills", elvin for daelvar> could really be of much use.

Then, of course, there were the shadow creatures, which the elves attributed also to the Endoren priests as well as the dark wizard called Tresahd...who the captains referred to time and again as "the Black Drake" for his dragon-like skull helmet/visor of "his" head adornment.

As the evening light was fast fading from view, the party of would-be spies readied to make a long wide approach to the goblinoid camp. The others were assured there would be no lack of excitement at Shi'Ariniiri <translation: "the Fields of Blood" or "Blood Fields">, as they'd taken to calling the great open fields near the southern edge of the river D'Evand where most of their battles were being fought. In the night, the goblins did their best to make headway, retreating in the morning when their wicked sight was impeded.

If the goblins were able to cross the D'Evand it was not far to the royal city of Ayla Nirai. They'd come close more than once in the passed weeks, staved off time and again (once with the aid of the Steel Dragons before Montor had been wounded and half of the heroes of Daenfrii left the battlegrounds).

Alaria. Braddok and Haelan steadied themselves and prepared for a long night. As the moons began to rise in the southeastern sky, the magess, swordsman and Hilltender set out or the battlefield with a troupe of several tens of elvin soldiers, including one of the fabled sorarynae <"Golden Stags", a mystic order of elvish knights> atop his mount, a dark twelve-pointer stag the size of a warhorse.

_*Next time..."Oh, Was This Your Tent?" or "To Kill a Manling-Bird."*_


----------



## steeldragons

Pirnyon landed, with a final gentle flap of his wings, nearly silent.

"'Bout bloody time, birdie." Duor whispered from the groups vantage point on a low hill covered in a thick copse. "What took yeh?"

"Apologies, friend Duor. I had to wing far to not be seen. With the moons' rising, I dare not take to the air again without some more...subtle?....no...
hiding ability."

The dwarf just rolled his eyes and looked at the daelvar thief, Carak, who crouched in a thicket looking down at the expanse of tents and pens that formed the goblin encampment.

It was obvious they were firmly entrenched. There were hundreds of tents below them, stretching out across a great blighted field. The goblins had wasted no time, cutting down the trees and spoiling the forest as much as they needed. Toward the center was a huge pavilion with banners bearing the familiar red clawed hand flying from it. Other larger tents surrounded this one and then became smaller the further out from the pavilion they were. Pens containing the lizard-bird like zarx dotted the camp and several giant wolves, "worgs", seemed to wander about the camp at will.

"A large force has left the camp. Nearly half of their number. Half were mounted on the wolves. Many black robed men with white masks went with them...and a near-giant of a hairy goblin, heavily armed." Pirnyon continued his report.

"That would be the Bulgruch, their general." Erilyn's melodic voice came from above, to the others' surprise. She had traversed nearly the entire way among the trees, moving branch to branch, oftentimes unseen at all. She was so stealthy, the others had almost forgotten she was with them. The elvin rogue-sorceress crouched down in one of the lower branches of a nearby elm.

"Did you notice, Pirnyon, if the evil wizard was among those who left?" Fen asked from his near-invisible place leaning against the same tree.

Dang point-ears n' their tree-magic, Duor thought to himself. He and the hairfoot were sitting ducks while the three "bigfolk" just saunter about willy nilly unseen.

"There was a chariot that leads with two great hounds of shadow. Flames lick at the creatures' paws. They can not be natural animals. There was a black robed one in that, with a hobgomor...um...soldier?...no...the one with the reins." the zephari replied.

"'Driver' or 'charioteer', Pirnyon." Carak kindly offered.

"Yeh know 'reins' but not 'driver'?" Duor said in obvious disbelief. "We gotta do somethin' 'bout yer Common, birdie."

"I am zephari." Pirnyon answered, as if this were an explanation.

"Yeah, yeah. We know. The wings kinda give it away." Duor said.

"We need a distraction." Fen offered. "If the wizard and the Bulgruch have left the camp unattended, this is a good time to make a move."

"Agreed." Erilyn and Carak replied.

After a bit of discussion and examining the camp. It was decided that a zarx pen at the southern edge of the camp would be an ideal location for some subterfuge.

"Come on, friend Duor. Care to help me raise a bit of a ruckus?" Carak offered. "erilyn, gotta lil' something for ruckus-rousing?" he smirked a crooked smile at the elvin lady.

Erilyn plucked a honey colored crystal from the jeweled hairnet which kept her waist-long golden tresses bound up around her shoulders. "This should do the trick." she answered and tossed the bead down to the daelvar.

"What about the others?" Duor asked, looking to the druid and zephari.

"Erilyn and I will make our way for the pavilion. Treshad's tent must be nearby there, if not inside it. He is their leader, after all, isn't he?" Fen answered.

"Pirnyon, can you keep an eye on the dwarf and daelvar from here?" the druid posed.

"Easily, friend Fen. I shall come to your aid at a moment's notice." the zephari assured the dwarf.

"C'mon Duor. No guts, no glory." Carak smiled and began making his way from thicket to bush to thicket down the slope toward the large open expanse before the campsite.

"S'my guts I'm worried about." Duor grumbled under his breath but did take off after the daelvar.   

The elf, half-elf and zephari watched the two small folk make their way from shadow to shadow.

"Shall we, my lady?" Fen said with his characteristic charm and smile.

"By all means, after you, noble druid." Erilyn smirked back before donning the hood of her pale grey cloak. With a momentary flicker of cloudy white light se disappeared from normal sight.

Damned effective, that. Fen thought to himself. The mild camouflaging enchantments of his own cloak were not nearly as complete, especially if he were moving. The druid hoped his own cloak might keep him suitably unnoticed until, at least, he had some tents and equipment to be able to hide amongst. Fen kept low and tried to remain as near to any brush or lone tree as he could, stopping periodically so that if he were noticed, it wouldn't be for long and any dimwitted goblin sentires might think him just a trick of the rising moonlight.

Pirnyon nocked his short bow and remained in the copse up on the hill. His eagle-like eyes were easily able to watch the daelvar and dwarf during their descent in the low-light of the early night. The half-elf, and presumably the elvin lady stopped at the last clutch of growth before the encampment, waiting, no doubt, for this "distraction" before moving further into the camp itself.

It was a tense several minutes before the winged man noticed the small shadows of the hairfoot and dwarvish rogues creeping along the makeshift pen of bird-ish mounts. 

The zephari's eyes widened to notice a worg being led around by a goblin with a spear, turn at some sound the zephari could not hear and sniff at the air in the rogues' direction. The massive canine creature turned and seemed be pulling his handler. Fortunately, the goblin soldier seemed to have no desire to heed the worg's warnings and tugged at the creature. Unfortunately, it was completely in vain, as the goblin began to be all but dragged back toward the zarx pen.

Then, chaos erupted.

There was a bright flash and loud *BANG*! One side of the zarx pen was completely blown apart and the frightened (mostly sleeping) zarx began a stampede in all directions out from the camp.

Worgs began to howl and bark (nasty threatening attack like barks, not just "warning" type barks) all around the encampment and raced toward the southern side of the camp. It was trouble enough to keep the mutant wolves from assaulting the two-legged bird-lizards when they were penned. Now that they were runnign free, it was full on hunting time.

Goblins and hobgoblins soldiers cried out all around and began racing after the worgs. Several of the ark Fang and Red law tribes began fighting with each other to control their animals.

Hobgoblin officers came running out of tents and from around campfires, shouting orders and grabbing weapons.

There was a mass shift of forms moving to the south of the goblin camp.

Pirnyon realized with some concern that, in taking all of this in, he had lost sight of the daelvar and dwarf. A flicker in the moonlight to his right told him the druid (and presumably the elf sorceress) were moving into the camp now.

Not wanting to let his new companions down, the zephari stretched his wings and launched himself into the air by his muscled thighs, even as he took his first beat of wing, he used his people's innate talent to turn invisible. A moment later, completely unseen, he was above the encampment, scouring the disarray for any sight of the small folk rogues.

Fen ran for the center of the camp and large banner-draped pavilion. More than once he had to duck behind a barrel of provisions or press himself up around a tent corner as armed and armored goblins and hobgoblins ran toward the disruption. Commands and arguments and snarky comments were rising all around him in the goblin tongue. As long as they remained unnoticed, the druid hoped, it should be easy enough to get in and out without attracting attention.

Circling to the north and ducking behind the two bugbear guards who stood at the pavilions entrance (as they looked to the south and grumbled about the goblins "stupid zarx" making problems again) he entered the huge sectional tent and whispered for Erilyn.

"I am here, druid." came Erilyn's soft voice as the elegant elf woman flickered into view one more, pulling the hood from her bejeweled head.

The central "hall" of the large tent was much "neater" and more organized than Fen expected from a goblinoid force. A large table with chairs held maps and markers, indicating troops of the goblin and elvin forces. A broad dagger was dug into the table top, through the location on the map marked as Ayla Nirai. There were cushions and rugs strewn about the floor. To both the druid and noble-born elf's disgust there were several elvin heads hung from the various posts in various states of decomposition and the whole place smell like a stable covered in vomit. Not as bad, thought Fen, as "ghoul stank", but nearly. Several braziers were lit around the chamber, more for heat than light, no doubt.

After a momentary perusal of the papers on the table, Fen said, "We need to find Tresahd's chamber. This stuff does us no good."

"_Everx zaar!_" Erilyn incanted in reply. Three shards of turquoise energy flared from the sorceress' fingertips to strike into a shadow snake that was coiled around the base of the central post.

Upon being hit by the magical bolts, the thing slithered up into the air as its dead black form came into view.


----------



## Azkorra

*bump* 

Hope this great story hour hasn't been discontinued.

Steeldragons, where art thou?


----------



## steeldragons

Azkorra said:


> *bump*
> 
> Hope this great story hour hasn't been discontinued.
> 
> Steeldragons, where art thou?




I'm here! I'm here! 

No, it's not discontinued. 

You're too kind. Thanks for the bump and the kick in pants.

Just bogged down in stuff and thangs, seasons changing time, etc. etc...more to come soon.  

Thanks for the patience and thanks for the interest and reading.
--Steel Dragons


----------



## steeldragons

Karg the goblin stared at the ceiling of his large canvas tent that he shared with a half dozen other goblins from various tribes. He was alone. All but one of Karg's tent-mates had gone off with the Master for the night's assault on the elves.

Karg had been assigned to clean up the worg droppings being left all over camp. As appealing as his detail was, Karg couldn't help feeling slighted. He was, after all, a warrior of the Bloody Talon. He'd finished in no time and returned to his tent a few minutes before all the hells had opened around the camp.

The other goblin who was in the tent had gone running off at the sounding of the alarm and all of the chaos of the wolves and zarx and shouting hobgoblins. Not being a member of Karg's Bloody Talon tribe, he really could care less what happened to the other goblin...damned no good "Rancid Meat" tribe or some such.

Damned no good Rancid Meat goblins.

This caused the goblins small mind to wander...it had been several weeks since he'd seen any other Bloody Talon goblins around camp. When they'd first arrived, they were the always at the Bulgruch's side...his trusted soldiers. The Bulgruch had led them out from their hunting grounds. The Bloody Talon was the FIRST goblins to heed the Bulgruch's cry to war.

But since the damned no good "hobo's" showed up...and after them the black-robed humans with their skull masks, Karg and his fellows had been pushed further and further from the Bulgruch.

Maybe he was the last warrior of the Bloody Talon left? He could return to their territory in the south and claim all of the females for himself! When had he last seen another Bloody Talon goblin...?

The thought did not have time to run through the goblin's memory before a hairfoot with a crimson shirt and blue-grey cloak trailing behind came rushing into his tent.

The daelvar raced through the length of the tent without even looking at Karg. He slashed an "X" in the opposite wall of the tent before diving through.

Karg was similarly unmoved, though did raise an eyebrow as a brown bearded dwarf burst through the tent flaps, close on the hairfoot's heels shouting, "Hurry! Hurry!" before he, too, dove through the small opening the first demi-human had just carved into his tent.

Even as the boots of the dwarf disappeared out of view, a worg's huge head, snapping massive fang-filled jaws, and shoulders bounded into the tent. The beast barreled right into the central pole holding up the tent. It easily tore the tent from its stakes and the whole canvas domicile was ripped up from the ground, entirely entrapping the great lumbering monster-wolf which fell in a writhing mass of fabric and ropes and wooden stakes. Howling and growling and barking in fury to disentangle itself.

Before it had a chance, the hairfoot and the dwarf were upon the creature, stabbing wildly through the canvas with daggers...one of which, the dwarf's, glowed a smoky eerie green energy.

As the blood stains began to soak the remains of the tent and seep out from under it, the two stoutfolk raced off into the night.

"Uh...hunh." Karg murmured blankly.

Karg's eyes followed them and then, dumbly, looked around the camp from his now-exposed bedding.

Disarray was everywhere. There were shouting hobo's and Black Fang goblins arguing. Damned no good Black Fang goblins but 'least they were better than the damned no good hobo's.

Zarx and worgs knocked over water barrels and crashed into other tents as they did battle to determine who would be eating whom. Karg didn't really care not being one of the zarx-riders, himself, just a simple infantry-goblin. Damned no good worgs.

Then a great muscled human with huge feathered wings flew over his head.

Karg's lip twitched to the side a bit. He exhaled a soft "Mm'hm." and then nodded to himself.

The goblin soldier calmly got off the tattered elvin cloaks and tunics that had formed his bedding.

Karg pulled a lump of moldy bread and the maggot-infested remains of an elf's forearm he had been hording out from under his sleeping place.

He collected the "food", a half full skin of bloodwine, and two sacks of elf trinkets he'd buried beneath his sleeping place, accumulated from the battlefield over his almost two months on the front.

Karg tied all of it in a blood-stained elvin cloth at the end of his spear.

He shouldered the weapon, placed his ill-fitted helmet on his mottled green head and silently began the long trudge into the night, south and east, toward his tribe's ancestral territory. 

Nope, Karg realized. He had not seen a Bloody Talon goblin in almost two weeks. Maybe they'd all left already and not told Karg. Damned no good Bloody Talon goblins.


----------



## Azkorra

Yay, new post, at long last. And a nice one, too, as I think this is the first time you've written something from an enemy's point of view.


----------



## steeldragons

Between Erilyn's magical assault and Fen's quick stab with his mystically enhanced leaftip spear, the shadow snake had not gotten to the smoke vent in the top of the pavilion, as seemed to be its intention. The creature hissed out of existence, back to the shadow realm from which it was summoned.

The bursts of magical energies, however, had attracted the attention of the bugbear guards at the grand tent's entrance. Both of the seven foot tall hairy goblins poked in their curious heads and then roared and charged to see the green-cloaked half-elf. THe elfin lady, Fen realized was suspiciously absent from view.

"I've _gotta_ get me one of those cloaks." Fen thought to himself as he set his spear against the side of his foot and braced for the first bugbear's attack.

As intended, the beast's great size and mass did the work for Fen, thoroughly impaling itself on the spear. Unfortunately, the bugbear's reach was more than enough to hammer Fen with his great spiked morningstar.

The druid went flying nearly across the whole tent, bouncing and sliding over the large table, sending maps and papers flying everywhere, as he landed hard on the opposite side of the table.

Fen shook his head and look up in time to see the two blurry bugbears trudging toward him turn into one not blurry one. The creature raised its club banded with iron studs over its head with both hands.

Fen wished the ringing in his ears would subside so he could conentrate enough to think of a spell...but in his daze, "This is gonna hurt." was all Fen's mind could come up with.

The bellow of the bugbear turned into a bloody gurgled *urk.*

Fen managed to roll, putting himself further from the table, as the second bugbear fell where the druid had previously been scrambling on hands and knees.

The lady Erilyn stood on the bugbear's back and yanked two slender and elegantly crafted dirks from teh goblinoid's broad back.

She smirked at the half-elf nd Fen managed to get out a "My thanks, la..." before the first bugbear roared up, the spear still sticking from its chest and began to force its way passed the table between it and the druid.

It did not get two steps before a slender elegantly crafted dagger was sticking out of its right eye.

The head fell very near to Fen. He pulled, with some disgust, the dirk from the goblinoid's face. 

"I believe this belongs to you." he grinned his charming crooked grin and offered the weapon to the elf sorceress. As she nimbly jumped from the back of the second bugbear, onto the table, and then onto the back of the first bugbear to pull the leaftip spear out...from the back side.

"And this, I believe, is yours good druid." Erilyn retorted. She handed the gore covered spear to the half-elf.

Fen grimaced at the condition of his sacred weapon.

"Come on..." the elf lady said somewhat coolly. "We're going to have more visitors sooner than later, now, I suspect." she wandered into the adjacent chamber, separated from the main tent with hanging fabrics of apparent worth and various pelts and furs.

There was a brazier in this chamber also, though smaller than the main. A bed draped in more fabrics and furs. There was a large chest next to the bed. It was obviously locked and the elf lady immediately pulled small picks from somewhere on her person and began to fiddle with the lock. 

A smaller table was piled with various bowls, vials, decanters, goblets and more than a few scrolls, animal parts, multiple candles...wizard's stuff, Fen knew without Erilyn saying a thing. The half-elf began looking through what he could, doing his best not to accidentally touch or activate anything magical as he did so.

One scroll in particular caught the druid's attention...not so much because of what it said, but because of what he couldn't tell. It was written in what looked similar to elvin script, yet most of the words did were not elvin words, to Fen's knowledge. It just looked like a bit of nonsense. But the words "Nor Tyrilith" and "Desaarthal" stuck out to Fen's eyes like they were written across the sky. 

Erilyn easily bypassed the magical and mechanical traps and lock of the chest to find it contain nothing but some items of gold and valuable furs, a bag of gemstones...monetary stuff. Erilyn was not interested in monetary stuff...at this time. If this was the Black Drake's chamber, then were was his spellbook?

She grabbed the pouch of gems and joined Fen rifling through the table's contents.

He showed her the message he had found to see if she could make sense of the elf-like letters and words. The rogue-wizardess admitted she could not, and _this_ thoroughly piqued her curiosity.

They rifled a bit more and removed a silk handkerchief to reveal a shallow dish of unknown dark grey metal that appeared to have an inky black liquid in it.

"Now this is something I'd expect a dark wizard to have." Erilyn said more to herself than Fen.

"What is it?" the druid asked, sensing something cold and evil begin to lay upon the ether of the room.

"I don't know!" Erilyn said with a surprising, though very lovely, smile. "Isn't that great!?"

"Uhhh..." Fen replied, unsure what to make of her response.

"Well, it's magic. I'd stake my cloak on that. Possibly some sort of scrying device...or communicative..." Erilyn continued, again more to herself than the half-elf who was right beside her. 

Without another thought or word for the druid, the elf magess spoke a simple magical term quite familiar to the druid, "_Arkanavis_."

"Yup...magic. I knew it...but what..." the lady's turquoise glowing eyes narrowed as she peered hard at the device, trying to discern the various types of enchantment upon it...it was, Erilyn thought to herself, "muddled" fir lack of a more precise term.

Fen watched the elf woman with some concern. He watched as the surface of the inky liquid began to ripple of its own accord. He listened as a ghostly disembodied voice rose up in the chamber...it spoke words which sounded cold and almost seemed to manifest darkness even as they sounded.

Erilyn didn't seem phased by this spooky occurrance but peered even closer into the dish. "What...is it?"

Whether she spoke to him or the ghostly voice, Fen could not tell.

Fen was almost positive that he saw the image of narrow violet glowing eyes staring up out of the ink as the ripples went from radiating out from the center to shifting one side to another...then it was top to bottom...and then the ripples returned to radiating from the center.

In a flash a dark grey arm ending with a hand of long narrow fingers tipped in lengthy nails reached up out of the black fluid in the dish and grasped Erilyn's throat with apparent force.

Neither the elf lady nor the half-elf druid could dislodge the vice-like grip. Erilyn was being thoroughly choked, her own hands gripping the wrist of the glossy grey arm reaching from the dish.

Without any other ideas, Fen swiped at the dish, knocking it off of the table.

The arm seemed to fall from Erilyn's throat, like liquid, though nothing actually touched the floor.

The black inky liquid in the dish, however, did not splatter from the shallow dish. Fen flipped the dish over with his spear tip to find the black inky fluid still within the shallow depression, seemingly undisturbed by being flung or upside down or anything else.

"Seems we're even, master druid. The thanks are now mine to offer." Erilyn said, after a few coughs, massaging her throat.

"So, what is it?" Fen asked hesitantly.

"That, my good Fen, will have to wait and require a bit more...shall we say 'cautious' research." Erilyn smiled weakly as she carefully picked up the dish and placed it, gently, in a leather satchel that she wore beneath her enchanted cloak that Fen had not, until then, noticed.

The druid and rogue-magess gave the chamber another once over, searching under the multiple furs and fabrics, the bedframe, under the ornate rugs that were scattered around the floor.

Erilyn was thoroughly disheartened by their failure to find the wizard's spellbook. She suggested to Fen in defeat that the wizard must keep it on his person...as many mages were want to do.

They did, however, find a few more parchments and letters, mostly in languages Fen didn't understand, but Erilyn was able to determine a few of them were in Draconic. A cursory glance of those told them that Tresahd was in communications with someone named "Galtin", another reoccurring name was "Braneuil" <_"bran-WEE-il"_> and, the one Fen knew full well, "Rach'sha."

The messages seemed to mostly be giving orders, some responded to unknown queries. They would all require more time for a thorough examination, the elvin sorceress admitted. "My dragon-tongue isn't really what it should be."

"That seems like proof to me." Fen said. "Let's find Pyrnion and the small ones and get out of here."

Erilyn nodded her agreement and the two cautiously slipped out of the pavillion tent.


----------



## Lwaxy

Ah, update!  I like that goblin. Clever guy. 

I wish our game would go more quick so I could keep updating, too.


----------



## steeldragons

The bastard sword called Kandu veritably sang in Braddok's hand as it cleaved and sliced, chopped and cut its way through the ranks of the undead. The blue glow from the sapphires in its hilt ensconced the blade in a flame-like light. More than once, Braddok felt like he was not even the one directing the blade, just his arm being pulled along behind it.

It didn't much matter to the simple fighting man, a destroyed zombie was a destroyed zombie, whether it was his hand or the sword itself mattered rather little. But the ringing in Braddok's brain of the sword's utter glee and exuberance, hoops and hollers, battle cries in some ancient tongue or actual guffaws at returning to its forged purpose after so long neglected was starting to annoy him.

The sword easily dispatched a bugbear skeleton before Braddok felt a chilling rake in his side where a trio of ghouls lunged forward for a fresh meal.

The blue light that surrounded the blade flared slightly and the paralytic cold of the foul creature seemed to course through the fighter's body, away from the wound, focus up to his sword arm and down its length, out his palm into the handle of the sword, fully leaving his body.

"Hey, thanks!" Braddok said with some mild surprise before decapitating the first ghoul.

"Kandu's promise...no effect of the Unholy will again effect your body or soul so long as my jeweled scabbard is upon you." said the sword's voice into Braddok's mind.

"Well, whatever it is, unh!" Braddok paused to hack the arm off of one of the other ghouls, "it's appreciated." 

The sudden scent of honey and pine trees assaulted the warrior's nose and he knew that somewhere nearby Haelan was again invoking his goddess's might to hinder the various undead swirling around them. How many more times could the poor little halfling manage such a dramatic feat, Braddok found himself wondering.

His gaze lifted for a moment in the fighting, after slaying the third ghoul, to take in his surroundings and find Alaria.

A large swathe of the Shi'Aiiniri was coated in an almost day-bright light, (one of Haelan's first invocations when the battle was joined) helping to keep some of the undead shadows away from the elvin infantry, as well as hindering the living goblin troops. Braddok had a moment of relief to notice that the number of undead about the field seemed greatly reduced and un-zombified goblins and hobgoblins were beginning to move in. 

It would be a great help for the real morning to come, but Braddok knew that was still hours away. Kandu, essential yanked his arm up to stab through a zombie-bear that came shambling up on his left. With a simple yank and jerk, the unfortunate creature was sliced in twain.

But where was Alaria?!

A streak of lightning followed by a low rumble of thunder. Looked at least 50' away from somewhere near the elvin captain atop the stag. She was too far. He needed to get closer.

The elf raised his slender curved sword and shouted a command Braddok did not understand. Lowering his sword toward the enemy a veritable rainbow of colored shards and bolts of energy sailed up and over the closest foes to land in the living ranks now entering the fray. Braddok smirked to himself, believing a few violet-blue bolts he saw were Alaria's own.

He blocked an attack from the swiping claws of a skeletal puma on his shield before dispatching it and charged in the direction of the magess, striking at anything that wasn't an elf as he went.


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## steeldragons

*Bump* (is it inappropriate to bump oneself?)

Sorry for the false alarm. But saw I was rather near the bottom and will be posting later today. So just didn't want to "lose" it.

I'll take the time to make apologies here for the lack of posts in the passed few months.

Some life stuff. Holidays. And I've been working on getting an Orea campaign setting book together for publication...which then spun off into a "game system" to go along with it...which spun off into so many other multiple things. Need to just get back to the actual SETTING stuff. lol.

So, figured I'd return here with the Stormriders and get re-focused (is that a word?) on the world of Orea (not to mention you lovely patient readers are more than overdue!).

More later. Hope everyone's having a nice December thus far.
--SD


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## steeldragons

Haelan ducked from the swiping skeletal goblin. A solid smash with his  mace put an end to that. He looked out before him at the wave of undead  before him.

"Was this the third one? The fourth?" the daelvar wondered with some exhaustion, to himself.

Haelan  jolted in surprise as a shower of small bone shard sprayed over him  like rain from his right. He turned to see an elf in midnight blue robes  and silvery stars and crescent moons all along the trim. The silvery  white haired elf gave Haelan a momentary grin before whirling his staff  around him to decimate another skeleton on his flank.

The top of  the staff held the up-turned crescent moon and trio of stars that, as  Healan recalled form his teachings, symbolized the greater moon goddess,  Arinane. She was much revered by the elves, Haelan knew. The daelvar  was equally impressed that the relatively thin silver, decorative  looking top of the staff seemed capable of cleaving through the undead  like butter left out at a summer picnic too long.

"Keep your  wits, my Hill-tending friend. We shall not let these affronts to the  gods take you from us this night!" the elf smiled.

Haelan smiled back, more out of the similarity the full-blooded elf's words sounded like his half-blooded elf friend's.

Almost  before Haelan could react, the odor wafted over the field across the  two priests. Haelan gagged and grabbed his holy pinecome symbol...again!  He knew that smell all too well and wasn't about to let any ghouls lay a  paralyzing talon on himself or his new friend.

The scents of  honey and pine filled the area and dismissed the "ghoul stank" as Duor  liked to say. It also gave the Arinanish priest and the Hilltender a  wide diameter of breathing room, as skeleton and zombie goblinoids  shattered and turned to dust in the honey colored glory that was  Faerantha's might. Those that did not, as well as the, as yet unseen,  ghouls beat a hasty retreat.

"I don't think I'll ever tire of  that." smiled the elf moon-priest. "You really must tell me how that's  done when this is all over."

Then Haelan noticed that between his  toes was a literal layer of this undead "dust." Had they truly been  fighting THAT many creatures! "Ew gross, " Haelan complained, "I'm  stepping in zombie!"

It was only moments after the "turning"  corona faded from the very tired daelvar priest that it seemed a breeze  whipped up...yet there was no breeze. All across the field before him,  and through his very toes, the undead grey dust and bone shards seemed  to "blow" and roll and sweep up together...Another few moments and a  brand new force of undead creatures was again facing the elvin troops. 

Haelan exhaled a rather defeated sounding exhale. "We can't keep doing this." he muttered.

The  elf priest, little more than an acolyte of a mere century in age, named  Cyrillian (Haelan was pretty sure that was what it was), looked down at  the daelvar in some confusion. "You tire?" he said perplexed. Then  understanding crossed his chiseled face. "You tire!" Cyrillian realized.  The invocations the daelvar used must take a toll. Cyrillian also  recalled, he had heard, the bodies of mortal races were more fragile,  prone to disease and exhaustion.

Cyrillian stepped between the  new under and the Hilltender, who sank to his knee for a moment. The elf  threw out his arms and uttered the odd tongue of the lost human empire  of Seluria to invoke the Bright Lady's blessings upon them. A momentary  flash of silver light ringed the two priests. Secure that his prayer was  answered, the elf turned and knelt down to the Hilltender. 

"Take a moment, now, my friend. The night is far from ended." he said in a kindly tone.

There  was a flash of blue light nearby and the low rumble of thunder to their  other side. Haelan's eyes lifted to where the pale blue light flashed  and slashed through the crowded battlefield. He'd been very impressed by  Braddok's new weapon when the thing had burst into flame before the  battle had been joined.

"Braddok!" Haelan called through the crowd, seeing the warrior attempting to make his way toward their general direction. "Braddok, help!"

The  warrior was there in a moment. His face was awash in concern to see the  daelvar priest on the ground with an elf kneelying over him. "Haelan!  Are you..."

"I'm fine, for the moment." Haelan began. The warrior  was able to near the two priests (as he was not intending them harm or  attacking) and helped Haelan back to his feet. "But we need to stop  them!" he used his mace to point toward the surrounding undead. "Every  time we take them down, they just come back together. We'll never beat  them. They must be being controlled from somewhere! Endore's putrid hand  is all over this. I can feel it. We need to find those priests and stop  them!"

_*Kandu...can help.*_ came the curious voice into Braddok's head.

"Then do it!" Braddok said out loud in some aggrevation.

Haelan looked up at the warrior with the eyes of a kicked puppy.

"I  WILL! But I need your help! Alaria's too, probably. We don't know where  they are." He was cold. It was dark. He was soooo tired. Up to his  toe-hairs in zombie dust...and now Braddok was yelling at him! Healan's  bottom lip quivered.

"Not you, Haelan. The sword. I'm sorry. The sword was talking to me." the warrior apologized.

_*Gaze into my crystals.*_ Kandu's voice echoed through the swordsman's thoughts again. 

Braddok did as bidden. 

Within  the two sapphires in the hilt, a light flickered and blue and white  color swirled together. Then there they were, in Braddok's mind's eye.  Three priests near the tree line at the far end of the field. Sharp bony  elbows and shoulders poked out at inhuman angles from beneath black  tattered looking robes. They circled and twirled around each other.  Sometimes throwing their arms here and there in what looked as much like  fits as dancing. Sometimes reaching high then bending low. All the  while, drawn and cracked pale lips moved unknown sounds from beneath the  off-white skull-masks that covered the top of their faces.

With a shutter, the image was sharply gone from Braddok's mind, but the knowledge of their location was clear to him. 

"I know where they are. Let's get Alaria and put an end to this." Braddok said.

_*You're welcome.*_ Kandu's voice said to Braddok.

Braddok  rolled his eyes as he ushered the daelvar and elf priests before him  back into the ranks to get to where he was confident Alaria had  stationed herself.


----------



## steeldragons

"ALAAARIA!" Haelan shouted over the bustle of the battle.

The magess turned to see the cleric and Braddok with some silver-haired dark robed elf heading her way.

_"CASTERS READY!_" <translated from elvin> the soraryn captain shouted again from atop his stag, not far from her.

What  did they want? She needed to prepare another battery of energy to take  out the goblins nad hobgoblins slinking around behind the lines of  undead. She could always just use her staff again, but if she wasn't  careful she'd burn out the freshly recharged weapon in a single night!

"What is it?" she shouted back.

"We  need to go get th-..." Braddok began to say and then just...stopped? In  mid stride he stopped. Haelan, near the Grinlian swordsman's knees was  similarly froen, seemingly in mid-run. The elf with them. No trace of  the moon-priest's robes or silvery tresses moved at all.

Alaria  immediately feared the worst. She turned in alarm to see the captain,  his stag frozen, like a golden statue, rearing. The elf's voice wide  open in the midst of some command. The elves around the stag and  herself, all, just...stuck in whatever pose they had been in a heartbeat  before. 

The undead, the wounded, the wounding, arrows from both sides just sitting perfectly still in mid-air.

What  could she do?! Whoever cast this holding had covered a HUGE amount of  area. How...she didn't even know if was possible...Then she felt a  breeze behind her and a familiar slightly gravelly voice of the elderly  sounded very near her, but soft.

She whireld around again to  see...a cloud, or was it a mist, sweep up and take form. White then pale  lavender. Then darker. A bit of gold, some brown...the purple deepened  as the humanoid form literally "stepped" into solidity.

"Celerion?!" Alaria exclaimed. "What...how...what are you doing?"

"And  greetings to you, Magess Alaria. I do as I have done these passed  centuries....Carrying out my lordmage's will." the wrinkled elderly elf  stepped slowly toward her. His gnarled staff seeming like it ought not  be strong enough to keep the bent old elf on his feet beneath the heavy  violet velvet and heavily inscribed gold-trimmed robes.

"The  Lordmage Arganor has seen fit to grant your request." Celerion said and  reached into the billowing sleeves behind the knotted hand holding the  twisted staff.

"My request? He...really?!" Alaria was somewhat surprised.

"Of  course, the matter of your compensation can be dealt with at some later  time." the elf said calmly and looked around at the utter chaos of  battle surrounding them. "Seems you might continue to need the Staff of  Aanna for the moment, eh?"

The elvin chamberlain grinned a  thin-lipped grin and winked at the magess as he withdrew the crystal  orb, the Ihs Repahl. Almost immediately air seemed to flow around the  two wizards and the swirling white clouds of light within churned as it  was placed into Alaria's palm.

"Use it wisely, magess...and do not lose it!" Celerion said with a shake of a bony finger, as one might to a naughty child.

"Lord  Chamberlain..." Alaria started, unsure of what to say or who to thank  first. "My most humbled thanks to the Lordmage...and yourself for  transporting it here. If I may, what is the magic you've worked here?  I've never seen the like. With might such as yours we could win this  battle easily."

"No, I imagine you've not seen the like."  Celerion chuckled. When it seemed to Alaria he had no intention of  responding to Alaria's second comment, he said, almost absentmindedly,  in a soft "far off" sounding voice, "Winning the battle means nothing if  the war is lost."

"But..." he said, looking at the amassed evil  in the broad field. He took a few steps from Alaria, toward the reaching  and silently shrieking undead. Celerion reached forward and tapped his  staff just before between the elf forces. A light, silent, unassuming  tap. Alaria didn't even think the old elf had the strength to leave a  mark on the ground.

"Take care, Alaria Stormrider. There is much  yet to do." Celerion said and as suddenly as he'd stepped into solid  form, he seemed to fade from view and step away into nothingness.

Alaria  looked at the orb within her palm and a slightly unnerving wicked smirk  formed on her face. She looked up and around and all was still...still  and silent. One pulse...two.

SHHHHHHEEEEEERRRRKOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!!

Everything  began to move again, just as it had been, but instead of the hustle and  bustle and cries and roars and clangs, the whole of the battlefield  cringed at the immense thunderous boom that left visible waves in the  air before her. Undead, goblins and hobgoblins as far as the length of  the field, back to the treeline high above and several hundreds of yards  from her position, either shattered or exploded where they stood or  fell to the ground clutching their ears before the shockwave.

Haelan,  Braddok and the elf whose name she did not know stopped immediately.  After the cringe, they looked at the nearly half-cleared battlefield.  Then turned their stunned open-mouthed faces to Alaria.

"I got the orb back." Alaria smiled broadly and lifted the crystal toward her friends. "See!"


----------



## SolitonMan

Please sir...may we have some more?


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria, Braddok, Haelan and the elfin moon-priest, Cyrillian, sped through the battlefield, nothing more than vague outlines of mist. Meesh flapped his smalllish wings besides Alaria and remarked how much better the "sssolihhhdsss look likuhhh thisss. Remindsss Meeessh ovvv hhhome."

A moment later, at Braddok's direction, they came to the three Endoren bone-masked priests engaged in their ceremony of animation and control of all the dead and undead across the battlefield.

"Ready?" Alaria asked.

"Let's do this." Braddok said, even as Kandu remarked a similar sentiment in the warrior's head. He gripped the sapphire studded bastard sword more tightly and readied himself to "become solid" again.

With a thought from Alaria toward the Ihs Repahl, the four companions did just that. Even as their toes touched the ground, outlines became filled in, misty colors darkened and the whole of their bodies and beings again took on the solidity of their normal form. 

It was a curious sensation, Alaria remarked to herself. The weightless airy feeling suddenly becoming heavy again. The magess wondered for a moment if she were actually as heavy as she now felt all of the time? An examination for another time. Right now, there was dark magic to concern oneself with.

The three clerics of Endore were caught by complete surprise as a broadly-muscled dark-haired human warrior suddenly appeared before them. The first cleric fell to Kandu's bluish gleam in a single stroke.

Haelan and the elf priest came into visible being behind the clerics and the daelvar lunged forward, catching the center cleric in the back of his knees. The Endoren buckled and fell, whatever wicked trance he had been maintaining utterly ruined. 

Alaria stayed behind Braddok, readying her most potent spell to cancel their foes' incantations should the need arise.

A battle cry from the third cleric caught her attention as he shouted toward the heroes in some language the magess did not know. A moment later, 4 hobgoblin soldiers were racing for the melee's location from the dark shadows of the treeline.

The priest Haelan had knocked down turned with toward the daelvar as he raised his mace for another blow. The plague-priest's mouth twisted in obvious contempt and fury (the top half of his face and eyes obscured behind the bone skull-mask Endore's faithful wear). His brassy voice twisted the tainted tongue of unholy magics and reached out for the halfling's bushy-haired foot. 

Haelan cried out as pain shot up through his limbs, assaulted his innards. It was only for a second, but very nerve of his being shrieked in burning pain. The Hilltender dropped to the ground, fighting to retain his consciousness, from the intense pain.

The other standing cleric also intoned the hissing dark language of evil, _“Essressstim Endore, Surevvv  miclon etne aetuuundshaaaa!” <cleric spell, Spiritual Weapon.  “Mistress Endore, attack your enemies with your [un]holy weapon!”>_ 

A putrid green skull ensconced in purple flames appeared in the air beside the Endoren and with a wave of his arm, flew through the air to strike Braddok, hard, as the warrior turned to face the oncoming hobgoblins.

There's too much going on, thought Alaria. "Meeessh! Can you make your mist wall between us and those hobgoblins?"

The steam mephit, who was flitting in his usual place beside (and slightly behind) the R'Hathi wizard let loose with the hiss-teapot-squeal that Alaria had come to recognize as his laugh and wrung his steaming and dripping long fingered hands together. "Meeessh hhhhappy to hhhhehhhlp mihhhssstrisss."

The mephit flew up over the immediate battle and lowered himself directly in the hobgoblins path. The reddish-orange heavily armored goblinoids did not slow their advance as the mephit threw up his arms. A wall of steam, like a geyser, burst from the ground between the small elemental imp and the soldiers. That halted their advance, abruptly. Meeessh grinned to himself at the horrified scream that came from (the mephit could see perfectly well through the steam) the lead hobgoblin who'd gotten caught in the blast of superheated water and air, being half-boiled half-baked in his metal armor.

The central priest had risen and from beneath the robes flowing around his skeletal waist, withdrew a mace with a skull-shaped head. He raised the mace, fully prepared to have it crush the insolent little hairfoot. His blow was stayed, however, by a sudden gleam of silvery light as his mace was stopped by a crescent moon and star tipped staff. The elf, Cyrillian, stood over/before the Hilltender. "Your evil shall not have the night of my lady." the elf almost growled to the surprised Endoren.

The flaming skull flew around the field, striking both Braddok and Alaria before returning to the side of the cleric who had invoked it. A twisted smirk formed on the cleric's mouth, revealing a mouth missing at least half of its teeth. The gaunt figure threw his arm forward again and the skull surged forward toward the warrior once again.

This time, the spiritual weapon did not land, as the blue light of Kandu's blade rose to block the attack. Braddok raced forward in an attempt to strike before the cleric could redirect his spell. His attack struck true and the cleric shrieked and fell to the ground, still alive but sorely wounded. Even as it was coming around the purple flames and green skull burned away into nothingness.

Meeessh's wall of steam had dissipated as well and the hobgoblins began their advance again, including the scalded "leader".

Alaria exhaled, she had hoped not to have to expend too much of her higher tiered spells, should they have the misfortune of encountering Tresahd, again, directly. There seems little choice but to use some. 

As the magess began to call to mind the secret words of arkanic she was shocked to see a small dart lodge itself in the lead hobgoblin's neck.

"RAAAAAAAHHHHH! EAT CROSSBOW BOLTS GOBLIN SCUM!" came an all too familiar voice.

Alaria whirled around to see Duor...and Fen...flying?

The zepharim, Pirnyon, diving toward their position, the dwarf hanging from one arm and the druid, his great cloak flailing out behind him, hanging from the other. The winged man lowered the two within 10 feet of the ground and droped them before immeidately taking to the air again, ripping out his broad bladed hand axe.

Fen hit the ground and rolled to a kneeling position to bring the butt of his sacred spear slamming to the ground. The streak of green lightning shot across the ground to beneath the approaching hobgoblins and seemed to seep into the ground.

Alaria smirked to herself, knowing what came next. Shouts and holler erupted form the goblinoids as the vines and roots and blades of trampled grass burst up all around them, like vegetative tentacles, firmly halting and holding the soldiers where they stood.

Duor, similarly, hit the ground in a roll and came to his feet, just beside Alaria, a fresh dart somehow reloaded into his signature hand crossbow as he came to his feet and fired this one into the back of the black-robed cleric that seemed to be locked in battle with some robed elf.

"Hail Pirnyon!" Braddok shouted to the air, even as the Grinlian brought his blade around to swing at the toppled cleric, hoping to finish him off. Somehow, that strike missed and the warrior found himself off balance and unable to recover enough to back away when the cleric reached forward to grip his leg, another line of the tainted speech hissing across his cracked thin lips.

Braddok was seized with immediate panic as everything before his eyes went black. He made a wide circling swipe with his blade to try to give himself some room.

"Alaria! What's happened?! I cant' see!" the warrior called out.

Alaria turned to the swordsman with great concern to see the panic across his face. There was no evident issue about his head or eyes. He had been blinded by some curse of the wicked cleric, who was scrambling to get out of the warrior's reach.

"Do not worry, Braddok, Haelan will help you. Stay calm. Meeessh, watch Braddok!" the wizardess shouted across the field to where the daelvar had risen to his feet, though still sorely hurt and was preparing to aid the elf-priest against the chief cleric. 

_"Everx zaar!"_ the magess let loose with two of her violet-blue energy shards slammed into the wounded crawling cleric. He ceased to crawl.

The winged Pirnyon had made short work of two of the hobgoblins trapped in Fen's entanglement spell, easily hacking away at them from aloft, above the twining vegetation's grip.

The druid, himself had gone to engage the Endoren cleric with the other two priests. His spear's leaftip caught the Endoren in the side for a solid blow, but the half-elf, then, did not avoid the whirling response of the skull-headed mace and caught a solid clock against the head, himself.

Haelan had now retaken his place in front of the not-very-battle-hardened Cyrillien. As the cleric was distracted by Fen's sudden inclusion in their fight, Haelan was able to connect with a solid crack to the priests ribs.

There was another trade of blows before the high-priest finally fell and the remaining hobgoblins were plant food.

The group formed up around the warrior. Alaria gently took Braddok by the shoulders and tried to calm him.

"But I can't SEE!" the swordsman protested.

"You will. You will." Alaria soothed.

"Yeah, Braddok, I should be able to cure that...I just need a bit of time to rest and pray first." Haelan tried to explain.

"We don't have time! We're in the middle of a battle!" Braddok ranted.

"Not quite. Looks almost done." Fen said absently as he looked out over the sloping field below them. With the elimination fo the necromantic priests, the undead were being quickly eliminated and the newly dead were staying that way. The elves had nearly carved their way all the way up the sloping field to the party's position near the tree line of the broad open glade. 

"Hail and well met Stormriders!" came the friendly cry from the stag-mounted Soraryn captain. He waved his curved scimitar-like blade over his head even as the first pale blue of morning was forming over the treetops in the east. "The field is ours! The Bulgruch..."

_"Is here."_ a growling boom rumbled around the party like thunder.

The soraryn and a few foot soliders around him turned to the tree line, some 50 yards from where the party had just concluded their fight. Their handsome chiseled elvin faces took on the serious concentration of decades (if not centuries) of training and battle-readiness.

A massively tall and broadly shouldered bugbear0ish goblinoid looking creature crashed through the brush into the open field. As they all watched, the creature's 10 foot tall frame seemed to arch back and hunch forward, the coarse black and grey hair that flowed frm just about everywhere on his body grew longer before their eyes, as did the goblinish noise, turning into a great wolf-ish snout, and its ears struck back, against its head, pointed and sharp and longer than any normal canine animal. Its arms ended in huge long fingered hands that eneded in longer still claws of gleaming black. The arms, which also seemed to function as forelegs, were significantly longer than its legs which snapped and cracked to reform from normal "knees front" humanoid legs to canine-like hind legs.

The transformation comlplete, the creature opened its large fang filled mouth and...kept opening it...and further...til, impossibly, the jaw was nearly touching the ground! Visible waves of heat rippled through the air as the Bulgruch expelled a thunderous roar across the battlefield.

Indeed, Alaira thought to herself as the whole party covered their ears, the whole of Miralosta must have shuddered from the bellow.

"Th-th-_that's _the Bulgruch!?" Haelan quaked near Braddok's knees.

Before any of the party could say or do anything, the demon-wolf-goblin-warlord-thing they'd only heard of as "the Bulgruch" lunged forward toward the soraryn and elves before him. There was little more than a blur as one, two and three of the foot soldiers were clawed into multiple sprays of blood from various sized pieces before they could even lift their blades.

The soraryn, maintained control on his rearing stag enough to get in a single attack before the Bulgruch, literally, tore the stag in half. The elf captain stood his ground, with determination until the beast again opened its maw, the jaw nearly touching the goround before him.

Alaria could not recall if she had ever seen absolute undiluted horror on an elf's face before. That was what was on the soraryn's face. Eyes wide. Mouth agape. His scimitar blade lowered as if suddenly much to much weight for the elf to wield. 

The party watched as the rippling waves of heat usheered forth with another roar. Fen was almost certain he saw an orange-yellow flickering light licking forth from the creatures mouth as well.

The elf shrieked...actually shrieked a blood-curddling scream of unadulterated fear as the great monster's opened mouth literally came straight down over/upon him.

The Bulgruch clamped its mouth shut, threw its head back and reared up in a baying howl of triumph.

As his arms/forelegs slammed back into the ground, the wolflike head with glowing red eyes turned slowly to face the party. Saliva or bile dripped form the sides ofthe creature's mouth, a slight yellowish light to them, as if it were lava or acid.

_"And now..."_ an orange glow evident from somewhere back in the monster's throat when it opened its mouth, _"You are the Storm Riders I've heard so much about?" _the Bulgruch said with mild questioning amusement.

_Next time...Battle of the Bulgruch._


----------



## SolitonMan

Awesome!  

Thanks, SD, have a terrific weekend!


----------



## steeldragons

There was little Alaria remembered about fear. She had been afraid when they had first met the thugs on the streets of Hawkview. But she had overcome it. She had been afraid of the goblins that had ambushed them. That fear was almost nothing compared to what she'd feared from the giant crabs on the boat en route to Dragonbone Isle. The crab demon had been a shock, but not really a fear to compare with watching Haelan carried off by a harpy. The were rats had been a scare because of their unnatural nature. The trolls outside of the Feldmere were a concern more than a fear. But they'd conquered all of those.

The toothy maw of the piercer lunging for her was a memory she yet encountered in troubled dream. The "rock of death" was awful, but easily enough overcome. The battle with the ghouls in Shafton was a battle to live on in legend and song. The dark wizard, Tresahd, who she was now certain was a dragon was a foe she wished not to face again ever in her lifetime. The night hag in the Gorathgraard dimension of night and the demons in Tresahd's stronghold had filled her with apprehension and questioning their survival. 

But this...this Bulgruch...this was something she had never dared to imagine was a creature she would ever face. It was only 50 yards away. A complete horror filled her being.

"Haelan, elf-priest. Make your invocation of protection. NOW!" Alaria shouted in evident panic as the great wolf-demon began the very few strides toward them.

“_Deisa Faerantha, ep localis sanctum a spiritaii_.” <spell:  Sanctuary. “Holy Faerantha, let this place be a sanctuary to your devoted  follower.”> Haelan immediately invoked even as he watched the great beast pounce toward him.

_"Suprima Matra, Arinane, ep localis sanctum a spiritaii." <spell: Sanctuay. "Great Mother, Arinane, let this place be a sanctuary to your devoted follower."_> intoned Cyrillian.

The two clerics, positioned before the rest of the party, almost simultaneously, had a circle of silver light surround their position. The Bulgruch came to land upon the mystical barrier in a great burst of silvery sparks.

It recovered immediately, shook its head and growled at the assembled heroes. I began topaw itself slowly to the left...the clerics could not move their holy spaces to match him.

"Abomination! You shall assault the Green no longer!" cried Fen and began to incant a powerful spell.

_"Shall I not, tree priest? I beg to differ."_ the Bulgruch growled back. Gaging his position to be around the elf-priest's protection lunged forward again to be halted, half of him at least, pushed aside from a bruch with the invisible barrier in a silvery spray of light.

"Stay behind us, Braddok. We will take care of this." Alaria said, and without a second thought, loosed a lightning bolt from her staff.

The electrical streak shot forth, sending a rolling rumble of thunder behind it. This struck the demon-wolf and threw it a few feet to the side. Fen continued to chant under his breath.

_"Ahhhh. So you are the magess, eh?_" the beast growled at Alaria. It shook its head back and forth, as if to reorient itself.

_*Kandu. I need to see. You showed me things before. Can you be my eyes now?*_ Braddok thought, desperately, toward his sword.

_*Kandu can, warrior. But this evil is greater than my power alone can subdue. Open your mind to my...uh...eyes*_ the sword replied.

A hazy image framed in blue came into Braddok's mind. It was as if he were there...but not there...he saw the huge wolf creature leap toward...ALARIA! As if by instinct more than thought, Braddok swung his enchanted blade.

It caught the beast in the neck. And forced its reaching claws to fall just before the edges of Alaria's robes.

The magess looked at the blinded warrior is utter surprise.

"HYAHHHH!" came Duor's eloquent battle cry as the shadow-shrouded dwarven rogue leapt up to sink his green-ethereal-flamed dagger into the monster's side.

The Bulgruch bellowed. These heroes were, indeed, the threat he'd been told of. Their weapons bit into him where no other mortals encountered had been able to pierce his supernatural coat.

Suddenly, there was another pain, deep in its back...from above. Pyrnion's axe sank into the creature with a mighty force.

The Bulgruch did a complete flip coming to land back on his legs. The dwarf, the warrior and the winged thing were all thrown from it. The magess still stood, fear obvious on her face. She would be easy prey. It would engulf her and send her to the planes of the Abyss. But it couldn't...Tresahd wanted her, for...something.

The magess completed the obscure phrase and the Bulgruch found itself covered in luminescent strands of webbing. Nonsense...this "magic" of the mortals. It began to pull itself free, with obvious ease.

As it pulled itself free and reached again for this magess, scalding hot steam filled its eyes.

"Noh hhhurtsss mihhhssstrisss! Bahd Buhhhlgruhhh" Meeessh shouted in defiance.

_"Insolent IMP!"_ the Bulgruch shouted in return as it swiped up through the air, through the mephit, disipating him like swiping its claws through a cloud of smoke.

"MEEEEEEEEESSSSSsssssshhhhhhhh" the mephit's "dying" cry hissed through the field as he disappeared from view.

Alaria again commanded the Staff of Azanna to loose a lightning bolt, even as she saw her companions recover from begin thrown off the creature.

The lightning struck, to be sure, but it did not seem to stay the monster at all. In fact, a wicked grimace showed on its face.

*TANNNNNGGGGG*

The Bulgruch shook his head, as the clanging reverberation of the metal edge of the shield bounced off its head. It looked to its left to see the daelvar cleric reclaim its small round shield as it returned to his waiting grasp.

_"You'll be next, lil' priest."_ the Bulgruch growled.

"You'll not have a FIRST!" Braddok cried as he brought Kandu down, with both hands, upon the monster's neck.

The enchanted blade bit into its hide. The sword's enchantments burned. The Bulgruch knew he could not suffer many more blow like that.

_"Groooooosssssssssssuht!"_ it growl and the globe of darkness encased the whole of the battle. Its prey, it knew would be utterly blinded. Its demonic magic was not easily put aside. The magess, outlined in white to the demon-wolf-goblin's sight, was evidently surprised by the sudden darkness. Severring her head from her shoulders would be a single easy swipe.

"I can't see it" cried Pyrnion from above the globe of blackness. "Who's gotta a shot?"

"Blind as a bat here!" Duor's voice came from...somewhere.

Alaria felt the sweat on her forehead...she was completely blind. The monster was not 20 feet in front of her...or was...the thought of hard deadly claws raking into her flesh at any moment filled her with terror. She sank to the ground. Maybe it wouldn't know she was shorter than she was. The magic...the magic was her only hope...as she had always held it in her heart...she had to steady her mind...find the words of power...find the words...the creature's hot breath was felt through the unnatrual darkness...

_"Theran...arkana rebismio THERAN!"_ Alaria shouted. <_mage spell: Dispel Magic_> The magic flowed through her...the intoxicating ecstasy of power flowed through her. This tier of magic was something she had not dreamt. 

Suddenly the blackness disappeared. The slight light of predawn was practically blinding for the party, let alone the dark-sensitive Bulgruch. It let forth a painful howl as the ever so slight light struck its abyssaleyes unexpectantly.

"Get it!" Cried Duor. The dwarf lunged at the creature even as Fen's voice rose in the unperceivable tongue of druids.

The half-elf through his hands to the skies above him...which none had noticed had turned the deep dark grey of storm clouds. With a single swift gesture pointing at the Bulgruch, a rumble of thunder went up from the sky and a streak of almsot green lightning surged down from the sky, turning not 5 feet from Fen's head and slamming into the side of the Bulgruch.

The blow sent the beast reeling to the side. Only Duor's deft reflexes saved him from benig crushed beneath bristled demon-wolf.

"EH! Lil' warnin' next time, tree-hugger!" Duor protested to the druid.

The half-elf's eyes were filled with green light. If he heard the dwarf's protestation, there was no evidence of it.

Pyrnion had again taken flight and, following the lightinging strike dove in to hack again at the beast's back. 

It howled in pain and roared at its surroundings.

Braddok, through the mystic gaze of his sword, took up a position between the Bulgruch and Alaria. "It shall not touch you while I draw breath." the swordsman proclaimed for all to hear.

"Nor you my valiant love." Alaria returned.

"Aw, c'mon! Really, you two?!" Duor grumbled under his breath. "Just KILL IT!"
_
"Suprima Matra, Arinane..._" Cyrillian began began again but never finished.

The Bulgruch's impossibly opened maw lunged up and over the elfin priest. In a single smooth movement Cyrillian, the moon-priest, was engulfed in the creature's mouth and disappeared with a shriek of terror.

In a simultaneous movement it grabbed Haelan and crushed the daelvar in its massive grip.

Alaria was stiken with the horror of seeing terror upon an elfin face for the second time that night...she hoped never to see suchan expression again.

"DIE MONSTER!" Pyrnion cried as he dove down into the monster's face and hacked at the side of its face. The swing missed by less than an inch.

It tossed the daelvar tens of feet away and the small body bounced and rolled several tens of feet more.

"HAELAN!" Alaria cried in abject concern.

The Bulgruch clamped its jaws around the winged man in mid-flight. Pyrnion brought his axe down upon the monster's snout. It cut badly, but did not release the zepharim.

Another direction of Fen's arm brought another bolt of lightning slamming down from the sky into the wolf-beast. Pyrnion cried out in pain as the electrical energy danced around the two creatures. One of a heritage of immotal light and one of immortal darkness. Both were wracked in pain.

The Bulgruch, spasming, released the winged-humanoid. Pyrnion fell to the ground at the demon-wolf's feet.

Alaria backed it up with a lightning bolt of her own for good measure and the whole of the company saw the Bulgruch falter from the blow of magical energy.

_"I will not be brought down by such as you."_ the Bulgruch protested, struggling to regain its footing in defiance.

"I think yeh might." said Duor throwing his ethereal dagger into the beast's side, not daring to make a strike in person should one of these lightning-happy spellcasters be throwing any more at him. 

It proved a wise choice as, not a moment later, another bolt from Fen found its mark.

Braddok surged forward and took another overhanded strike at the beast's neck...nearly severring it.

The massive wolf-goblin-demon form fell to the ground with an audible thud.

Braddok hacked at it again...and again. The third strike removed the beast's head.

_*It is done._* came Kandu's voice to Braddok's mind again even as the mystical sight withdrew from Braddok's perception, leaving him again in an unconcerting darkness.

Alaria turned to see the elfin forces, who none had realized were watching the battle from a distance looking at the collected heroes in disbelief.

"The Bulgruch is fallen!" she proclaimed out over the field.

A cheer went up across the field even as the first pinkish orange rays of dawn broke the tree tops. Followed by the chanting cheers of the "_N'cynbiiri Hallae! N'cynbiiri Hallae! N'cynbiiri Hallae!" <literally from the elvin: "Champions of the Storm"_>

Alaria grasped Braddok tightly around the neck. "We've won! The Bulgruch is no more." she said.

"Do you hear that?" She said with a tear in her eye, whether the joy of triumph or the overwhelming relief of the fear leaving her, she neither knew nor cared.

"I still can't see." Braddik said quietly even as he smiled with the chants rushing over him and the close, reassuring touch of Alaria.

"Yes, I know. We'll fix it. Haelan will fix it." she smiled through her tears, listening to the elfin adulation.

"Haelan, do you hear that?" Alaria looked with a smile to where she'd last seen the daelvar. A small lump still lay there. 

"Haelan?"


----------



## steeldragons

Haelan sat, legs outstretched, looking out over the Dale on the warming summer evening. A permanent grin on his face as he closed his eyes to allow the twilight breeze to caress his face. The wind brought with it a fragrant waft of wildflowers and pine trees.

He tilted his head back and opened his eyes to gaze up into the broad branches spreading over him, like a great green-furred umbrella. His eyes caught sight of a flitting blue-spot butterfly passing by. He followed the elegant creature's looping trail until it came to rest on the outstretched finger.

Haelan started. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't realize anyone else was here."

Haelan felt himself begin to blush, despite himself. The female daelvar was beautiful with rosy apples of cheeks, rich full lips and a head of flaming auburn curls contained within a ring of bright yellow and blue flowers and large white daisies. Her dress was a simple shift of white cotton, but intricately embroidered along the hems with incredibly intricate patterns of leaves, vines and budding flowers, again of blue and yellow.

"I...uh...I'm Haelan Spurthistle. I don't recall seeing you 'round these parts before..." the daelvar priest offered as he watched, with some surprise as a chipmunk came bounding up to the woman and jumped into her lap where it curled itself up in obvious rest. All around the woman the ground was sprinkled with daisies and buttercups, as Haelan now noticed, was most of the slow sloping hill upon which they sat.

"I know who you are, Hilltender. You have achieved great things in Faerantha's name. All in a few short months since you've 'ventured beyond here," the woman stretched out her arm to indicate the quiet lazy dale stretched out before them. "More than most Hilltenders ever do in their lifetimes. You are truly blessed to have made such diverse folk your friends. Together you may achieve great things, all while maintaining and honoring the spirit of your own kind. It is truly a thing of beauty." The woman paused a moment to receive a chirping bluebird on her finger. She let the bird chirp for a few moments and then said...to the bird?!..."Yes, of course." The bluebird flew off and the woman turned to look, directly at Haelan.

The Hilltender met her large pale green eyes and felt himself filled with a falling sensation...no...rolling down a soft grassy slope. It was a feeling of pure comfort and safety and oneness with the grass, the flowers...the hill! Haelan's eyes darted to the ground and, if he hadn't already been lounging, he would have dropped to his knees.

"Apologies my Lady! Are...are you...you are Faerantha?! Am I...I mean, is this...Am I dead?" Haelan fumbled all over himself, desiring beyond anything to sound reverent.

The female daelvar placed her fingers to her bright cherry red lips and twittered a little giggle. "Me?...Faerantha?!" she giggled some more. "Certainly not, I'm far too pretty. Don't you think, Hilltender?" she leaned forward slightly and batted her long auburn eyelashes the tips of which sparkled with almost imperceptible points of light, like diamonds.

Haelan's mouth went dry and he stammered over himself several times to get out a discernible "Yes, very." before reality dawned on him. "You are Jepsabelle! The Morning Dew! Holy daughter of the Spring, beauty and love!"

Jepsabelle smirked at the hill-priest's realization.

"Forgive a poor servant's foolishness, lady. I am mortal after all and can not help but mistake one goddess for another." Haelan quickly offered by way of explanation.

At this the bluebird, which had been watching from one of the lowest branches again twittered, with some insistance. Jepsabelle took notice and seemed a bit annoyed. "Yes. Yes."

Then, she rose and moved to the still bowed daelvar. She placed her fingertips beneath his chin and lifted it until he faced her.

"Hilltender Haelan Spurthistle, your time is not now. As I said, you have many great things that may yet bring further glory to your beloved gods."

"I am the Holy Family's humble servant, lady. Anything you wish is mine to attend." Haelan responded with complete veneration.

"You are doing just fine on your own, so far." Jepsabelle smiled softly. "Follow your heart, kind one, and at all times _protect the stone_, Haelan. It is very important and he must not get it." She let go of Haelan's chin and staightened, seeming...somehow...in an instance to tower over him, growing to the height of the great tree under which they had sat...and eventually seeming to take up the whole sky as yellow, blue and white wildflowers sprouted from everywhere all around him until all he could see were flowers and her giant pale green eyes.

*_Awaken._* came the goddess of spring's final word to Haelan's mind.

Haelan's eyes shot open as he spurted and nearly choked on the pink fluid that was being shoved into his mouth.

"MORE! He needs more potion yeh daft druid. Giv'im MORE!" came Duor's voice to Haelan's ears even before his vision cleared to see the dwarf trying to grab the potion vial from the half-elf druid. The magess and warrior stood over/behind them with expressions of severe worry on their faces.

"He's awake!" Alaria burst.

"There. See. Told yeh. Just leave it to the dwarf..." proudly burst Duor.

Fen ignored the rogue and smiled calmly at Haelan. "Be still, Haelan. You had quite a jolt. Gave us quite a scare. Let the potion and my limited talents for healing magic do their work. Gently now..." Fen aided the Hilltender to his shaky feet. "We should get him back to camp so he can rest."

"I...I'm fine, Fen. But thank you. I think I might not be here now without your aid." Halean looked around and smiled weakly at his companions. His gaze finally came to est on the huge mound of black and grey fur and the wolfish head a few feet separate. "So...we won then? We killed a demon?!"

this brought laughter from a few of the companions. "We did, indeed, Hilltender." Braddok answered. 

Halean winced as Alaria knelt to give the Hilltender a slightly-too-tight hug.

"Don't scare me like that again, Haelan." the magess said.

Haelan chuckled slightly. "I'll do my best not to. But, oh Alaria, where I went...what I saw!...it was so beautiful...the goddess of beauty, in fact. It was amazing. You see..."

Alaria smiled and nodded as the Hilltender struck off on a detailed and rambling rail of his "vision" while the party was scrambling to keep him from dying. 

"Yes, he's going to be fine." Alaria thought to herself as the party collected themselves and slowly made their way back to the elvin camp.


----------



## SolitonMan

Great battle!  

The scene with Haelan and the goddess was nicely done.  I really enjoy that in a story hour, adding depth to the characters and the world beyond the action of combat.  You do an excellent job with your imagery SD, thanks for another great installment!


----------



## steeldragons

The group rested in the large open pavillion tent with the elvish captains, toasted with exquisite wine and enjoying a light break fast of fruits and some deer-milk cheese.

Duor was thoroughly disgusted at the lack of meat or ale until one of a nearby group of satyrs caught his eye. With a wink and a smirk, he waved the dwarf over to their circle. The satyrs were similarly reveling in the recent news that the Bulgruch had been defeated and the evil goblinoid forces were in a complete disarray of retreat. Duor slipped away without incident and joined the goat-men and, more importantly, their burning amber-colored liquor which the satyr’s referred to as “rye.” It was similar, Duor noted, to dwarven whiskey, but had a slightly more flowery tint to it. Between that and the haunch of roasted hare he was given, Duor decided once and for all that feasting with satyrs was infinitely preferable to feasting with elves. 

Alaria noted, without comment, as the dwarf joined the satyrs not far from the pavilion. A wave of melancholy passed over her as her thoughts turned to the fallen Festus and then , immediately, to the fallen Erevan. If they had come here to aid this cause as he had argued...but she could not torture herself so. They had played a substantial role in the saving of his homeland and the defense of his people. Alaria hoped to herself that, wherever it was elvish spirits flew <_DM’s note: There is no “popular opinion” on the matter. The elves, themselves were notoriously tight-lipped about their conceptions of “death” and “afterlife._”> Erevan would know and be proud of his friends’ efforts.

Haelan and Fen arrived somewhat after the others had begun their revery, having tended Pirnyon, as best they could in their spell-depleted state, in the healing tents. The zepharim had sustained a terrible amount of damage from the Bulgruch’s jaws and Fen’s lightning bolt. Nearly the entire left side of his body, and both wings were bandaged heavily.

The druid had made a somewhat stoic apology, recognizing it as “unfortunate” but justifying that the “unnatural abomination could not have been allowed to survive...whatever the cost.”

Pyrnion did not dispute the fact, but shared that he had no great desire to again join the half-elf on the field of battle ever again. He also posited that with the war seemingly finished, he would be recalled to the aerie of his master, the Wind Wizard, far to the south. 

“Oh I hope not!” Haelan had said in all sincerity. “We’ve only just met. You can’t go flying off over one liiil’ lightning bolt! ’Sides, you helped us defeat the Bulgruch, you’re an honorary ‘Stormrider’ now!”

“Haelan, that may be a subject to take up with the others..." Fen tried to interject.

“Nonsense! Alaria will agree for sure!" Haelan smiled in his infectious broad way at the seriously wounded zephari. 

Pyrnion’s nodded dumbly in response, looked to the sky with his single un-bandaged eye and murmured something in some language that sounded akin to elvish but neither Haelan nor Fen could make out.

Upon rejoining Alaria and Braddok at the main tent, Haelan was pleasantly surprised to find that his prayer to restore Braddok’s vision actually worked _<DM’s perogative _>!  Buttercreamshadowfeet found the halfling and nuzzled up around him. She remarked through a wide yawn, _*Mid-morning is no time for a revery. I don’t know how these elves do it. Wake me when we’re leaving.*_

So the Magess, the swordsman, the Hilltender and the druid passed a relatively subdued hour or so ‘celebrating’ their success before realizing that they too had been through the entire night and, other than a brief rest, the entire day before. Without worrying where the dwarf had gotten to, the four heroes retired for some much deserved and needed sleep.

Toward the late afternoon, they rose and again met under a smaller, more private open tented pavilion. Much of the elvin army had seemed to disappear into the woods while they’d slept. Only the commanders’ pavilion and one or two other tents remained. Satyrs with great bundles thrown over their shoulders skipped and cantered away into the woods, led by one less burdened who tweeted out a jaunty tune on his multi-reeded pipe.

 The Stormriders watched from afar as a small group of centaurs, many bandaged and showing minor wounds, made their farewells to the elf captains. As they turned to leave, the lead centaur caught the eye of Alaria and Braddok.

The hulking burly hairy-chested and faced horse-man placed a palm over his left pectoral and bowed his head at the magess and swordsman. The two humans nodded their heads in a silent acknowledgement and the centaur leader turned and broke into a gallop to lead his men back to their tribal territory, their hyrd’s lands.

Alaria, Braddok, Haelan, Fen and a greatly improved (due to another battery of magical healing) though still bandaged Pyrnion came and sat upon the low seats and pillow around a low round table. An elf soldier brought, unbidden, a tray of fruits, nuts and cheese, another of some salted fish and large decanters of the fantastic golden elfvine. Alaria asked the server he had seen and/or could track down their dwarvish companion.

The elf appeared, as most the elves they’d seen, no older than Erevan had been. He grinned and nodded. _“Anything the Champions of the Storm require, we gladly provide.” <translated from Miralostae_> the coppery headed elf answered. 

Shortly thereafter, Duor came staggering out of a nearby cluster of trees, arm-in-arm with the russet-haired and goateed satyr with an orangey patch of fuzz on his chest, the one who had invited the dwarf to drnk. As to who was holding up whom, none of the companions could say. They wove their booted and hoofed way up to the pavilion...as they finished some song. Again, who was leading whom in the song was equally indeterminable.

“...an’ th’morrrrrnin’ came-a storrrrrmin’,
an’ th’ *hic* storrrrm[in]-ridershhh came-a courrrrtin’,
annnnn’ th’Buh*URP* a-Bulll*hic* grussshhhh
can bite muh arrrrrrrssssshhhhhhh!”

Duor guffawed and smacked the satyr on the back, which nearly sent the goat-man to his knees. He all but dragged the satyr with him up to table with him attempting to introduce and praise him as they came.

“THISH! D’yeh hear me? That izz GENE-USH! HE wrote that! HIM! Thishguy. Can yeh b’lieve it! Wode’it ferm SCRATCH! AMAYshin’, this guy!” Duor slurred at the top of his lungs.

“Thish..." the dwarf's face scrunched up in a way that all the companions were waitign for the inevitable spew. Fortunately, it didn‘t come.

“*HIC* THISH! Thishizzzz...” Duor squinted very closely at the smikey bleery-eyed satyr. “THISH..iz...JOH...BIAS...He’s wifme.”

Turning his attention to the companions, in an attempt to complete the introductions, “An’ thish izzz...” Duor blinked and swayed, staring at the dark-haired swordsman. The dwarf managed to get out a single, world-class* BURRRRRP!* before slamming, face down on the softly pillowed floor.

The satyr laughed loudly and casually sat himself on the back of Duor, as if it were the most natural chair in the world. He crossed his goat legs.

“I’m Jovias, actually. Duor mishpronounshd m’name.” he giggled uncontrollably for a few seconds before falling over backwards, his legs still resting atop/over the dwarf and similarly lost consciousness.

As the companions looked to each other in disbelief and questions, the surrounding glade erupted in the loudest ugliest snores any of them had ever heard.

“Well,” said Braddok with a smirk, “what do we do now?”


----------



## steeldragons

The companions began their deliberation without the dwarven rogue. Braddok opened.

“It is my belief, that if we hope to completely undo the schemes of Tresahd, we should return to Nor Gorthok as soon as possible. His armies here are scattered to the winds. Before they regroup within the Feldmere, we should go ruin their rallying point.

"Also, Tresahd himself made no move in this latest conflict. His lieutenant, or general or whatever the Bulgruch was, is gone. If we press in a timely fashion, I believe our chances of success are much improved and we could finish this business and move to the matters in the west.”

“But...well, he’s still got that horrid behir...and the wights” Haelan said softly, shuddering visibly at the mention of the wights. “Not to mention the army of hobgoblins we saw there...and MORE demons! What are we supposed to do about MORE demons!?”

Buttercreamshadowfeet came hopping up to the pavilion and sniffed about the table and the food thereon._

*What‘s all the hubbub now!*_ the ferret‘s feminine voice came to Haelan’s ears. _*OO fish!* _the ferret grabbed a large whole salted fish from the table.

“Braddok wants us to go back to Nor Gorthok and finish tresahd once and for all.” Haelan explained.

_*Munch. Munch. Buh! ECK! Why is it sooo salty. Stupid elves can’t even prepare a proper fish! Wait...what!? Go BACK?! These humans are as stupid as they are mad.*_

Haelan found the ferret’s words somewhat out of character, but supposed none of them had had decent rest in several days. 

“The Hilltender speaks true. But for me that only manates our return all the more. The knowledge that there are abominations just sitting there unhindered in this world is an affront to the Balance. Braddok’s words resound with reason.” Fen said in all severity. 

“I am sorry to say, my newfound friends, that I shall not be journeying further with you.” Pyrnion interjected.

“What?! Oh no, Pyrnion...” Haelan whined.

“My I ask why, Pyrnion?” Alaria finally spoke.

“My assignment was to reamin in Miralosta to aid the elves in defense of their homeland. My charge to aid you in the same. That goal has been achieved. My work here is complete. I would return to my beloved master and the quiet peaks and aeries of my kind.” the feather-headed man said solemnly.

“I would hope you reconsider, my friend.” Braddok said. “We are warriors, you and I. Your charge is not entirely complete so long as the dark wizard remains alive to rebuild his forces. Would not the true completion of your task require his utter destruction? I would greatly value your axe by my side.”

These words seemed to give Pyrnion pause. The winged zephari crossed his arms, one hand to his chin and pondered.

“I thought we proved Tresahd was the dragon...and a 'she’ not a 'he’.” Haelan questioned to the assembly.

“We did indeed, Hilltender.” Fen answered without a hint of emotion.

 “A dragon?!” Pyrnion said in disbelief. 

“Yeah. He..er...she...or whatever wants to resurrect his or her dragon mommy. ..who I am to understand was waaaay worse than he...or she....is.” Haelan explained as best he could. “She’s after the Windsoul from Alaria for some reason...has something to do with the rite or who knows what magical reason.”

“The ‘Wind Soul’?! YOU possess the _Kalanaptra_!?! A_ human _mage?!” <_Kalanaptra translates as “Wind Soul" in the language of the zepharim_> Pyrnion’s eyes bulged in disbelief as he looked at the R’Hathi magess in an entirely different light.

“We know it as the Ihs Repahl...but yes. It seems so.” Alaria pulled the crystalline orb from her largest hip pouch. 

Pyrnion’s eagle-like amber eyes widened more at the sight of one of his people’s most ancient legendary treasures. “This is...unusual circumstances...I may have to reconsider.” Pyrnion looked deeply into the Ihs Repahl. “I can not stand by to let the Kalanaptra fall into evil hands.”

“We have no intention, my good master zephari, to let the Ihs repahl fall into evil hands.” Alaria defended.

Buttercreamshadowfeet began to heave the entire length of her being.

“Buttercream?" Haelan asked concerned.

_*I do not think_ *URK*_ the salty fish agrees _*URGLE* _with me..._* the ferret’s voice came haltingly between convulsions.

“What wrong with the ferret?” Fen said.

“She doesn’t like the fish.” Haelan answered reaching out to pet the ferret in hopes of soothing her.

All of the companions watched in corcern which transitioned immediately to disbelief as the ferret’s whole body shuddered from rump to nose and Buttercreamshadowfeet opened her mouth wide to expel a cloud of billowing black and fiery orange smoke.

In an instant, the smoke swirled and congealed upon the table between them into a towering form giving off flames and noxious clouds and in an instant more, the solid form of the great vulture looking dirty feathered form of the demon they had seen in the summoning dungeons of Nor Gorthok.

The force of the burst sent all of the companions reeling back from their seated places around the table. The vulture demon screamed into the day, its piercing shriek echoing throughout the wood.    

“Who wuh huh!?” Duor’s groggy form bolted upright, sending the still unconscious Jovias rollign back off of him. The satyr groaned softly.

*I’ll take that for you.* the screechy demonic voice entered all of their heads. A taloned hand reached forward to grasp the orb from Alaria. It missed by an inch.

“DEMON!?” cried Haelan in disbelief.

“Abomination!” shouted Fen in apparent anger, moreso than surprise. The druid gripped his leaftip spear and the delicately shaped blade flared with green energy.

A burst of light came up before the demon’s eyes. The magical light, while not divine, had a disturbing, disorienting effect on the misshapened figure’s vision. The creature shrieked again.

The companions saw, across the table, the bandaged zephari with an outstretched hand pointed at the demon. The winged humanoid’s wounds were still too grave to attmept to take up his  weapon, but the minor magics of his race were still available to him.

Shouts of alarm went up away from the heroes’ pavilion, elvish cries from the remaining soliders and captains in alarm at the sudden appearance of a creature from the netherworld in their midst.

Two arrows struck true, but bounced from the demon’s feathers hide. The capatains were raacing for the heroes position with slender elvish blades drawn and shining in the late day sunlight.

“_Beriz Theran!_” Alaria managed to shout out, forming a circular field of blue light between her and the momentarily disturbed demon as he reached out again in a blind grab for the orb. The taloned hand crashed against the conjured shield.

Fen’s green-glowing spear tip sank into the demon’s lower back, beneath its putrid smelling wings. 

The demon whirled around with a roar, wrenching the weapon from Fen’s grip. Its lunching razor sharp curved beak blocked, abruptly, by Haelan’s small magical round shield (still attached to the daelvar’s arm).

Haelan whirled around in the opposite direction with his mace to clobber the demon’s close head. Without the magical blessing from his goddess, the blow served to deflect the creature’s attack but not cause any actual damage.

The demon raised its arms and wings and its entire form was bathed in rippling heat and flames.

Quickly ushering Alaria behind him and tellign her to get away, Braddok lunged up onto the table as well, ripping Kandu from its sheathe. The blade blazed with sapphire blue light even as it was drawn.

_*This is not a creature of undeath, warrior, my enchantments alone will not slay it.*_ Kandu said to Braddok's mind.

“Yeah yeah, just cut it!” Braddok found himself shouting out loud. And, indeed, Braddok did lay a woeful wound upon the creature.

The demon howled in pain and rage. Again, it whirled around to face the latest assault from the round table. Its great bulk of black and orange feathered form, serpentine tail and swiping claws threw Braddok from the table to some distance off the pavilion.

“MMPH!” expelled the drunken satyr as the warrior’s great armored body bounced off of him and rolled off the pavilion’s low platform. “‘EY! Washtit!” Jovias managed to get out, not knowing what had roused him. His eyes rose to see the vulture demon towering over them all. His eyes widened and he let out a high-pitched scream.

“Not so loud, fer cryin’ sakes.” Duor mumbled at his new friend. “Take SISH!” the dwarf forcefully called as a bolt flew from his hand crossbow to sail, harmlessly, into the tent covering above. “Oh. hmph.” the dwarf scowled unapproving and grabbed another dart from his hip quiver. The dwarf’s eyes widened as he thought he saw his weapon glow with a honey-colored light for a moment.

Indeed, all of their weapons, other than Fen’s spear which the demon had wrenched out of its back and thrown far into the nearby field, glowed. And while duor could only smell the satyran whiskey on his beard, the rest of the assembled heroes smelled pine trees and summer rain.

Two more arrows from nearby elfin archers bounced harmlessly from the demon’s body.

The vulture demon reached down with his other taloned hand to swipe at the obviously wounded zephari...He remembered these creatures. The gods‘ divine messengers and servants. Stupid subservient weaklings. Some of their ancestors had been foolish enough to be exiled from the immortal realms by the gods, willingly accepting their fate, and shackled with mortal existence. Not like the demons, they were smart and strong enough to conquer and retain their own immortal planes. Ending this feathered man‘s life would be doing him a favor!

The talon swipe was minor, but in his already weakend form, Pyrnion succumbed to unconsciousness from the wound and corresponding demonfire.

“HHHhHHHYAR!” Haelan roared with a telling swipe at the vulture demon’s legs with his pinecone-headed mace. With the added divine magic, the weapon struck the beastly appendages with a thunder.

The blow knocked the creature from its feet, sending it ‘chin’ first to the floor of the pavilion.

*THPT* After needing three tries to properly load his hand blurry crossbow, another dart from Duor went wildly awry and pireced the delicate fabric of the tented roof. “Frag." the highly drunken dwarf mumbled under his beard. “Wait! Hangon h’ngon...I’ll geddim." and began to fumble, once again to grasp and load another dart.

“Your dagger, Duor! Use your dagger!" Haelan cried.

“R’yeh MAD?!" Duor said in complete increduity. “Tha’s a demon!” 

Two elfin captains arrived, leaping up to the pavilion in the fluid movements only elves possessed. One elfin captain tried to drag the large, heavily muscled zephari out of the immediate melee. The other made a swipe at the demon with his silvery blade. He missed.

Fen shouted his tried and true spell. The vines and sprouts of verdant green tendrils lept from all around the pavilion, moving to ensnare the fallen demon. The growth struck toward the creature, but seemed constantly “backed away”, appearing unable or unwilling to trap the vulture demon. The ends of the green ropes charred and smoldered in the demon’s fire shield.

Fen’s eyebrows rose in surprised understanding at the realization his “natural” magic was unlikely to thwart the demon’s _unnatural_ occult power. The half-elf made a dash to where his spear had been thrown, nearly an entire glade away.

 Enough of this folly, the demon thought to himself. He was here to get the crystal orb. Only that would release him from the dark master’s hold on him and permit his return to the Abyssal realms from which he’d been torn.

The creature rose with a scathing glare to the srrounding heroes and elves, he found where Alaria stood, backed away out of the pavilion but refusing to flee. Seemingly impossibly, his solid beak-like mouth twisted into a wicked grin. With a waver of the air, the demon disappeared from view.

“Where is it!?” Haelan cried in alarm. 

“Shut this area down!” Fen declared as the elves, daelvar, Braddok who had regained his feet and was moving again for the monster, and the staggering dwarf looked around in confusion. 

Alaria had been murmuring one of her only other defensive incantations. From what little she recalled of creatures of the lower planes, the illusion _might_ work...or it might not. Even as the demon disappeared, the form of the magess split into 5 distinct forms, each identical to the next.

“Haelan, to me! Invoke your _Sanctuary_!” Alaria called out in panic as the towering feathered form appeared for a moment to swipe through one of her mirror images. A shriek of frustration went up before it disappeared again.

Haelan rushed for Alaria’s position, the words of the tried and true protection upon his lips. Then he realized the creature might not be stayed by such a phsyical barrier. It was huge and strong and obviously highly magical. No, this required the true circle of protection. "Of course," though Haelan, "the prayer that stays magic and magical beings, not physcial assault."

Braddok, with his longer legs, bounded two strides ahead of the daelvar priest and when the demon again appeared to dispel another of Alaria’s illusions, the Grinlian swordsman made a desperate attempt to strike. The blue energy of his blade ripped through air even as the demon again disappeared with a goading smirk.

Haelan came up before 3 Alaria’s.

“Uh..." the Hilltender looked, frenzied, from one to another. “Which one is you?!” 

Bollux, Alaria thought. Her illusion was working too well, perhaps.

Suddenly one of the three remainign images burst out of existence (like a cloud or smoke being blown apart).

“I GODDIM! Oh...wait...” Duor exclaimed with glee and then squinted in the direct of most of the combatants.

“STOP FIRING THOSE DAMN THINGS!” Braddok called out.

With only two Alarias left, the magess decided the cleric’s protection was more important than her own magic and quickly dispelled the enchantment. Haelan immediately began to invoke _Protection from Evil_ which, he was sure, would hold off the creature until the others could destroy it. Likewise, Alaria and himself would be able to cast spells out of the circle, unlike the invocation of Sanctuary.

This proved a moment too long as the demon became visible. Directly in front of the daelvar the demon swung his forearm, that Haelan noted looked like the "scaly" part of a chicken's leg, with its black talons, well over the Hilltender’s head. Slashing and throwing back the magess in a scream of pain and spray of blood.

A second swipe from his other “arm” sent the daelvar tumbling across the ground.
_
*Now, my dear ‘Storm Rider’, I will be taking that orb.*_ the demon’s voice sounded in Alaria’s head. 

“I think not.” Alaria huffed as she tapped the demon’s vulture-leg like ankle with the tip of the Staff of Azanna. The demon looked down at the plain copper-twined staff at its feet.

With a thought, a lightning bolt shot up from the end of the staff, throwing the vulture demon up and away from the magess. The thunder rolled even before the demon’s smoldering and burned form crashed down some 20 yards away, out in the glade.

“Give me this!” Fen said in annoyance as he swiped the ethereal dagger out of its sheathe on Duor’s hip. The druid raced for the demon’s position, collecting his spear as he went. Immediately the leaftip spear again flared with its green glow. The druid seemed quite the hero of elvin legend as he raced across the field, a green flaming blade in one hand and green glowing spear in the other.

The vulture demon rose and launched itself into the air, flying directly for the magess as she regained her feet.

“I know your tricks too, demon._ REPLEESH_!” Alaria called with the Ihs repahl in her hand. Immediately the magess wavered out of normal sight. Still, she narrowly dodged the demon’s flying charge.

It rose up into the air and looked down at Alaria’s former position.

*_Will take more than your weak illusions to hide from my sight, witch!_* the demon said. Its eyes glowed an unholy red light and the form of the magess became immediately visible to the demon.

The elf captain now stood near to where Alaria had disappeared. Braddok also was holding his blade at the ready, not knowing his was by the wizard’s side.

“Fair enough.” Alaria said as she dropped the invisibiility charm and returned to normal vision.

As the vulture demon dove for her, a thought to the Ihs Repahl brought into being a blast of air, striking the flying demon with force of a battering ram, veering it off course and slamming into the ground.

The demon took in the scene. The magess was bleeding across her chest, soaking into her storm blue robes. She seemed to be leaning heavily on her staff. The Ihs Repahl pulsed with blue-white light on her other hand. The warrior and elf captain, blades at the ready, raced for its position. The daelvar priest was intoning some prayer or the other, though he too was bloodied. From its flank, the druid was running up with strange green-glowing weapons in each hand. It seemed it had blown its cover prematurely.

Again, with a casual launch from its powerful haunches, the demon took to the air and sought to fly away. He got some height and was winging above the treeline of the glade before he was redirected, as if be a brick wall of air that swirled around him. One direction then the other, then the opposite, and back around again. The demon began to spin, caught in a conjured whirlwind.

 Through the leaf and grass filled winds, it looked down to the magess, holding the Ihs Repahl, commanding the winds to bring him down, closer. It flapped and dove, tried to ride the winds and escape their hold. It could not. The ground came up closer and closer, very quickly now, until it slammed into the ground.

Before it could recover, human, elf, half-elf and daelvar were upon it, slashing, stabbing and pounding with enchanted and blessed weapons.

The creature screeched out in defiance even as it knew, it felt, the cold abyssal fires ripping into it. The painful, but unpleasantly so, burning fires of being ripped from one plane into another._ *NO! NO! I’m not finished!NOOOOOoooooooooo*_ the demon cried out to who knows what dark powers.

In a final burst of flaming energies, sending all around it flying back 20 feet to their backs with force, a smoldering black scorch mark stained the glade where the vulture demon had been.

As the companions stared in shock where the demon had been, a dart thudded in the center of the scorch mark.

“IIIIIII GOTTIM!” Duor shouted in self-adulation from the pavilion.


----------



## Azkorra

Great Fight!  What levels are the heroes at now? After all, beating a vrock is certainly no piece of cake...


----------



## steeldragons

Azkorra said:


> Great Fight!




Thanks. Glad you liked it.



Azkorra said:


> What levels are the heroes at now? After all, beating a vrock is certainly no piece of cake...




I believe this lil' skirmish took place just after everyone [except Pyrnion] hit around 40k from the Bulgruch. So, 5th-6th for pretty much everyone. 

I was gonna do a "catchin' up/where we are now" update at the start of the next post...but since yeh asked  ...

*The Stormriders*
*Alaria Staver*: a.k.a. Alaria "Stormrider" a.k.a. "The Stormrider" a.k.a. "Magess Alaria." Human [R'Hathi]/female. Mage 5th (riiiight on the cusp of 6th, she needs some downtime/training). Our intrepid formerly official leader who now still finds herself more often than not in the supervisory and decision making, if not leadership, role.

*Braddok Kar Barforth: *Human/male. Fighter 6th. Braddok got squished by an ogre and spent some time...ya know...dead before getting raised. He and Alaria after a lengthy lust/hate dance have finally given in to their feelings/urges and begun an actual relationship.

*"Hilltender" Halean Spurthistle*: Daelvar/male. Cleric of Faerantha (mother nature deity of Orean halflings) 6th.
*
Duor Darkesmythe:* Dwarf/male. Thief 6th.*

"Fen"*: a.k.a. Faeryl of Enkort, Half-elf/male. Druid 6th (knock, knock, knockin' on 7th's door!)

*Pyrnion*: Zephari/make. Ranger 5th (only about halfway through 5th. Pyrnion's behind the others since he was a new PC to replace one of our honorably fallen).

NPC:* Buttercreamshadowfeet:* a.k.a. "Buttercream" a.k.a. "B.C." Giant ferret/female. BC was introduced as a companion of the PC Gnobert (see below) and was, essentially, adopted by Haelan after Gnobert's unfortunate end.    

INTRODUCING <cue lengthy fanfare> the new NPC: *Jovias Rambark:* Satyr/male. Bard 3.
Duor's player decided Duor missed having a satyr in the group to get wasted with. Hence, seeing as they were in the elf-realm of Miralostae and there were satyrs all over, he wanted to get one...Duor also figures, with Jovias being a minstrel, what better way to get his fame established and spread across the world. SO, now Duor has an official, "old school style" henchman.  

A moment of silence for our valiant Fallen:
1. Gnobert: gnome/male, illusionist/thief. Squashed to paste by an ogre at the Battle of Bridgetower.

2. "Goldshield" Coerraine: human/male, Redstar Knight [Paladin] of Celradorn. Presumed squished by ice giants in the perpetual winter demi-plane of Gorathgraard.

3. Erevan Ryvsorai Aiiri: Elf/male, Fighter/Mage. Dissolved into a pool of goo by the acid breath of the "black behir", Rach'sha, in the depths of Nor Gorthok after being, forgive the pun, "softened up" by some wights.

4. Festus Hornshod: Satyr/male, Ranger. Dissolved, with Erevan, into the same pool of goo from acid breath in the depths of Nor Gorthok. An NPC turned replacement PC turned regular PC and "official" Stormrider...before he was goo, I mean.

5. NPC: Meeessh: a.k.a. "the Marvelous Mister Meesh", Steam Mephit...presumably male. Ripped to shreds by the [barghest] Bulgruch.

Rehhhsss-tuh ihhhnnn peeeessshhhh, Mister Meesh...<from beyond the planar veil> _"That'sss MEEESSH!!!"_


----------



## steeldragons

After much fussing by Haelan over Buttercream’s well-being and more healing applied to the wounded, including an [again] near death Pyrnion, the companions make the trip, with an elfin guard. They return to the holdings of Evandrial and spend a week in recuperation and relaxation. There is an audience and three days of feasting and celebraation with the Lord Seniiris and Miralostae nobles.  They are elfvined, dined, praised in song, tale and dance and ultimately, declared “elf-friends” of the Miralostae for the reaminder of their days. 


In lieu of tokens of gratitude and treasure, most of Alaria humbly requests training by one of Seniiris’ mages and access to what arcane research they elfin stronghold possesses. This is gladly offered.

Haelan spends some time with the few Arinane priests to be found in Evandrial. He finds he and the elfin priests seem to have a great deal of philosophical ground in common and greatly enjoys their company. He also attends a funerary singing for the poor moon-priest, Cyrillian.

Braddok spends the time relaxing, when not indulging and enjoying what little time Alaria has to offer while she studies [a.k.a. “levels up"].

Fen takes the time to learn what he can of elvish herbology and, in true druidic fashion, disappears for days at a time for alleged “meetings” with his brethren of the Ancient Order.

Poor Pyrnion is left to mend himself up, again, and contact’s his lord the “Wind Wizard”, courtesy of the Lord Seniiris’ court mages with news of the Bulgruch’s defeat, the unexpected presence of a vulture-demon, the assertion that Tresahd is, in fact, a dragon...and most importantly, the possession of the Windsoul by this [relatively] lowly human magess known as “the Stormrider.” The zephari’s returning instructions are to remain with the party and see to it that the Kalanaptra does not fall into the dark wizard’s grasp.

Duor, of course, opts for riches instead of titles or training. He receives, in complete surprise, a taylor-made shirt of elfin chain that will fit his very un-elvish frame and a small hip-holster of 10 darts of elfin make, enchanted to strike any enemy [+2]. The remainder of the time the dwarf can be found carousing with Jovias, drinking, chasing female satyrs, and regaling the russet-haired satyr bard with_ his _version of tales of the Stormriders’ adventures.    

Finally, after a single week had become _three_, without their notice, the companions finally convene privately to discuss what they really can do. The knowledge, from the female elf Selvarryn, who had become one of their personal attendants of the passed few weeks, that the Midwinter was nearly upon the world (despite the fact that any trace of winter was barely noted within Miralosta’s wooded borders) gave the companions a shock and impulse to really “get something done”.

“We must truly consider, my friends, if we can dare to allow Tresahd the time and opportunity to regain his strength of arms.” Braddok pressed with more urgency.

“If he can attack us here, with_ demons_ no less, he can get to us anywhere, I suspect. Apparently, he still covets Alaria’s orb and sooner or later, he will get it. We must end him...” the Grinlian warrior continued.

“Her.” Haelan corrected.

“_Her,_ whatever!” Braddok amended with some annoyance. “He..er..she must be brought down for good or we will not have any peace.”

“I am inclined to agree, Braddok. Though my own reasons have more to do with the disconcerting knowledge that the dragon continues to alter the Blanace by bringing demons into this world. With apparent ease.” Fen added. “We cannot allow such the abominations one foot upon Orea, lest the entirety of the Green be threatened.”

“‘Bout  that, “ Haelan piped in, “how did he get a demon in Buttercream in the first place?”

The companions looked to each other with obvious concern.

“I’ve been thinking about it and it doesn’t make sense.” The Hilltender continued. “I mean, we were here...Buttercream was with Fen...Tresahd was here too! He was fighting the elves while we were in Nor Gorthok...and that vulture-demon was trapped.”

“Well, in all fairness, Haelan, I believe all vulture-demons appear the same...but it did seem to know us. So you may be correct.” Alaria added.

“I’m with Braddok. We said we would have the dragon’s treasure. And we don’t have it yet.” Duor piped in.

“Huzzah! To the dragon’s horde!” exclaimed Jovias from his seat behind Duor at the long oval table. 

The present Stormriders gave the satyr looks of irritation and raised eyebrows. Duor grinned but “shushed” his zealous henchman with a silent hand.

”My only concern is the Kalanaptra. I will gladly fight evil wherever it is encountered, but my primary duty is to the safety of the Windsoul and keeping its wielder from harm.” Pyrnion put in his two coppers.

"A cause I am most deeply appreciative of my winged friend." Braddok added.

“Due respect, Duor, but you are the one after the dragon’s treasure. The rest of us want to put an end to the dark evil menace threatening the whole of the realms.” Haelan said gently.

“More or less, Haelan. I confess, the riches contained in Nor Gorthok will be of great use to me and my own cause...which I certainly hope I can count on the rest of you aid.” Braddok added.

“Of course, Braddok!” Haelan quickly added. The daelvar seemed a little off-put that the swordsman would question that. “I just meant...”

“Haelan may be correct. In all truthfulness, Buttercream wasn’t with me. She found me. And for her to make her way from as deep within the Feldmere to my location in Daenfrii...without magical help...would be nigh impossible.”

“What is the last thing you remember before finding Fen, Buttercream?” Haelan asked the ferret. Why he hadn’t thought to do this in the passed 3 weeks did not cross his mind.

*_Well, I was waiting for you under the great oak...and then she came and magiked us somewhere...and then I smelled Fen and there he was...and the greencloak magiked us here._* Buttercream said without apparently noticing that there was anything unusual about what she’d said.

“She who?!” Haelan asked in alarm.

*_Her..._* Buttercream poked her pointy nose in Alaria’s direction, *_the magess._

*_Would think she’d have the decency to bring me all the way here, herself. But I don’t mind the half-elf’s company...He listens sometimes._* Obviosuly finished with her testimony, the ferret turned and dug her nose through her pelt, along the side, at a persistant itch.

Haelan relayed this, obviously confused. 

Alaria looked at the rest of the companions in apparent concern and confusion, as well. But Haelan, I was here...with you. We flew here from Bridgetower. Besides which, I do not possess anywhere near the power to magically teleport myself from place to place.” she said.

 “Hunh. That’s true.” Haelan answered. “Buttercream, are you sure it was Alaria?”

*_It’s not enough you leave me hither and yon in hostile terriotires whenever you will, now you want to question my eyesight? It's better than yours...even in the dark!_* the ferret’s female voice was filled with incredulity.

“No...I...I mean...But she was here...with me...She couldn’t’ve been two places at once."

Casually scratching behind her ear before shaking her head very rapidly from side to side, Buttercream responded, *_I’ve not the reason nor care to explain it to you, Hilltender. I know what I know. I am of the natural world. What I say is what is so. And now...I’m hungry._*

With that, the ferret turned in what could be interpretted by all present as a “huff” and scurried her way out of the open aired pavilion in which they were holding this meeting. before wandering too far, she turned her head and chittered one last thing. Then she disappeared into the thick brush.

“What was that?” Pyrnion asked the daelvar who had turned back to the table with a blush.

“She said not to go anywhere without her...'again.’” Haelan said, downcast with embarrassment.

 “I think sinister forces were at work.” Fen finally said after mulling things over. “Is it not so, magess, that the succubus demon can alter her shape?”

“It is.” Alaria replied before understanding dawned on her. “As well as possessing powerful charms. The vile creature must have taken my shape to gain Buttercream’s confidence and then somehow charmed her or altered her memory to not know about the vulture-demon’s possession. Then brought her right to you...”

“And _I_ brought the abomination right to_ us_.” Fen said as he slammed his fist into the table in apparent frustration and anger that he could be so easily manipulated. “But I was sent here by one of my own order...unless...”

“Any shape, Fen. A succubus can appear as whomever they like. Have you since heard tell of the druid you met and sent you here?” Alaria asked.

The half-elf druid confessed he had not. “I am a fool.”

“Nonsense, friend Fen.” Braddok now interjected. “The wiles of a demoness are not lightly seen noticed nor pierced. It could have happened to any of us.”

Fen nodded his hooded head in reluctant agreement.

“So..._Where_ are we going now?” Duor said with some impatience.

*Next...still more questions than answers in "Birds and Ballgowns?"*


----------



## steeldragons

“With the Ihs Repahl, we can ‘wind’ ourselves anywhere we like...I think.” Alaria posed. “The question becomes, do we go directly to Nor Gorthok...or do we think the dragon will sit and nurse its loss on this front and take time to rework its plans? If I, all of us,  could have a bit longer to study and research, train up our skills just a bit more. We might be in a much better position to take Tresahd-Desaarthal head on.” the magess finished her thought.
“And the demons...the hobgoblins and wights...??” Haelan said with a fearful voice.

“Don’t forget our friend Rach’sha.” Duor added.

“Or whatever 'the Overseer’ is.” Fen added. When the others looked at the druid without understanding, Fen explained. “In the goblinoid camp, Erilyn and I uncovered the proof we needed to assert Tresahd was, in fact, the dragon Desaarthal. One of his/her contacts is known simply referred to in the communications I saw as 'the Overseer.’ “ Fen shrugged. “There was no indication what that might be. Only that is was yet another of Tresahd’s minions. There were also communications with someone named ‘Galtin’ who, it seems, awaits Tresahd’s bidding at Nor Tyrilith.”

“Thaaaa’s a lot of minions.” Jovias added, unbidden. The satyr had been listening intently to the council as he took periodic swigs form his, now nearly empty, wineskin.

“Nor Tyrilith?!” Haelan said in distress at hearing this for the first time. “That is an entirely unholy place. Cursed since before the elves ever came to Miralostae, if I’m not mis-remembering my histories.” 

“You do not, Hilltender...unfortunately.” Braddok added quietly. “And it is within the lands ofteh Great Kingdom*. If Nor Tyrilith is again occupied then we may have less time to return to the west than I already believed..." the warrior’s sentence trailed off as he scowled at some inner thought.

*_Braddok’s home nation of Grinlia is known as “the Great Kingdom" because of its sprawling size. Grinlia encompasses nearly a quarter of the Orean continent. Though Braddok’s home realm, the Barony of Barforth, is far south of Nor Tyrilith (practically the entire kingdom away, in fact) it is general Grinlian attitude that a threat in any of Grinlia’s lands threatens the kingdom as a whole._

This debate went on for some time before it was decided, the companions would return to Deanfrii. Not to Bridgetower, but the Dragonmage’s own keep in the heart of the magical land. Alaria’s reasoning was sound and with the resources avaialble at Dragonwing Vale, all of the companions could continue to practice and train their skills, hopefully, to their collective benefit within a short amount of time and still strike at Nor Gorthok before the spring thaw. Braddok reasoned that it was unlikely Tresahd would make any push outside of the Feldmere before then.

Agreed, the companions spent one more night in Lord Seniiris’ court and then respectfully took their leave of the elf kingdom’s eastern province.

Invoking the Ihs Repahl’s most potent power, Alaria, Braddok, Haelan, Duor, Jovias and Buttercream were transformed into wispy cloud-like versions of themselves and sped their way toward the Dragonmage’s stronghold. Fen wished to travel by foot and hoped to meet with his order along the way. Pyrnion, capable of his own flight, agreed to accompany the half-elf and wing them to the Vale when Fen’s business was complete. All of the companions agreed it wise for none of them to be traveling alone at this time. Within Dragonwing Vale they’d have no cause for concern of infiltration by any of Tresahd’s creatures...something they were less sure of in the border keep at Bridgetower.

By the end of the day, the  bulk of the party arrived in Dragonwing Vale, unable to make the whole journey in their windy forms due to the protection set up around the Dragonmage’s citadel. They entered through the large town that surrounded the citadel on foot. The diversity of their company was not particularly of note. Gnomes, daelvar, elves, even centaurs and satyrs were almost commonplace among the vale’s population. They did attraact some notice for their obvious armaments, armor and traveling garb. 

Given the fact Midwinter was only two days away, Haelan helped his bipedal companions (and himself) to a prayer against the wintery chill. Though the day was bright and sunny the air was crisp and snow caked along the rooftops and road sides, not in inconvenient ways, but just enough to give the whole of the town a fluffy white coat.

“Huhf...Huhf...Huhf..." Jovias exhaled, making little clouds of “smoke" expel from his mouth.

“Wut’re yeh doin’?" Duor said with some annoyance at the satyr two steps behidn him.

“Dragon breath." Jovias replied with ciprian nonchalance.

“Yer wut?" Duor turned to look at the satyr, completely confused.

“Huhfffff" Jovias blew a cloud of chilled air into the dwarf’s face. “Dragon breath. Air’s cold. Makes your breathe smoke puffs.” The red-head and russet haunched satyr said to his new “master” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Haelan giggled and immediately joined the satyr in blowing “smoke puffs” with his breath. “Don’t you dwarves do this? *Huhf* I’d think it’s cold enough underground.”

“I ain’t from underground...not in a long time. And it’s not as cold as all this.” Duor answered the halfling in annoyance.

“Huhf!” Duor caught another blast of “dragon breath” from Jovias.

“Knock it off!” Duor waved away the satyr.

 As the party passed through the crowded street of the market distrinct, they were stopped by a familiar voice.

“Alaria?! Magess Alaria ‘Stormrider’, is that you?” came the female voice full of surprise.

 The magess whirled around to see the Lady Elhianne of Bridgetower. The noblewoman sported a fur trimmed gown of flowing pale blue. Her blond curls beneath a fur-filled hood from her mantle of deep indigo. She removed the hood. Two maids similarly cloaked against the cold stood behind her, their arms burdened with  several bundles each.

“Lady Elhianne?”  Alaria said somewhat caught off guard. The magess tucked a strand of her dark brown hair behind one ear and silently berating herself at her “road worn” appearance in the face of the Lady of Bridgetower’s natural elegance and beauty. With a cantrip breathed under her breath as she dipped her head toward the noble woman in a respectful half-bow, her gown was somewhat cleaner and had a bit of shimmer to it. Her hair gained a bit of a luster and smooth wave to it and when she again lifted her head, her face showed a bit of color and lips a touch more red. Still, the R'Hathi woman admitted to herself, she could not hope to compete with Elhianne's golden effortless grace...and she hated herself for that self-realization. 

“What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to the Dragonmage’s vale?” Alaria smiled as the two women exchanged kisses on their cheek.

“Same as you, I would imagine. The Midwinter Gala!” Elhianne said in some surprise and exhuberation.

”Oh....is it _that _time already?” Alaria gave a somewhat inelegant chuckle. ”I‘d completely forgotten. I don’t think we’ve received an invitation?” she looked questioningly around at Haelan, Duor and Braddok. 

Haelan shrugged while the swordsman and rogue looked at her dumbly. Behind them Alaria noticed Jovias cozying up to one of Elhianne‘s maids.

Alaria, mentally, rolled her eyes. Satyrs.
“Well of course you haven’t.” Elhianne’s voice snapped the magess’ attention back to her.

“Too busy out saving the whole of the realm, aren’t you?" Elhianne giggled at her own jest. “NONsense! Stuff and nonsense. You are the saviors of Daenfrii. Invitation or not, I _insist_ you accompany Rynthis and I as our personal guests.  The Lordmage himself could hardly complain. I won‘t hear another thing about it.

“Have you selected a gown yet?” Elhianne asked considering her invitation automatically agreed to.

Met with a stunned silence from Alaria, the lady of Bridgetower gave the R’Hathi magess a sidelong look and coy grin. 

“Of course you have. I can see.

“If you’ve spent these weeks since you won the war in Evandrial no doubt you have a spectacular dress and jewels of elvish finery. You simply _must _show it to me. I am all but exploding in envy. I cannot tell you the joy you..._all _of you,” Elhianne amended diverting her eyes from Alaria for a moment to take in the rest of the crew, “have brought to the realm. Unbelievable. Rynthis told me the reports of your victory...against a  demon wolf and an army of ghouls?! Is it true? You _must_ give me every detail..."

Elhianne slipped her arm through Alaria’s own and began leading the magess through the streets.

“Where are you staying? We’re at my sister’s? You remember Dauphinne, of course. Rynthis had some things to do back at the tower. Tying up the details of the invasion, you understand. But he’s arriving tomorrow. Are you taking Braddok? He_ is _quite the strapper isn’t he?" Elhianne tittered a courtly giggle.

“You must forgive me, Alaria. I am nearly out of my skin when the Gala comes around. It is_ the_ highlight of the entire year!” her voice, though filled with excitement seemed to end on a hidden note of remorse. 

“Oh my dear, I am overjoyed to see you. We_ simply must _have tea this afternoon...” the lady of Bridgetower hugged the arm she had absconded. 

Alaria’s eyes went skyward even as the tight grin formed on her lips to Elhianne’s well-intentioned though completely inane droning. This lovely lady, Alaria reminded herself, truly needed more time among courtly ladies and less at a border-crossing like Bridgetower.

Braddok offered to help the maids with their packages but they declined to with a blushing giggle, stating that their lady simply wouldn’t permit it. One dared to add, “‘Heroes such as you should not be carrying gowns and garlands.”

“Damn right.” Duor replied to all, though no one was actually speaking to him. He strutted off behind the Hilltender with Jovias smiling apologetically to the women close behind. Braddok followed after and the maids, finally, came after.

The odd procession of nobility and adventurers made their way through the snow-capped rows of stuccoed two and three storied townhouses until the huge walls of Dragonwing Keep came into view. 

They climbed up, passing the various temples that surrounded the citadel. First, they passed the large dome and broad gates set with armored spear-wielding and crimson clad guards of Celradorn. All of the companions found themselves staring at the eight-pointed red star symbol of the Golden Defender and saying silent prayers for Coerraine.

Then the plain boxy multi-storied “library temple” of Sorilorr, the All-knowing. Shaved-headed priests and monks wandered in and out, most with arms cradling at least one scroll or tome each. Their bright orange robes and tunics, offset by emerald green trim or breeches flowed with apparent purpose and complete reverence, as if the papers in their possession might break with their slightest misstep.

The final ascent tot he citadel’s gates sported two holy spots. To their right, sloping down back toward the town, the public open amphitheater style devoted to Manat, the Blue Star, goddess of magic. Brightly colored frescos painted the columns and sloping rows. Their images moved regularly, portraying images of the great feats and legends of the goddess of magic and her most devout followers, Keth Dragonwing, the first Dragonmage and his descendants among them.

To the left, the healer’s halls and temple of Gilea, it’s broad staircase lined with huge rose bushes, kept in bloom throughout the year by “the grace of the Merciful Mother.” 

Coming around to the open, though guarded, gates as Elhianne took a breath between rambling altering questions and answering herself, Alaria was finally hit with a complete abject horror she had not felt in many many moons...since before leaving R'Hath...

What_ WAS_ she going to wear?!


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria arrived at the townhouse of the Lady Dauphinne at the appointed hour.  The men were settling themselves into the apartments in the keep that Celerion, upon hearing of “the Stormriders’ arrival”, were immediately made available to them.

The page who led them there was very apologetic for the Lord Chamberlain that he could not attend them directly. With the Midwinter’s Ball only 2 days away, the aged elf had his work cut out for him, with guests of noble and magical bearing arriving constantly and being significantly more demanding than the humble adventurers. Their assigned attendant, Rik, whom they’d encountered in their last stay in Dragonwing Vale, sent for the Vale’s premiere gnomish tailor, Gnomelligent Quickstitch, to make them acceptable “formal” attire.

Upon finding out he was to make garments for the _"Slayers of the Bulgruch_," had dropped the multitude of noblewomen’s orders he had been accruing for the better part of the passed three months. Prestige was a funny thing. Though the gnome already had it in spades among the Vale’s residents, fewer and fewer of them were able to award him the “honor” of having them wear his creations. The gnome was immediately disappointed that the female magess was not in attendance when he arrived to take measurements and suggestion ideas for the heroes “costumes” for the preeminent ball of the realm.

Despite his constant "recommendations" for flashy bright and clashing colors with outrageous sleeves, leggings, boots and hats, the boys were able to convince the gnomish tailor of what _they_ wanted. 

Alaria sipped the awful [to her taste buds] “sweet tea” of the region. The Lady Dauphinne, of course, was not interested in indulging the R’Hathi magess’ taste, but as had been the case at their last meeting, establishing herself as the superior in their audience. Alaria detected more than a nonce of annoyance at her sister, Elhianne, inviting this “world traveler”, renowned hero of the realm or not, without her prior consent. Her demeanor almost visibly changed when Elhianne explained how she had met and had multiple audiences with the Lord Chamberlain and the Lady Rhea.

Alaria decided then and there, despite her respectful demeanor, that anyone who would seek to diminish the Lady Elhianne was not worthy of her respect. Still, the R’Hathi woman sipped politely at the porcelain cup and listened carefully and replied with coy grins and respectful answers to the noblewomen’s inane conversation. 

“You can’t truly have fought a demon...really? I mean, such an endeavor for a sorceress of R’Hath. Seems..._beneath_ her.” Dauphinne said after listening to Elhianne’s vaunted description of Alaria’s exploits, both in Bridgetower and Miralosta. “But we have no such concerns here. What are you going to wear, my dear? I mean, that traveling dress _may do_ in inns and taverns, but this is the Lordmage’s Midwinter Ball, after all.” the birdlike pale skinned lady said between long sips of her cup.

“Alaria is going to sport one of the finest gowns of elfin design, of course? Why do you think she was in Miralosta in the first place.” Elhianne interjected/protected Alaria with a sidelong wink and smirk.

“I, uh...well, I mean I didn’t bring anything with me...” Alaria stumbled, thanking but cursing Elhianne for her intercession. 

“Of course not! Such delicate finery must be delivered...conjured or transported into being.” Dauphinne said with a smirk of her own.

Alaria recalled that Elhianne’s sister had her own experience and knowledge of the magikal arts.  Rather than quibble, she decided to turn the tables.

“And yourself, Lady Dauphinne? What will you be gracing the hall with? I can not wait to see.” Alaria sipped, again, on the dreadfully sweet tea. “I doubt even elfin finery will compare.” She smiled the most saccarine smile the R’Hathi could ever imagine mustering.

“Undoubtedly.” Dauphinne said with a coy smile. 

Alaria didn’t understand the subtleties of courtly niceities but somehow had the impression that she had somehow gained the lady’s respect and appreciation. 

“And you, my lady?” Alaria turned to Elhianne. “You always look so magnificent.”

“Oh, Alaria!” Elhianne tittered a reply as she reached for one of the delicate lacey cookies on the plate that a halfling maid had brought moments before. “You are too kind! And I’ve told you, we are as _sisters_, please call me Elhianne.”

“Not at all, Elhianne. I assure you.” Alaria replied. She turned with a grin to Dauphinne. The noblewoman seemed to be nonplussed. 

“Well,” Elhianne continued with barely a breath, I’ve had the Bridgetower seamstress do her best. “I may require a bit of magical addition...from either or both of you, my dear sisters.” the blond woman nnodded toward Dauphinne first and then Alaria with the most sincere smile. “Rynthis has no aptitude for such things, despite his magikal fluency. Of course, “ Elhianne erupted in a giggle. “Men, you know. ahahahaha.”

“Cetainly not.” Dauphinne replied dryly. She cast a sidelong smirk at Alaria.

“I would be more than happy to assist you in preparing La-...uh...Elhianne.” Alaria offered.

“SPLENdid!” the blond woman visibly perked up in her chair. “We’ll be having a repast around 4 bells, won’t we Dauphinne? We can all get ready together!” Elhianne offered.

“Indeed.” Dauphinne took up the invitation. “Bring your men. They should have at least as much attention as we, don’t you think? And Rynthis will be arriving that afternoon, will he not, sister?” Dauphinne said with raised eyebrows to Elhianne.

“Of course. Yes, that will be wonderful!” the blond vision of courtly poise concurred. “It will be nice to see how the men all get along.” Elhianne tittered again. “And I do miss the lovely little Hilltender. He is a wonder. Will that handsome druid be coming too?"

Alaria, mentally, rolled her eyes. The strong noble lady she had known in Bridgetower was indeed “drunk” with anticipation of this great party. 

“Alas, Fen is conferencing with his order. Whether he arrives in time for the ball or not, I can not say. But he will arrive to the Vale, shortly.” Alaria explained.

“I think he’d be a lovely introduction for Sispera.” Elhianne said to her noble sister. 

“A druid?!” Dauphinne seemed genuinely surprised.

“Truly!” Elhianne replied with a broad smile. “He is quite handsome.”

“I am inclined, my...Elhianne, to believe the half-elf’s interests are otherwise...committed.” Alaria said matter-of-factly and took another sip of the awful tea without looking up at the other ladies’ questioning glances.


----------



## steeldragons

Fen thanked the Green for his druid’s cloak and the modicum of enchanted protection it offered him from the frigid air that whipped over him as he hung from Pyrnion, held by the winged man’s thick arms beneath each shoulder. The zephari had flown them a great distance in less than a day and Fen was amazed, not only that he seemed not to tire, but that he seemed not to be the least effected or concerned about how cold it was, despite the zephari’s distinct lack of protective covering or clothing.

Fen looked down at the snow swept fields and hills and trees. He had discovered earlier in their travel that the force and noise of air moving passed them made speaking and hearing nearly impossible. Again, this seemed to be no concern for the stoic winged man. <_DM’s note: The half-elf was, naturally, unaware that zepharim are telepathic with others of their race and so have no problem conversing while in flight together._>

The druid pointed with his spear to a fair sized clutch of woods coming quickly into view. 

Wordlessly, Pyrnion gyred to the side and began a somewhat rapid descent in concentric circles. This caused Fen’s stomach to nearly lurch out of his mouth, but the druid swallowed hard and closed his eyes to halt the dizzying arrival of the ground. With a few final flaps, righting the two men to a standing position, Pyrnion set them down in a snow covered glade among the pines and thickly woven branches of leafless dissiduous trees. 

“Now then, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Pyrnion smiled, noting Fen’s distinct lack of color and slightly swaying stance as the half-elf shook the dizziness from his head. 

“Yeah. Great. No problem.” Fen smirked a reply. 

“So...Why are we here?” Pyrnion said as he casually drew his bow and nocked an arrow from his quiver. The zephari scanned the surrounding shadowy brush and thickets around the edge of the glade. 

Twilight was already underway and the shadows and darkness within the woods seemed to deepen even as Pyrnion’s eagle eyes sought to pierce them. Patches of vines of night’s watch*, gathered just at the edge of the trees close to the ground, were beginning to splay their deep blue and white-streaked trumpets in the approaching night.

Fen took a moment to appreciate the nocturnal flower’s tranquil beauty.

* "Night's Watch" is a fairly common Orean flowering and creeping vine with dark blue trumpet shaped blooms streaked with white. They bloom at night and close up tightly during daylight hours. The white streaks of the flower glow in moonlight. Think, like a morning glory, but instead of pink/white it's navy or indigo and white.

“We are hear, my friend, in hopes of finding one of my order that I might consult about our recent events and, possibly, my future endeavors.” the druid explained distractedly as he saw leaves and blooms shake in disturbance, as if some small animal were moving around or beneath them. the druid did not give it a second thought until another batch fo brush shook and cracked, more loudly this time, at a different side of the glade.

Pyrnion turned, arrow nocked and feathery eyebrows furrowed. Fen turned as well, though much more calmly.

Fen put an arm out, to tell Pyrnion to lower his bow. “That should not be necessary.”

Again, back to the other side of the glade, twigs snapped. Fen turned to that direction in time to watch some snow fall from a low-hanging snow-laden branch. Landing on the snowy ground with an almost imperceptible *flumph*  Just a small section of the snow from the branch...

“I think we have company...” Fen mused softly.

“Really? You think?” Pyrnion said with subtle annoyance and a start when loud thrashing seemed to come from the glade’s edge and proceed around the perimeter. Bushes shook and twigs snapped, dead leaves and pinecones and other natural debris seemed to be “thrown” into the air with the things passing...it was making quite a racket. Try as he might, though he looked directly where whatever causing the disturbance should be, Pyrnion could not see anything.

Watching as the noises and shakings moved around the one side of the glade, Fen watched about twenty feet before it and the subtle, small shakings and disturbances to the snow, dormant plants and patches of night’s watch. 

The half-elf tilted his head and looked to a distinct curve in the treeline, where the small disturbances and the larger one would be closest (assuming neither struck out into the open glade). With a nearly silent command and wave of his arm, violet and blue flames arched out from him and crashed into the underbrush. 

“What’re you...?!” Pyrnion turned, drew and fired in the direction the druid had cast, in cmoplete surprise. The winged man nocked a second arrow, almost as deftly as an elf would.

Where the minor magical flames had landed, they instantly disappeared except for several small flickering glow at the fore and a larger (though still small) roundish outline of _faerie fire_ behind. All of the shapes had stopped dead still the instant the spell had effected them. As if waiting to see what happened next. 

The smaller flickering flames darted out into the glade, heading straight for the two men. The larger round shape sped away into the woods and was quickly lost from view.

Pyrnion drew again.

“NO!” Fen, shouted and threw his arm in Pyrnion’s line of sight again.

“But...” the winged man began to protest as the tiny violet and blue flickerings sped right passed Fen and pulled up before and around him instead.

“They’re friends...Aren’t you, now? Let us see.” Fen said gently toward the little outlines of flickers.

“Yes! Yes! Friends is friends!” came a small shrill voice shortly before an icy blue pixie appeared directly in front of Pyrnion’s nose. “Winged One is friends! Winged One helps!” it exclaimed in apparent glee. 

With this, the other flickering shapes filled in, as well. One pink, red, a darker blue and a forest green monochromatic, genderless and insect-winged figures came into view. The five faeries immediately joined hands and began “dancing” at shoulder height around the zephari.

“Winged One. Winged One. Ringed around the Winged One. Winged One. Winged One. Gonna save us all!” the chanted repeatedly.

Pyrnion did nothing but look at fen with a risen feathery eyebrow. “What are...I’m going to what?”

“My friends, we would very much like to, ehm, 'save you all’. But you need to tell us what the matter is. What was chasing you?” the druid asked, unsuccessfulkly attempting to interrupt the pixie’s revery.

"Pff. Green Ones no helps. Green One leaves!" spat the red pxie in Fen's direction.

The druid felt a tugging at his hip and opened one of his belt pouches to see the back end of yellow pixie (bent over) helping themselves to his stash of berries and nuts.

“Hey there, little one. Those are for me. But you can have some more if you tell me what’s happening here in your woods.” he said calmly as he picked the pixie up by its wings and set it down in his other palm.

The yellow toned pixie had an acorn lid for a cap and tilted its head at the druid. Its face scrunched up as if trying to discern if the druid was speaking the truth. Finally it turned to the other pixies dancing around Pyrnion and shouted, pointing at Fen, “Green One wants to helps too. Gives us berry-nuts for stories!”  

“Stories?” said the icy blue one, stopping in mid-air. This caused a rather humorous pile-up as the other dancing pixies crashed into one another with the abrupt stop.

“Stories?!” the pink one said more excited.

“STORIES!” the all exclaimed and winged themselves over to Fen. Three nudged and fought for space to set in Fen’s hand while the other two were content to take up seats in the crooked his arm and on his shoulder.

“Tell stories, Green One!” the dark blue one said.

“Stupids! Berry-nuts first, then stories.” the pink one objected.

“Can’t make stories wifout berry-nuts.” the forest green one nodded in agreement, arms folded in complete seriousness.

“No no.” Fen tried to explain...then, thinking the better of it. “You first. I insist. You tell me a story about what was chasing you and then I’ll give you the, um, ‘berry-nuts’ for snacks while...uh...the Winged One tells you _his _story.” the carrot-topped half-elf finished with a warm smile toward Pyrnion.

“Ooooooooo.” the pixies all said in unison, pupilless round wide eyes turned to look at the zephari.

“Me first!” “I tell” “Once ‘pon...” “No! Me!” tiny voices all started saying at once. This quickly devolved into winged chases flitting all around the druid. 

“Calmly! Calmly!” Fen attempted to restore order.

At this the pink pixie stopped in its tracks in midair. “CALMLY!” it exclaimed, arms wide in jubilation.

The pixies all joined hands again, even as Fen noticed a tugging at his hip pouch again.

“Calmly! Calmly! Ring around the Calmly! Calmly! Calmly! Gonna save us all! “

 Pyrnion’s face lowered to meet his raising palm.

Fen, again, pulled out the yellow pixie from his pouch of snacks. It looked at him and if it had discernable eyebrows there was the distinct impression they would be risen high. Its cheeks puffed out bulbous, several red and black berries in each side. The yellow pixie forced a wide closed-lipped grin.

“Alright, then. You get to go first since you already got the snacks.” Fen said loudly enough for all of the singing pixies to hear.

“_You_ gots the snacks?” the forest green one, who still had the distinct baring as more serious than the others. “No fairs!”

“Yellow One took the snacks. So he, uh, she, Yellow One goes first.” Fen said matter-of-factly.

“Not nice, Goldibelle.” the icy blue pixie waggled a finger at the yellow pixie. The other pixies shook this heads na waggled fingers in obvious agreement that this was, in fact, “not nice.”

Swallowing hard, its tiny thin neck bulging out into cartoonish proportions as the berries sank down into its gut, with an audible “sploosh” and visible bulging out of the tummy, Goldibelle flitting back to Fen’s opened palm. With a ceremonious clearly of the throat, the yellow pixie began to tell their story.

“Silverymoons ago, picties plays in picty wood.” The yellow pixie turned to looked at its companions. It made a pouty face.

“Ehem. Me _saaaaays_, 'Silverymoons ago, picties plays in picty wood!’”

The other pixies jolted from the wrapped attention to wiggled their fingers into the space behind the yellow one.

In a twinkling of sparkling colored dust (each the color of its respective pixie) an image began to form. A little screen in which a star-filled night sky appeared and then a large full silver moon. As the dust began to drop and settle, the image continued to form “down”, trees came into view, then brush and flowers, then images of pixies, these and others, dancing in circles among the toadstools and night’s watch vines.

The yellow pixie nodded in appreciation and turned back to the druid and zephari ranger.

“In the silverymoons, the door opens. Cutty badhats come. Not nice. Not pritty.”

The other pixies nodded in agreement to each other. “Not pritty. Not nice. Nasty bad cutty hats.” they murmured among each other.

The illusion of the tale showed night-blue goblin like creatures wearing bright red floppy caps and bright red soft boots came creepign into the picture. They carried harsh chipped and serated knives, hatchets and small sickles. Their faces were twisted into scowls with sharp pointed teeth showing through curl-lipped sneers. Then the faye-goblins attacked the dancing pixies in the image.

“Bad cuttyhats comes and stops picties play! Takes house and cuts picties up for stew!” the yellow one said, its voice cracked as if it might begin to cry.

The image came to rest on an old twisted oak tree with many obvious hollows. The goblin things were all around the tree and a small pot of stew sat before it with one of the red-capped creatures stirring it with a ladle larger than it was.

“Very bad cutty hats. Very sad story. Stops picties play! Picties says, ‘Hey you, Bad Ones, stop hurts the picties. Picties _nice_!” this illicited another round of murmuring agreement from the other pixies. 

The image showed a bright green pixie, as large as the goblin, waggling a finger at the redcap by the cauldron.

“Cuttyhat says, 'Nuh uhhhhhh! Picties _not _nice. Cuttyhats comes through the doors cuz darkling Low Ones comes for the door.’ Says, 'Longnight silverymoon, gonna come out the door n’ ruin picties wood! Take picties house for always! Kills alla picties and ruin Dragon One’s house too!”

At this all of the pixies stopped their weaving of the illusion, putting their hands to their ears and writhing and wailing as if in great sorrow or pain. 

“Woes to Picties! Woes to Dragon One! Woes woes woes!” the yellow one also now pulled its acorn cap down over its eyes and began to rock back and forth in Fen’s palm.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. We’ll stop the red-, er, 'cuttyhats.’ We’ll get your tree back for you.” Fen soothed.

“Awwww. Green One is nice. Green Ones is friends always.” the yellow one smiled.

“Winged Ones is better. No Winged Ones in picty woods since the befores. Winged One stops darklings, for sure!” argued the red pixie.

 “Yeah, about that...” Pyrnion interjected, “what are the darkliings? And what’s this 'door’ you’re talking about?” The zephari said as an aside to Fen, “Maybe we can figure out a way to close it?”

The pink pixie flitted up before Pyrnion’s face. “Duuuuuuh. The _dooooor_?...Over theres?...Biiiiig white stone?....Outside the trees?"

Seeing no response the pink one turned to its companions and said, “Maybe Winged One nots so much help." It twirled a long slender finger at the side of its head.

“Hey!" Pyrnion objected.

“My friends, where is the door?" Fen asked calmly.

 The pink one waved its hand dismissively toward the wood behind the winged man. “Over theres?...Biiiiig white stone?....Outside the trees?

“Green One not so smarts neefer." it said again over its shouler.

“Do you have any idea what its talking about?” Pyrnion asked.

Big white stone...outside the trees...it was familiar somehow...but he couldn’t quite remember. 

“How about, you take us to your tree and we’ll get rid fo the dark faye for you. Then, you bring us to the door. So we can helps...Yes? Would be _niiiice_.” the druid bargained.

All of the pixies looked to the serious forest green one, who shook its head.

“Yes. Is nice. We helps Green One and Green One helps picties. Is nice. Come. Come.” the green pixie began flitting into the woods, away from where the pink one had indicated the direction of the door.

In unison the other pixies took flight behind it, except for the pink one who sped up to Fen’s face as he began to follow.

“What is it, little one?” the druid asked.

“Got story.” it said matter-of-factly. The pink pixie held out its hand. “Berry-nuts!”


----------



## steeldragons

Pyrnion followed Fen as the two moved with some urgency to kep up with the pixies, flying and flitting from tree to tree, branch to stone to thicket.
“A little insight would be appreciated here, druid.” Pyrnion said.

He had kept his bow nocked as they trotted through ever closer trunks and underbrush. The snow was noticeably less beneath the thick overhead canopy of interlacing bare branches and umbrella-like boughs of firs. The deepening twilight did not help as the paths beneath the trees became increasingly dark as night. Fortunately, the pixies gave off an ephemeral glow, each their own color, and left a trail of sparkling dust in their wake, which twinkled out of sight before it touched the ground.

“If I’m not mistaken, there are redcaps in the woods. Fayekin goblins of decidedly nasty temperament and cruelty. They are thoroughly wicked.” the druid began. He wove with trained ease through the thickets and tree trunks. His druid’s cloak flowing from brown to grey to darkness as he passed, seemingly without disturbing anything he passed.

“They are a bit smaller than Orean goblins, but delight in cutting things up and their bites are particularly vicious. But they should not pose much of a problem for heroes, such as we...depending on their numbers, of course.” he added as the afterthought gave him mental pause.

“Don’t you have fayekin in your mountain peaks, Pyrnion?” Fen asked.

“My lord Cyr Tyr does receive visits from sylphs from time to time. Though they are lovely to behold, kind hearted, well-spoken and as large as you and I...well, as large as you.” Pyrnion smirked. The half-elf was a full head shorter than the towering muscled zephari.

“Yes, well, there are all kinds of fayekin. Some are nice. Some not so. Some fully evil. They come in all shapes and sizes and a variety of magical abilities. Redcaps are vicious and prone to outbursts of anger, not entirely dissimilar to our goblins. But they are not particularly powerful.”

“So that was a redcap that was chasing these pixies aroudn the glade? So they can turn invisible at least. That, in itself, gives them a distinct advantage.” Pyrnion noted.

“True. They can turn invisible, but unlike the pixies who are invisible always except by choice, redcaps can not stay invisible indefinitely. And if they do, my faeire fire incantation should make them plain enough.” the druid replied, rounding a large trunk and pausing until he caught the yellow pixie ahead, waving them on from a branch.

“And this door? The ‘darklings’?  What’s that all about?” the zephari followed. His wings were already pressed against his shoulders, as a great feathery cloak. He looked above again, patches of sky were becoming barely visible and less frequent. Pyrnion felt a nervousness falling over him.

“The door, it sounds like, is an obvious doorway into the Land of Faerie. Such portals are not entirely rare, particularly in such close proximity to a faye-wood as this.” Fen continued. “This particular portal is, apparently, a ‘great white stone, outside the trees’ the pixies said.”

“And the darklings?” Pyrnion posed again.

“That, my friend, is something of a concern.” Fen had to admit. “There are any number of wicked faye and fayekin. Some are minor, such as these redcaps. Some, however, can be quite potent. I’ve heard tales of dark sidhe lords who are near godlings.

“I’ve never heard of a ‘darkling’ before, though. But then, the way the pixies call things, it could mean any number of creatures. “

Fen mused for a moment, speaking more to himself than for Pyrnion’s understanding. “They said they were coming on ‘longnight silverymoon’...”

“They also said the redcaps came ‘silverymoon ago’." Pyrnion pointed out.

“They did, didn’t they...If I had to guess, I would surmise that the ‘door’ to the faye realm opens on when the silver moon is full....which it is tomorrow night.  And, tomorrow is Midwinter...the longest night of the year.”

“So these darklings will be coming through then...to kill all of the pixies.” Pyrnion concluded.

“Not just that. If the ‘Dragon One‘s house’ means the realm or keep of the Dragonmage, as I guess, then they would be formidable faye indeed.” Fen finished his thought as the two came up to where their five pixie friends had all landed among a briar patch. The green pixie held its finger up to its mouth.

Fen and Pyrnion also crouched down behind the briar. Looking cautiously through the thorny twines. the zephari let out an audible sigh of relief to see the burgeoning stars and rising moon above.

At the far side of another glade, much smaller than the one they’d arrived in, was a very large oak tree, angled and twisted. Unlike most of the other trees in the wood, its leaves were intact, even mostly still green, which Fen found fascinating. Its lower boughs as thick aroudn as a man and along the trunk and knots of the branches, more than a few hollows were apparent. Several small round hunching figures wandered along the branches. Their bright red caps catching the rising nearly full silver moon’s light from time to time.

At the base, a dark cauldron sat upon a roaring campfire. A redcap slwoly stirred whatever was in the pot with a ladle, just as the pixies had portrayed, nearly half-again as long as the redcap was himself. Set near the fire, dangling from the lowest oak bough, were three crudely constructed cages of sticks and thorny branches. The three of them appeared empty, but Fen guessed that none of them actually were.

Another redcap, with its jagged knife was sharpening it along a stone beneath the cages. Beside it a log cut to have a flat side sat on the snowless ground. The flat side was darkened and wet.

“I count twelve.” Pyrnion said over Fen’s shoulder. “That I can see. Is that too many? I can make myself unseen, but can you cross this open ground without notice?”

“You go. I should make my way around, closer, through the trees.” Fen said. “Remain unseen until I work a spell.”

“A spell?!” said the pink pixie, excitedly.

“No no! No singing now. We will have a party after we slay the cuttyhats. But now you must stay very quiet.” Fen said, fearing the faeries would break into one of their chanting dances.

All of the pixies turned, their solid eyes bulging with anticipation. “A party?” the icy blue one said breathlessly. They looked to each other with huge smiles and quivered and bounced in excitement.

“What spell, druid?” Pyrnion said, uninterested in the pixies apparent pleasure.

“You’ll know. Go. Let’s get this done.” Fen said. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head and dashed off. Within a moment, he faded from Pyrnion’s gaze among the nearby wood.

With a thought, Pyrnion made himself invisible.

“Ooooooo.” the pixies breathed and they winked, for a second, out of normal vision. Then Pyrnion could see them all again, holding tiny hands to their mouths, to contain tittering giggles. 

The zephari raised a feathered eyebrow. Apparently, if he were invisible, he could see them invisible as well. “Stay here, little ones.” Pyrnion said andas quietly as he could, launched himself into the open air and up into a holding pattern above the glade.

The jostling of the brush caught the attention of several redcaps who snarled at each other and scanned the sky. Thankfully, it seemed, they could not see the zephari.

A chilling thought crossed Pyrnion’s mind...If he could see the pixies while they were invisible, then it was likely if one of the redcaps turned invisible, they would also be able to see him. He made a silent prayer to Arinane the druid would hurry.

His wait was not long as, all around the base of the tree, roots and vines torn up from the ground. The cauldron was knocked from the fire, its contents splashing all over the entangled redcap chef. The faye goblin shrieked as it scalded and quickly died.

Among the branches, the visible redcaps were scrambling and shouting incomprehensibly at each other. Hatchets and knives flashed out to swipe at the rising vines and grasses that sought to ensnare them. 

Pyrnion drew his bow and was reloading ven as he shimmered into normal view. Two arrows struck down two redcaps who fell form the branches to be quickly scooped up and caccooned by the enchanted vegetation.

That’s three, thought Pyrnion as he drew again. The darkfaye were in utter chaos and shouted and pointed to the hideous gleaming winged one that had appeared in the air.

Another redcap stuck its head out of one of the hollows, obviously surprised by the attack. It raised a small cone of dull grey metal to its mouth and sounded what must have been their alarm. It was a harsh grating and entirely unpleasant sound but caused no lasting damage to the zephari or druid who now was racing around the base of the tree, his leaf tip spear blazing green fire as he stabbed and swiped at the redcaps not entangled.

With another cryptic syllable, Fen bathed the area in violet-blue flames. As expected, there were multiple flickers in two of the three cages. Two redcaps, who had turned invisible in hopes of sneaking up on the druid, also became outlined in flickering harmless light.

Two of the redcaps still in the trees branches, loosed arrows up at the winged man. Both missed, though one only nearly.

Pyrnion let fly with another volley and two more redcaps hit the ground dead.

Fen held back the cry of pain when one of his would-be backstabbers did land a slice with a jagged edged sickle [turning fully visible with the attack though he was still ensconced with faerie fire].

The goblin that had blasted the alarm shouted commands from his mostly covered place in the tree’s central and largest hollow. 

Another arrow flew passed Pyrnion. Then a fourth struck him in the wing. It was far from a mortal wound, though it caused a great deal of pain to keep beating his wings and the zephari was forced to circle up and out of view for a moment.

Fen felled the creature who had struck him with a swipe of his green-lit spear blade. He then turned his attention to three of the redcaps who were entangled. With a thought and a clench of his fist, he constricted the creatures to their death. 

Pyrnion returned from above the trees and surveyed the battlefield again. As far as he could tell, there were still two archers, the “commander” in the hollow, and another invisible though faerie fired who seemed to be taken “the better part of valor” and breaking for the woods.

One arrow ended that well enough and the creature came into normal vision as it fell, face first, tot he ground in a bloody thud.

Pyrnion’s second arrow missed his intended archer target. It thunked into the branch between the archer’s red booted feet and the creature sumarily turned and scrambled out of view to a different part of the tree.

The commanding redcap had disappeared into the hollow and reemerged with a short spear in hand. He took aim on Fen who was not far below him.

Only Fen’s elf-blooded reflexes saved him from a spear in the chest, but the spear bit through his druid’s cloak and pinned to the ground. The redcap leader ducked back into the tree as Fen looked up in fury at the creature.

Fen laid his hands upon the trunk of the tree and spoke the unknown tongue of his order. Energy pulsed through him to the tree...or was it the tree’s own energies pulsing through the half-elf and back again? With a roar of anger and determination, the trunk of the tree rippled and lurched beneath Fen’s mental commands. It, literally, seemed to spit the redcap out of the hidey hole into the flailing vines and roots below before Fen removed his hands and the tree returned to its normal shape.

Pyrnion landed. He withdrew his axe and chopped open the small cages. A half dozen pixies in a myriad of colors became visible and sparkling with their colors as they all cheered in a chorus of tiny shrill voices all at once.

“There’s still one more.” Pyrnion warned Fen as he neared the leader with his spear level.

“Here it is! Nasty bad Cutty hat!” came the small voice of the yellow pixie as the five they had originally encountered came hovering around the tree trunk, twittling their fingers to release their dusty sparkles. Contained in their midst, floating off the ground and struggling against their magic, was the final redcap. It clawed and snapped toothy jaws at the surrounding pixies who were all easily flitting outside its reach. They levitated the creature over to the writhing vines and tossed it in beside their leader.

Fen calmed the larger area of his spell, the three slain redcaps fell to the ground and proceeded to...melt, for lack of a better term, into the ground, leaving only their red caps and boots and their poorly wrought weapons.

Fen kept the spell in effect, holding the two remaining redcaps. Several pixies were wagging fingers and berating the faye goblins as “Not nice.”

“Now then,” Fen began, leaning in toward the leader redcap and pressing his green flaming spear tip against its rotund round body, “what are you doing here and what are the darklings the pixies told us about.”

“Guh guh gunna tell you, warrior-green,
None o’ darklings have I seen.”

“Great. It rhymes.” Pyrnion said drily.

“Rhyming is wut redcaps do.
Not so matters much to you.” the leader replied with a sneer. He stuck his tongue out at the winged man.

Fen pressed his spear more firmly against the redcap. “Rhymes or no, you will tell us what we want to know.” Fen smiled to himself at the unintended rhyme of his own. ”What happens tomorrow night at the big white stone.”

“Hehehehehe. Doesn’t know. Doesn’t know.
Stupid elfling in the snow.” the leader replied with a throaty chuckle.

“heheheh.” the archer chimed in with a laugh of its own until Pyrnion levels his axe blade beneath the archer’s throat.

“Maybe you now. Or maybe I kill you first so your boss, here, will speak plainly.” the zephari glowered.

“Nuh nuh no. Not me you kill.
Tell them. Tell them. Tell them still!” the archer wriggled in his plant bindings and sounded like he was imploring his boss to talk.

“Squirmy squirm,
worthless worm.
Not one word I have to tell.
We’re not knowing darklings well.” the leader confessed.

“Well what do you know?” Fen pressed.

“Party now?” the pink pixie flitted up into Pyrnion’s face.

“Not now!” the zephari scowled and waved the pixie away.

“Nuh Nuh Know you stop them, not a chance.
Not with spell songs or spears’ dance.
From the shadows they appear
Move like midnight. Sounds no hear.
Through the thicket dark ones roam.
Chased us from our nasty home.
Through the door they wish to come.
You can not stop them. Not a one.” the leader told ending with a sly smirk of obvious enjoyment of his last statement.

“And?” Fen pressed some more.

“Nuh nuh no! No more to tell!
Knows no more and knows it well!” the redcap pleaded.

“If we let you go you leave these woods. Right now. Tonight!” Fen said with a menacing tone.

“Or we will hunt you down and slay you into the ground as these were.” he kicked at the nearest red boot laying upon the black splotch on the ground.

“Cuh cuh can not leave tonight.
Moon is not at fullest light.” the redcap implored.

“The door is closed. Do you not see?
Opens not for you or me.” the archer piped in to explain.

“Or the darklings, apparently. Sounds like you were correct, druid.” Pyrnion said. “Can we slay them now?”

“Suh suh SLAY?! No not, no please!
We will stay quiet, nice, at ease.
Told you all we has to know.
Lets us loose so we may go.” the leader snarled his acknowledgement of their defeat.

“If we let you go, you promise to leaves, erm, leave the pixie wood and harass them, or anyone else in these woods, until you can go through the door tomorrow night. Swear it on the Lady Green!” Fen insisted.

“Suh suh swear? Yes, yes and yes!
Won’t hurts nuthin’...more or less.” the leader tried to slip in at the end.

“No. Won’t hurts _nothing_. Period!” Fen placed the spear tip at the reccap’s throat. “Hurt nothing at all until you are back in the Faerie Land...or I will gut you, like a fish, where you stand.” Fen tilted his head in a most maniacal way.

Pyrnion looked at him with some discomfort.

“Nuh nuh nothing. None and no one.
Swears I do. It is done! 
Lets us go and goes in peace.
Not guttings to us, uh puh pleese.”

Fen stood tall and with a wave of his hand, the vines and roots released the redcaps. They immediately raced for the woods in a scrambled hopping and somersaulting frenzy. THe pixies follwoed them to the edge of the glade, cheering and jeering and throwing acorns and pinecones  at their backs.

The icy blue pixie flew up to Fen’s face. “Party nowwwww?”

Fen’s serious face couldn’t help but break into a smile. 

“Yes, party now." He dug a hand into his pouch of berries and nuts and tossed a large handful into the air.

The pixies went wild flitting about catching and diving for the tasty treats. Rings of glowing rainbows of light became visible all around the glade and the chanting repetitive songs of the pixie rings filled the air.

Fen smiled at the zephari. Pyrnion rolled his eagle eyes.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria awoke the morning of Midwinter. She laid there and stared at the paneled ceiling as she listened to the chiming of six bells. After the final peal, she rose and wrapped herself in a robe of soft white wool. The pitcher and bowl on the side stand had yet to be filled. With a thought, the magess “washed" her face and hair with a simple cantrip. No doubt she would do so again, with actual water and soap at least once again before the Lordmage’s gala that evening.

Braddok stirred in his deep slumber and rolled over, turning away from her.

Alaria grinned, despite herself. She followed the lines in muscled creases of his bare back. Rhea’s mental message from what seemed an eternity ago, “They are good for some things" replayed itself in her mind, yet again.

Turning back to the shudders, Alaria wondered how much of that had been idle comment, “woman to woman”, and how much had been the Emerald Lady’s psychic prescience to what was to develop between the two of them.

She opened the shudders (which bent into the room) to let the morning light stream into the chamber. Braddok groaned at the new, unwelcome, light but did not wake.

Alaria was surprised to hear a “tap tap tap” at the clear glass windows that filled the narrow opening. There was a bird on the ledge outside.

*tap tap tap* the bird hit the pane with its beak again.

Alaria squinted through the somewhat imperfect glass. It was a wren or nightingale or some other small nondescript bird.

*tap tap tap*

Alaria, puzzled, opened the latch on the window and swung the one beside the bird open.

The creature immediately hopped over to the opening, but stayed on the outside sill. It was a nightingale.

“Good morning, gentle one. What brings you here? I’m afraid I’ve no seed or berry to offer you." the magess said playfully. She expected at any moment the bird would take flight away.

It tweeted twice.

The third time it opened its beak, Alaria was utterly shocked to hear a voice!

“Fen sends his regards to Magess Alaria. He regrets they have been detained by some curious business in the pixie wood. But one way or the other, expect their arrival on the morn.” the bird said.

“I...uh...well...thank...” Alaria began to stammer at the exceedingly odd occurrence.

The nightingale took flight and was gone from view out over the town far below.

“...you.” she finished. ‘Curious business’, Alaria wondered. Whatever could that mean? A shame Fen and Pyrnion would be missing the gala. Though, she had no doubts, Fen would not be missing an introduction to the Lady Elhianne’s young neice.

---------------------

“Remind me never to drink pixie nectar ever_ ever _again.” Pyrnion said from his place on a thick branch of the tree Fen casually leaned against below him.

“Still ill, Pyrnion? Fairy nectar is a singular honor. I would doubt you will ever have the opportunity to partake again. They share it with practically no one that is not of their kin. Not to mention this.” Fen ran his fingers, for the hundredth time that day, through the delicate sparkling pixie dust in a pouch at his side. “We are heroes to this wood, Pyrnion. It is a great privilege that we have earned their trust and devotion.”

“For you, perhaps.” Pyrnion said, squinting out over the field of snow beyond the wood glowing bright in the full moon light.  His head still throbbed from the prior night’s “party” that went on to the rising sun. Following many too few hours of sleep, they had been brought to the southern edge of the wood.

There, Fen had recognized and recalled what someone named Festus had once called “the Giant’s Thumb.” It was, as the pixies had said, a great white stone, angled but rounded by age and weather, that jutted out of the surrounding field, currently covered with a solid foot of snow. Fen had posited that the stone must have, once upon a time, been within the wood. But over the ages of the Daenfrii residents' needs for lumber, now found itself about 100 yards beyond the current forest’s edge.

A shiver went through the zephari’s body as he noticed, quite unexpectedly a chill. Must have been his body reacting to the lingering effects of the fairy’s alcohol. He stretched his wings a moment and wrapped them, again, tightly around his person. They’d been sitting here watching for hours.

“How much longer?” Pyrnion asked. “We zepharim are a patient people and much accustomed to keeping watch. But we have been here since before twilight.”

“That is true, but we have no way of knowing when the door actually opens.” Fen defended. He too shivered beneath his druid’s cloak. Whether it was the effects of the nectar or the fact it was actually more cold here, at the end of the faye-enchanted forest, where winter sat dominant upon all they surveyed, he neither knew nor cared.

“It could have opened at the setting of the sun...or perhaps it waits for the silver moon to be at its zenith...I have no way of knowing. Besides, it would be good to see if our mercy to those redcaps is justified or we’ll be hunting faye-goblins for the rest of the night.”

“You are a strange one, druid Fen. Our concerns far outweigh whatever minor enchantments concern this wood. We should be meeting with the others in the Dragonmage’s Vale.”

“And we shall, my feathered friend. But this bares some merit...and may yet prove to relate to our friends in the Dragonmage’s Vale if what the redcaps said was true. Hush now!” Fen said in hushed alarm, wrapping his cloak about him to merge, seamlessly with the trunk of the tree. His enhanced hearing had noted something along the edge of the wood, not far from their position. With a thought, Pyrnion made himself unseen.

From the wood, some ten yards beside their position, the redcap leader and the archer broke the tree line. The leader toted a few feet of branch, using it as a walking stick and breaking the snow before them to make a path. Slowly, the two made their way out, beneath the bright white reflected light toward the stone.

Well, Fen thought to himself, at least they are not complete liars and fools.

The snow came up to their waists and it was obviously difficult for them to wade through the thick layer. Fen couldn’t help but admit that despite their evil nature, watching their round forms waddle through the snow, even these wicked faye were “cute.” He grinned, unseen, in appreciation of the duality of the purity of the Balance.

“Huh huh hurry, the moon is high.

F’not by midnight we surely die.” the leader croaked to his subordinate.

The archer, who it seemed had a full sack thrown over his shoulder and a couple of arrows left in a nearly empty quiver but no obvious bow, hurried his steps behind the leader. After three, he slipped and fell face-first into the snow.

Fen fought back an audible chuckle.

The leader had reached the stone and was continuing on to the right. The archer waddled quickly to catch up and began to go to the left.

“Fuh fuh fool, stupid Nashtoor! 
This way. This way. To the door!
Use you feet or wings or fins,
Must approach it windershins!” the redcap commander shouted in near fury.

“Yuh yuh yessir, Bleegerplotz.
I am sorry. I forgots.” the archer replied.

Fen and Pyrnion watched as the redcaps trudged around the right side of the stone. The silver moon must have been at its zenith as the shadows which had been pronounced through the hours they had waited were now nearly gone.

Fen inhaled sharply as his senses tingled...nothing he really saw or heard, exactly, but felt most definitely. There was power emanating off of the stone. He perceived a powerful magic, a force older than he had yet to encounter that all but visually rippled across the frozen field around it.

Without any notice of what Fen was experiencing, the redcaps disappeared from their view, behind the far side of the stone.

Fen watched...and waited. He heard the soft bat of Pyrnion’s wings and felt his weight lifted off the tree against which he leaned.

A few moments later, he felt Pyrnion return.

“They’re gone.” the zephari whispered from his perch. “I flew above and around. The redcaps are just...gone. Their trail just...stops on the back side of the stone.”

Fen furrowed his brow but did not reply. “We will wait a few...” Fen’s sentence was cut off as a lean figure swathed in black emerged into their view, from where the redcaps had rounded the boulder.


----------



## steeldragons

A short update...intended as the end of the last...but alas, one cannot always get finished what one intends at a particular sitting.

More shortly.

As always, thanks for reading.
--Steel Dragons.
---------------------

The figure stood for a moment. It (as Fen could not deduce if the figure was male or female) seemed halted by the glare of the moonlight off the snowy field, which illuminated the surroundings almost as well as daylight. It held its arm up over its hooded face or a moment before lowering its opened hand toward the ground before it. Immediately a circle of inky blackness spread out beneath its feet, to a diameter of about 5 feet. This didn’t shroud the figure, but “lay” upon the snow, diffusing the immediate glare, though the surrounding light made seeing it simple enough, even helping Fen and Pyrnion to see detail more clearly.

The figure was armored over its torso and legs to just above  the knees in what appeared a finally meshed material of dull black. Its gloves and boots were of an apparently very light material as the folds and edges wavered in some unfelt breeze, though they looked as sturdy as leather. The hilts of weapons, only slightly "less black", hung from their hips. The cloak, which was deeply hooded and completely obscured their faces, was of a similar material to their boots and gloves though did reflect some sheen from the ambient moonlight, giving it a  quality as if they wore a garment of liquid ink. It too flowed easily in the breeze that picked up the looser top bits of snow.

A second figure appeared. Then there were five in view and finally, it seemed, a total of eight figure came around the end of the stone. If they spoke to each other, neither the half-elf nor zehari could discern it but each, in turn, followed the first figure’s actions in casting a darkness beneath them until the company stood within a solid platform of black in the midst of the pure silvery white glowing field. They were all identically clad, no hair was apparent, no details of head or face. They stood about Fen’s height, with trim and toned frames.  As the redcap had stated, whether through sorcery or some other craft, their slight movements made not the slightest sound upon the fresh snow.

They certainly could be sidhe, Fen thought with some concern, as he took a single step back, moving himself to the opposite side of the tree from the newcomers. Only the side of his face peeked out from the other side, so Fen could watch peripherally. He knew the enchantments of his cloak’s hood would make the edge of his head appear as no more than a natural knot or protrusion from the tree’s trunk.

The movement however, was ill advised, as two of the figure’s hooded heads turned directly toward Fen’s direction. After a second, one pointed at the tree and a voice was heard. It was almost a hissing, but more like a buzzing...with clicking-clacking sounds intermittent, like the combination of a bee and a beetle “speaking” at once. Fen had no idea what was said, other than the word or phrase that easily soared across the 100 yard separation from the stone to the edge of the pixie wood.

“Zzee’teereem!” it said.

That’s not good, Pyrnion thought in amazement. The figure was pointing directly at him. How was that possible? The invisibility of his people was a tried and true cover. They couldn’t possibly see him without magic!

Before the zephari could spread his wings, two of the dark figures were speeding toward him, blurs of blackness crossing the snowy field at an incredible pace. As he did spread his wings to take off, the zephari was startled and actually fell off his perch to the ground below, when violet flames erupted all over his person. He had already hit the ground hard before realizing they did not actually “burn” or “hurt” at all. But he was most certainly visible to anyone in the vicinity now.

“By the Green!” Fen blurted in surprise. He whirled from his place, no sense trying to be stealthy now! He slammed the butt of his sacred spear into the ground and a streak of green lightning illuminated the ground, beneath the snowfall, to end about twenty feet ahead of them.

Even as the vines and dormant roots and grasses ripped up through the snow, the dark blurs altered course. One even used a rising root from the far end of Fen’s spell effect as a step to launch itself up into the air, ripping one of the dully black metal blades from a scabbard as he did so. A “zz-ing” shout filled the air from the figure.

“Are you hurt? Can you fly?” Fen said abruptly, throwing his arms around Pyrnion’s neck.

“Yes, I believe so.” Pyrnion said, making himself visible and doing his best to ignore the purple fires the flickered harmlessly all over his person.

“Go.” Fen said turning to their would-be assassins. One was near enough to begin to take a swing. “GO! Get us out of here!” Fen said in panic.

His a single thrust of his muscled thighs, Pyrnion launched the two into the air. The strike of the short blade cut deeply into Fen’s thigh as he rose into the air hanging upon Pyrnion’s back. The pain was explicit and Fen nearly lost his grip around Pyrnion’s neck. But he held on.

The zephari soared up inot the open night,  ignoring the clicks and “zzt-tzz’es” from below. Two small black darts whizzed passed them as they curled up over the treetops and away out of view of the “darklings.”

“Shall we return to the pixie’s tree and warn them?” Pyrnion suggested.

Fen looked behind them and was sure he saw multiple blurry burst of black zipping from branch to branch just beneath the treetops.

“No. We cannot. I do not believe they are actually here for the pixies. We must get to the Dragonmage’s Vale with all haste."

Fen winced as the zephari adjusted his course abruptly.

“So, were those the sidhe godlings you were concerned about?” Pyrnion said calmly. 

“I was hoping your eagle eyes could tell me.” Fen said. Mentally noting that it was much easier to hear while they flew laying upon Pyrnion’s back than it was dangling below him. 

“I could see nothing of their faces. The darkness within their hoods was absolute. I had thought, perhaps, your elf-blooded vision might pierce it more readily.” the zephari reluctantly admitted.

“I think we’re in trouble.” Fen said. “They were so fast! And they saw you when you were invisible?” Fen stated more than asked.

“It seems so.” Pyrnion again admitted with regret. “I have never had that happen before. It is...unnerving.”

Fen looked down behind them again, they had already cleared the north side of the pixie wood. Fen exhaled a sigh of relief even as he noticed, again, the pain in his leg. As he prepared to incant a minor healing on himself, his eyes widened as one...three...then five...and eight points of blackness left the pixie wood and darted, like small black blurs, from shadow to shadow, tree to tree, to stone to wall to homestead...moving from whatever darkness or shade was present to the next nearest.

Then they stopped as Pyrnion winged his way over the small clutch of buildings that was Farthing’s cross. From the shadow of one of the largest buildings there, they struck out across open field, directly northeast!

“Hurry Pyrnion! We must get to the Dragonmage’s citadel with all speed!” Fen said in concern.

“I am flying as fast as I can, druid.” Pyrnion retorted in mild annoyance. “Hang on."

The zephari pitched and soared almost straight upward, gaining as much altitude as he dared. The sprawling town and towered citadel of the Dragonmage appeared, near the edge of his eagle-like vision. It was well lit for so late at night, Pyrnion noted with a bit of confusion. And lay, directly, to the northeast. A quick scan of the lands beneath them revealed, to Pyrnion’s complete surprise, the zipping clips of darkness shifting from place to place, no more than short lines of black.

This, Pyrnion had to admit, was bad. Pyrnion spread his wings and began to soared at a direct descent for the great towered vale of the Dragonmage. A sudden instinct occurred in him and the zephari sent out a telepathic call to any of his race that might be within “hearing” range.


----------



## steeldragons

“<_Magess Alaria, may I present my cousin, Primagus Gorum Thesunder and Primagess Ynesthyra._>” Captain Rynthis elegantly introduced the Ablidon Magelord in the courtly tongue of her homeland.

The darkly bearded and deep-browed man, not much older than Rynthis himself or so he appeared, nodded slightly to Alaria. His gold and scarlet flowing layers of robes and finery and the flame-patterned high collor behind him dipped slightly, giving the impression that the illusionary flames all along his trim dimmed a bit.

His wife, the Primagess, was a woman of golden hair that blazed compared to her darker skin. Her  adornment of amber and onyx jewels and beading along the length of her volumunous gown and cloak glittered at every slightest movement. She also said nothing, nor did she bow or nod. Though she stood no taller than Alaria there was the distinct impression of her “looking down” upon those around her. Some minor trick of perception that Alaria was sure she exhibited to everyone, perhaps even had built in to her finery. 

Alaria curtsied deeply in the compulsory courtly acknowledgement. “<_It is an honor, Primagus. Your majesty,Primagess. How fairs Abildon these days? I have...been abroad._>” Alaria said in her less than practiced R’Hathi.

“<_We have heard some rumors, Alaria _Staver_._>” the Primagus answered. “<_You have single-handedly saved Miralosta, as I hear tell._>” His voice was sharp, even high pitched for one of his apparent baring. 

Alaria flinched at the sound of her family name. She had not realized but in so short a time she had not had cause to use it. Everyone always referring to her as “Magess” or “Stormrider.”

“<_The City of Flame endures, as it always shall._>” he finished and seemed to have no more to say.

Rynthis looked at Alaria and then grinned at his cousin and cousin-in-law (from one of the most affluent Ablidon wizard families.).

“<_Indeed. Though I would not say ’single-handedly.’_>” Alaria admitted. “<_I had quite a bit of aid. May I present, Primagus, Braddok Kar Barforth. He was..._>” Alaria attempted to get Bradok into the decidedly uncomfortable conversation.

“<_You may not._>” the Primagus interrupted. He turned his head slowly to Rynthis.

Alaria quickly shut her mouth.

“<_Cousin, I would very much like to see the Lordmage, now._>” he said without acknowledgement or concern for Alaria’s  non-magical man.

“<_Lord Arganor has yet to arrive. He completes the Blue Star’s midwinter sevice as presided by the Lady Corandralla_.>” Rynthis replied without any outward concern or disagreement with the Primagus’ rudeness. In truth, the seneschal would have much preferred attending the services himself but had been bidden to attend the early arriving guests. There was not much Rynthis could not do, but he was not about to decline or argue with the Lord Chamberlain or the wishes of his lord.

 “_<Corandralla is here?_>” the Primagess now jumped in, questioning but evenly measuring any outward surprise. Speaking with her husband’s royal family was, of course, acceptable even if Rynthis had made the inconceivable choice to reside, let alone_ marry_, these mundane folk of the 'Outer Realms'.

“<_Indeed, my lady. She and the Lordmage are quite good friends._ >” Rynthis replied. He shot Alaria a side long look.

“<_If you’ll excuse us, Primagus._>” Alaria blurted. “<_It has been a pleasure._>” She quickly grabbed Braddok’s arm and tugged him away from the snooty wizard nobles.

“They’re fun.” Braddok remarked drily as he grabbed two most glasses of bubbling elfvine from a sever with a passing tray.

“They are the rulers of my home province, Braddok. There are none above them save the Archmagus himself.” Alaria said. “My knees almost buckled to just stand before them. Let alone make small talk.” Alaria drank several deep gulps of the heady wine.

Braddok grabbed her and turned her toward him. She looked at him, momentarily confused.

“Have I told you, tonight, how radiant you look?” Braddok said with a smile.

Alaria looked down at her enchanted pale golden gown trimmed in deep blue patterns of clouds, swirleing patterns [to symbolize winds] and lightning bolts. She had gotten fitted earlier that day with enchantements and cantrips that gave the appearance of the winds and clouds swirling, the lightning bolts, never directly, seemed to catch the surrounding light and flare upon occasion. Her thigh high boots and mid-arm length gloves carried the motif up and down her arms and legs. She’d bound her hair up within golden strips the Lady Elhaianne had loaned her. In the interst of propriety, she had opted against the offer of illusions to make the binding seem to spark with lightning along their lengths. After meeting with the  Primagus, however, a part of her wished she had agreed to them.

“Only four times, Braddok.” Alaria smiled. “And you, continue to look very gallant.” she returned.

The Grinlian swordsman had had his armor cleaned and polished, multiple times, by hand and magics so that it gleamed with the blue-white gleam of the purest steel. As did all of the warrior types at the ball. His tunic was his signature pale blue with the black swallowtailed hawk of his house blazed within a triangular field of white upon his chest. His hair freshly cut and face freshly shaven. His bright blue eyes even more pronounced against his bronzed skin tone. Alaria had forgotten how tan his natural skin tone was, when not darkened by the weather or layers of grit from the road. Such was the skin of all Grinlian’s within a day’s ride from the Arm of Tyris.

Alaria smiled again at her own thoughts.

“We’re not interrupting I hope?” came a familiar voice behind Alaria.

The magess turned to see Rhea. The Green Witch of Welford and Lady of the Emerald Tear, replendant in a sparkling emerald green velvet full-length affair with a telling slit up the right side. Her dark brown hair still hung loose beyond her shoulders, containedonly in the golden band and teardrop-shaped emerald that dangled between her perfectly arched brows seemed to sparkle even more than usual. Alaria noticed a teardrop shaped emerald also hung from a pendant that hung, just above her amply revealed cleavage.

Alaria almost blushed at the seeress’ appearance and seeming comfort in her display of sexuality.

Upon her arm, a man nearly two heads taller than she. He wore a suit of full plate armor, also polished to a blinding gleam, but a brownish-gold in tone. His helm, ceremoniously tucked beneath his right arm, as Rhea clung to his left, boasted a flowing thick length of sapphire blue hair. His eyes, marginally darker than his plume, were bright and sat well within a strong squared visage.  To the strong jaw clung a tightly trimmed beard of golden brown. The hair upon his head was cropped close and short on top, moreso than even Braddok’s dark locks.

“Alaria Stromrider, have you met Londar?” Rhea said casually. “My dearest, this is the Magess Alaria of Ablidon. Also known as the Stormrider. She and her companions have made great strides in the security of Daenfrii in only a few months.”

Londar bowed deeply, took Alaria’s hand and laid a token kiss upon the top of her hand.

“And this is her paramour, Braddok Kar Barforth. He too has contributed to our collective well being. Perhaps you know his family?” Rhea continued directing Londar’s attention to the warrior.

Londar put out his hand, received by Braddok, and the two shook forearms strongly. Londar seemed not the slightest bit embarrassed by the introduction of “paramour.” Braddok could not say the same.

“Londar Draken? The champion of Resahd? I have heard your tales.” Braddok said with a bit too much hero worship.

“And I yours, Braddok. I know of your family, though must confess I have never visited the Barony of Barforth. My understanding was that it was now held by Baron Torist?” Londar replied in a deep baritone that perfectly matched his tall broad frame.

Braddok’s face darkened a bit. “It does, indeed, I am sorry to say. Torist is an usurper and blaggard who unseated my noble father with treachery unbefitting.” Braddok grumbled his reply.

Londar nodded. His face relayed complete understanding and agreement. “I am sorry to hear it. But tonight is not for such political talk.” He smiled warmly at Rhea and Alaria. “Our ladies should find it tiresome, I am sure.”

“Just so, my love.” Rhea smiled in return and squeeed closer to his thick forearm. “Tonight is for celebration and veneration of the Blue Star. The return to the world of light and...” Rhea’s voice trailed off as her eyes were suddenly miles away, looking beyond and through the mage and warrior standing before her.

“Rhea?” Alaria asked cautiously.

Londar took her hands from his arm and looked at her. His brow immediately furrowed.

“You know what’s happening?” Braddok said softly to his fellow fighter.

Londar simply nodded and continued to watch Rhea intently.

“There is...something...coming...it’s just at the edge...” Rhea began to say softly, haltingly, “One moment.” The Emerald Lady blinked and furrowed her own brows. Both her large eyes and the teardrop gem that hung between them began to glow with a bright green light. 

Just then Haelan came troting up. He was respendid in a bright white tunic trimmed in deep green patterns of pine boughs and rich brown pinecones. He also sported a new shining silver amulet with the pinecone symbol of Faerantha. 

“Oh Alaria, you should have been at the ceremonies of the Witch-Priests. It was fascinating. I think Fen would have enjoyed it. Shame he didn’t make it. Hail and Happy Midwinter to you, Rhea! How’re...you...uhm...Alaria, why are her eyes glowing?”

“Haelan, find Duor. I think something might be wrong." Braddok said quietly to the Hilltender.

“Right." Haelan nodded his head dumbly, his eyes stuck to the glowing light of the seeress' eyes as he trotted off into the crowded hall.

------------------------------------- 

Pyrnion sent out a telepathic alarm to those of his kind once more. They were quickly coming up on the town and citadel. Lights filled the night’s air from the ground, both magical and mundane fires throughout the valley below. The dancing and mingling silhouettes of revelers easily visible to the zephari’s eagle eyes.

“I’ve lost them.” Fen said from Pyrnion’s back. “But I doubt that means they are not or soon will be here. Make for the keep. We must find the others and warn the Lordmage.”

Fen scanned the town below, the shadoes specifically, hoping to glimpse any sudden change or the fast moment of spots of “blackness.”

*_Halt and declare yourself...-selves..._* the forceful but still familiar voice of Rhea sounded in Fen’s mind.

Pyrnion nearly pitched them out of the sky at the surprising, unfamiliar, mental intrusion.

“It’s alright, Pyrnion. She is a friend.” Fen said quickly as the visage of a woman clad in flowing green light appeared to their eyes.

*_I know you...Druid Fen?_* Rhea’s projection visibly relaxed from her original interposing figure, though still flowed and floated before them with a distinct impression of might.

“Greetings Rhea. We have some disturbing news to bring to your lord...and our friends. There are...”Fen began to explain. He felt a disconcerting prodding of his mind, like the rubbing of feathers across his brain. His head tingled from the root of each individual hair.

*_All is understood._* Rhea’s image nodded. *_Continue on your course. I will alert the others. Alaria and Braddok are here with me. We shall meet you outside the gates to the tower._* Her image began to fade before coming back into clarity, *_Try to avoid the welcoming line. We don’t want to unduly alarm the guests._*   

“As you wish.” Fen said aloud.

“You Stormriders have most unusual acquaintances, friend Fen.” Pyrnion said as he resumed his flight path.

“And now, so do you.” Fen answered with a smile (though Pyrnion could not see it)


----------



## steeldragons

Pyrnion and Fen alit on the broad shelf of stone that comprised the entryway of the main keep. Their arrival garnered several “oo’s" and “ah’s" at the grandeur of the Lordmage’s gala, attracting such a rare and notable guest as one of the zepharim. 
A line of dignitaries, nobles, wizards and priests of various faiths arriving to the party at the midnight hour following the Midwinter’s ceremony at the amphitheater of Manat outside the keep walls. Most slowly climbed the long borad stairs that rose to the great doors of the central hall. About halfway up the stairs was a small flat dias upon which Arganor, his sons Montor and Malac, and the high-priestess of Manat, Corandralla stood in gracious reception. 

Rhea, Alaria, Braddok, and some great tall warrior in plate awaited their arrival. As they landed, Haelan, Duor, the satyr Jovias, and the violet-robed Lord Chamberlain came rushing up as well.

“Here now, Rhea, what is going on? The Hilltender said you were in a trance.” Celerion said with both concern and annoyance.

“Here are your answers, Celerion.” Rhea said curtly, as the zephari and druid came again to solid ground.

“Alaria, there are some faye-beings all in black coming here, even now. The pixies called them ‘darklings’ and said they would be seeking to lay waste to the Lordmage’s house.” Fen said as quickly as he could.

“Darklings? Whatever are darklings?” Duor said. “Yer takin’ the word of some pixies?! Nasty lil’ things. Probably playing a joke on you, druid. I’m back to my ale.” without a ‘by your leave‘, the dwarvish rogue turned to return to the party.

“I am afraid, Rhea, I find myself in surprising agreement to the dwarf. Though I will not so quickly dismiss your intuitions. Show me.” Celerion said, more to the seeress than the arriving messengers.

Without a word, Rhea’s teardrop emerald again sparkled and all those present found themselves in a link of thought and image. Pyrnion and Fen’s encounter with the pixies, the redcaps, then the dark lean figures that emerged from the stone. Their short altercation and the fearful dots of black zipping from shadow to shadow against the snow laden fields beneath their frantic flight. When the mental translations were complete, Rhea apologized for her abrupt intrusion. “It simply is easiest.” she said finally.

Celerion’s wiry greying eyebrows rose upon his wrinkled forehead.

“KEEP!” the elderly elf chamberlain shouted. 

Immediately a sphere of blue-white light came into being before the elf.

“Lord Chamberlain?”  Its multitudinous voice hummed in the night air.

“Put the citadel on Security Alert: Sapphire. Lockdown all essential areas. Inform the Lordmage and Princes to enter the Great Hall, at once!” Celerion said to the sentient ball of light.

“As you will, Lord Chamberlain.” the ball replied immediately. Then, with a bit of personality the companions all found odd and a slightly more feminine tone to its voice(s), “But what about the Midwinter’s Gala? What about the guests?”

“They needn’t know a thing, yet. Get the Lordmage and princes into the hall. The party may continue, hopefully, unabated or disturbed. Inform the Captain-at-arms to inform the guards to hold further guests due to...” Celerion had to stop to think for a moment.

“Over capacity?” Haelan said in an attempt to be helpful.

The elderly looked at the halfling with a surprised grin. “Over capacity, Keep. Initiate!”

“As you will, Lord Chamberlain.” the ball’s many voices replied in unison as the light faded from view.

The companions could see, even as it disappeared from their location, the ball of light formed far down the broad starcase, upon the flat dias area where the Lordmage et.al. were receiving guests. After a moment, the Lordmage took Corandralla’s arm and whispered something to her. Montor and Malac took on a grim look and bowed deeply at the next nobles to arrive at the platform. Almost in unison, the three nobles and high-priestess of magic rose into the air and flew with some speed, over their guests, and into the great hall. The huge, dragon embossed doors did not close, but a curtain of pale blue light became visible, seeming to “pour” from the keystone. The guard at the huge doors suddenly had double the number of guardsmen rushing to it from either side tower.

“What do we do?” Haelan said, ever-eager to help.

”Celerion, what is it? Who are they?” Alaria asked, ever-inquisitive for answers.

“I pray  you do not find out, Magess. Quickly now. Come with me, I shall see you back to the party.” Celerion offered.

“My lord, if we can help defend the keep then we would do so.” Braddok said, drawing his enchanted blade from its sapphire studded scabbard.

Londar clasped a large hand upon Braddok’s shoulder. “As a true Steel Dragon would.” his smile through his beard in the deep baritone. “Would you ask Rhea or myself to simply ‘return to the party’?” Londar asked the elf.

Celerion nodded. “You young ones will be the death of me some day.” he shook his head.

“Keep!” Celerion said, again, forcefully.

The ball of blue light appeared once more.

“Permit Magess Alaria and her companions, here, Sapphire access to all areas.” Celerion said plainly.

“As you will, Lord Chamberlain.” the ball said simply.

“That is all.” Celerion replied and the light dissipated.

“Heed me, Stormriders, and heed me well." Celerion said with a degree of seriousness that gave all of the companions chills.

“If I am right, and I pray to all the gods and arts that I am not, these are ShiDaeiri. They will be ruthless and incredibly powerful. What they want here, I can not say, but they must not attain it for, whatever it may be, it will be ruin and evil for the realms. Destroy them if you can. Flee if you can not. Am I clear?” Celerion finished with expectant lavender eyes.

“Well what if we...” Haelan began to ask.

”Pff, there‘s only eight of them.” Braddok tried to bolster the mood.

“Am I clear!?” he said with almost a manic twinge in his eye.

“Yes, Celerion. Where can we serve you?” Alaria said, the severity of this situation was gaining increasing weight by the moment. If Celerion was this obviously concerned by the ShiDaeiri, things were about to get very bad.

“I would suggest you return to your chambers and arm yourselves properly.” he turned to leave before turning back with a mad look on his face. “Stormrider! Where is the Ihs Repahl?!” Celerion said suddenly.

“I left it in our chambers. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to...” Alaria began to reply.

“It is appropriate now. Get it, immediately, and return to the Great Hall for protection.” Celerion said even as her waved his staff with a flurry and disappeared in a whirlwind and low rumble of thunder.

With a thought, Rhea’s gem sparkled again and the Green Witch was surrounded by a few inches of green light before she began to float up into the air. “Come, my love.” she said we must search.” she said out loud.

“Can you not sense them, dearest?” Londar questioned.

“There are far too many minds here to pinpoint anyone. I will have to be near them.” Rhea responded.

“Fen and I are already armed. We can aid in the reconnaissance.” Pyrnion said and with a single beat of his wings rose into the air, beside Rhea. “They should not be hidden to my eyes."

Rhea nodded approvingly.

“I’ll survey the grounds.” Fen replied. “Can you keep us...uh...mentally in contact?” Fen said, not truly understanding the woman’s formidable psychic powers.

“Keep!” Rhea said. She continued as the blue ball of light reappeared, “Maintain communications of all activities with the Magess Alaria and her companions.”

“As you will, Rhea Willowlake.” the voices replied. The ball split into three smaller spheres. One went to float near Alaria. One beside Fen. The third rose to hover near Pyrnion’s shoulder.

“Good luck to you Stormriders. To us all.” Rhea said and began floating away over the courtyard far below. 

Pyrnion flapped again and soared off after her.

Londar donned his helmet with the blue plume. “We shall meet again, my new friends. The gods’ grace watch over you.” He took a small palm-sized length of metal from his belt. In a moment, it blazed to a full length halberd in his hands as he sped off away toward the long staircase.

Fen gave his friends a grim faced nod and followed him.

Alaria turned to the remaining companions. “You heard them, let’s go.” 

Alaria, Braddok, Haelan, Duor and Jovias raced up curving staircases and through long corridors that gave way to more stairs as they climbed through the northern tower to their chambers. The small, palm-sized ball of blue light that was some iteration of “Keep” bobbed and floated along with them, easily keeping pace.

Periodically the voices were heard, reporting, apparently from elsewhere in the citadel.

“All portals shielded and holding.” the many voices of Keep relayed to all who were listening.

“This is Captain Daeror to all Watches. Two guards have been found dead on the south wall parapets.”

“Sergeant Hurbin, here. Three dark figures are moving across the base of the south tower. Gods they’re fast! Moving to eng-urk.”

“South Watch move to the...where the hells...*clang* clang* AAH!” Daeror’s voice cut off abruptly.

“Two intruders detected on transept bridge five.” the voices of Keep said dispassionately. 

“Intruders engaged in the western gardens. Four of them are trying to gain access to the northern tower through the western garden. Shields seem to be holding. They...”

“All Watches this is Rhea. Captain Daeror is dead. Converge upon the north and south towers. Hall guards remain vigilant. We are moving to intercept the intruders on bridge five.”

“West watch, acknowledged.”

“South Watch acknowledged.”

“East Watch acknowledged. We can see them on the bridge from here. They haven’t gained entry at either side...They...they’re gone! Disappeared in a ball of shadow.”

...

“North watch?” Rhea’s voice sounded again.

“North watch?!”

A moment later the cold voices of Keep again spoke, “North Tower garden entrance portal has been breached. Intruders in the North tower.”

“Aren’t we in the north tower?" Haelan said with concern.

“Yes, Haelan." Braddok said as the party reached their chambers.


----------



## SolitonMan

That was cool!  Love the communications network set up by the Keep, very good at keeping up the tension of the encounter even though the characters were running to Alaria's chambers.  

Thanks once again for a great update SD!


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria dashed into their chambers, feeling the tingling of magic pass over her as she moved through Keep’s mystical security barriers. She immediately dashed into the bedchamber she and Braddok were sharing these days. 

Halaen raced for his own chamber (which he fully expected to be sharing with Fen and Pyrnion when they arrived to stay).

Braddok slammed the door shut behind them, bolted it and leaned against it heavily. Kandu pulsed its blue light in his hand.

Duor, who had worn his ethereal dagger to the festivities, showing off the green-flaming blade in attempts to impress the serving maids, headed for the chamber he and Jovias were sharing to get his other weapons.

“Stay here. Watch the door with Braddok.” the dwarf instructed his henchman.

The satyr nodded in compliance. “If I may, Master Braddok?” Jovias asked even as he pressed a hand against Braddok’s side to move him out of the satyr’s way.

When met with a look of questioning annoyance, the russet haired satyr simply smiled and pointed at his elf-like tapered ears and wiggled them visibly. Braddok took a reluctant step back and let the satyr minstrel press the side of his goat-horned head against the door. 

Alaria immediately grabbed the Staff of Azanna and scooped up the satchel in which she’d stashed her pouches of spell components and the Ihs Repahl. as she swung around to rejoin the others in the living space/sitting room the emotionless voices of Keep emanated from the blue ball of light that floated in the chamber near her.

“_Portal shielding breach in the North Tower._”

Alaria stood, stilled with alarm, facing the light ball as if it were speaking “to” her instead of simply reporting.

“_Level 4._”

Jovias looked up at Braddok, his face full of concern. The warrior mentally calculated that they were, in fact, on Level 4.

“_Guest Chambers._”

Haelan reentered the communal living chamber from the short hall that led to the other bedrooms, his shield and mace in hand. His gaze was glued to the window of that chamber and the dark shapes that seemed to be moving outside the wide tall windows of that room.

“_Suite B._” Keep’s voices said immediately before the window pains flew open before him.

One dark cloaked shape was in the room, leaping effortlessly from the sill to the large round table where the party took their meals. Before anyone could react, the figure outstretched an open hand toward the large roaring fireplace and the chamber was doused in darkness as the flames were enveloped in a cloud of black.

A second dark figure moved through the window, seemingly crawling along the wall beside it. A single bound brought it to the wall near Haelan and a second bound brought it to rest, momentarily, above the darkened fireplace. The inky cloaked figure had a short dull black blade in each hand.

Haelan noted with alarm as a thick viscous fluid dripped from the edges of both blades.

“Beware! Their blades are poisoned!” Haelan managed to yell.

Braddok, in a single bound was upon the figure on the table even as a third appeared on the window sill.  His swipe with Kandu took a large chunk out of the table where the “darklings” had been at the beginning of his stroke. Before the blade could land, however, it had jumped up to...and now stood?!...upon the ceiling!

The ShiDaeiri in the window lunged forward only to be surprisely halted and jolted back by the neck for a moment before, seemingly, flying backwards out of the window.

Pyrnion, outside the tower, heaved back on the inky black cloak, up, over himself and flung the figure from the window toward the hard stone courtyard below.

The creature fell, tumbling heels over head about half way to the ground before halting its descent in mid air and righting itself. With a buzzing snarling response to the zephari, it withdrew two short blades of its own and began floating, at a significant speed, back up toward Pyrnion. 

The winged ranger withdrew his elegantly crafted hand axe and prepared to dive to meet the creature in battle. 

Just before they were within striking distance of each other, the ShiDaeiri was shunted to the side by an apparently very solid beam of green energy. Flung several tens of feets to the side and down. 

Pyrnion turned in surprise to see the othe end of the green beam connected to the teardrop gem upon Rhea’s brow as the glowing Emerald Lady came floating up beside him. 

“Go! Help the others. Get the Ihs Repahl to the Great Hall! I’ve got this.” Rhea said forcefully.

Pyrnion began to protest until he saw a blue corona of light shaped like a dragon appear in the air not far from them. The Dragonmage-apparent, lord prince Montor, materialized in the air beside Rhea. As a thundering bolt of sapphire blue energy left the wizard and struck the still disoriented floating darkling, Pyrnion nodded and winged his way back around to the party’s chambers’ window.

Two sword strikes clanged loudly off of Haelan’s rounded shield. Haelan’s attempt to strike it off of the mantel had fallen short and now, the daelvar Hilltender was on the defensive, being forced back with slicing black blurs of blades. 

*TANG* T-TANG*

The clashing of weapons occurred on the other side of the room simultaneously as Braddok did his best to battle the ShiDaeiri that had been on the ceiling...then back to the table...then the opposite wall...running along the wall back around toward the window only to launch itself again at the Grinlian warrior. Neither swordsman seemed capable of piercing the other’s deft defensive moves.

Duor now entered the fray, firing a art from his hand crossbow from the shadows down the hall and striking the darkling assaulting Haelan. 

The creature’s cloaked head turned to face the dwarf in surprise as the dart stuck out from its forearm.

All Duor could make of the face were two narrow slits of bright amethyst. Something...there was something about the purple eyes that triggered a memory in the back of the dwarf’s mind...but he didn’t quite recall, only that he should be very very scared.

“Don’t like the light, eh?” Haelan took full advantage of the momentary distraction to call for Faerantha’s aid.

“_Yaix ar Yomarus Suprimus, benifica Faerantha urmu!” <cleric spell: Continual Light_> 

With a chiming ring through their chambers, light burst into every room and corner, bright as the sun.

Both “darklings” were immediately stunned, halting their attacks to cover their cloth wrapped faces with this arms and hands as they buzzed and clicked and hissed their obvious displeasure and discomfort.

_"Everx zaar!" _Alaria's voice boomed through the chamber.
Two bolts of violet-blue energy struck into the ShiDaeiri near Braddok. The warrior saw the energies surrounding Alaria’s outstretched hand in the doorway of the bedchamber.

Just then, Pyrnion surged into the room through the window and struck it from behind with his axe. At the same time Braddok brought Kandu down, deeply into the creature’s shoulder.

The ShiDaeiri hissed in apparent pain and faltered, but did not fall.

A third bolt of energy slammed into the back of the ShiDaeiri near Haelan. Duor fired his crossbow into the creature again, but it seemed to skirt off the dull black fine mesh of armor that encased its torso.

“Zzt! Hzzik’kikit!” one of the creatures cried out.

Both became surrounded in globes of blackness. The holy light of Faerantha pressed the globes inward until the shadowy darkness clung closely to the figures.

Shielded from the painful glare, the ShiDaeiri near Haelan struck out wildly and managed to clip the daelvar through his white “formal wear” and into his arm.

Haelan cried out in pain as the cut but then steadied his mind to fight through the burning sensation that infused his whole arm almost immediately. Damn! The poison! Haelan knew.

“Duor! Alaria! Help! I’m hit!” Haelan shouted in abject fear and ducked the second blade’s swipe to rush back down the short hall toward the dwarf.

“Jovias, do something!” Duor shouted in command as he tucked the daelvar behind him and the two backed away from the approaching ShiDaeiri. He heard Haelan begin praying to his goddess in muted tones.

“Right. Right. Yes, Master. Right away!” Jovias stammered as he jostled the lyre strapped over his shoulder around to his hands and after a few plucks of individual notes and a solid strum took in a deep breath. Jovias began peeling notes on his lyre as he a harmony rang from his throat.

*_CDCFFCG-B-flat-AAAAAAAAAAA!* <DM’s note: Bardic magic, in Orea, is not conducted by “Arcane" magic. They are a way of accessing the natural energies of the physical world, as those used by Druids. Their magics are referred to “spellsongs” [not overtly creative, I know] and require an instrument and/or their voice, depending on the spell, to actuate the magical effect._>

There was a burst of light around the ShiDaeiri moving into the hall toward his master and the Hilltender.

The shroud of shadow around it disappeared and it was again staggered by the glaring yellow-white sunlight that filled the chambers.

The heavily wounded ShiDaeiri, stuck between Braddok and Pyrnion, ducked and bolted beneath the table between him and the magess in the doorway.

Alaria backed away in alarm as the dark shadowy figure emerged from the table (throwing chairs away as he did so) and managed to knock away the Staff of Azanna even as Alaria prepared to swing a shocking blow.

Its violet eyes were pupilless and glowed from the shadows of its hood. The slender eyes narrowed further at the astonished magess, then to the satchel beside her. 

It grabbed the purse, using one of its blades to slice the strap around Alaria’s shoulder. 

“NO!” Alaria protested.

In a whirl of shadow, even as Braddok was within a step of his mage lover, the ShiDaeiri turned back for the window. It ran up onto the wall, avoiding a swipe of Pyrnion’s  axe and dove through the window.

”Are you hurt?” Braddok said quickly, turning to see the last edges of the inky cloak slip through the window into the night.

 “STOP IT! IT HAS THE ORB!” Alaria was frantic, pushing past her champion without the slightest acknowledgement.

Pyrnion dove out the window after it without even a beat of his wings.

The second ShiDaeiri staggered and swung wildly with its blades. It seemed to the dwarf, satyr and halfing engaging it that it was entirely blinded by Haelan’s spell.

Pyrnion dove, his wings pressed closely against his body, his arms pressed to his sides. 

The fluttering flowing inky darkness beneath him was getting closer and closer until, finally, it too stopped in midair and shunted to the side out of his path.

Wings immediately unfurled and pinions twisted to bring the winged man out of his dive and swing him around to rise back up toward his prey. Pyrnion noted silently at these wingless creatures’ ease of movement when not on solid ground seemed to match their fleetness upon it. The zepharim were nearly unmatched in all of Orea for their agility in the air. These intruders were an unknown challenge to him.

Now out of the painful glare of the light in the chamber, the figure dispelled his shadowy sheathe and unfurled a scroll from somewhere on his person.

*_Rhea, we need help!_* Pyrnion shouted out telepathically.

*_Do as the Chamberlain said and flee if you can. We are otherwise engaged. I’ll be there as soon as I can._* was the disappointing reply, though definitely underlined with an unmistakable urgency and a fear that Pyrnion could perceive in the telepathic connection.

*_They have the orb!_* Pyrnion returned as he raised his axe over his head and threw it with all of his might.

From somewhere above him, he heard Alaria’s voice crying out into the night.

“_Arakness Aknis Arankinae!" <mage spell: Web_> A ball of milky white light flew through the air toward the floating cloaked figure.

The floating ShiDaeiri read his scroll and a disc of blackness appeared upright before him.

It looked up and swung an arm as Alaria’s  spell struck while it moved forward for the circular wall of blackness. It seemed to shrug off the magic and the milky white ball flew off to burst into a patch of iridescent webbing against the wall of the tower.

“NO!” Alaria shouted again from the window, her eyes wide in disbelief that something just...”deflected” a spell right off of its arm? How was that possible?!

Pyrnion’s axe clipped the creature as it dove into the shadow disc and disappeared. The disc closed behind it and the winged man caught his axe in its descent. He checked the blade.

A small collection of chinks of armor was stuck to the lower-most edge. Maybe the ShiDaeiri had been killed as it fled. But that hardly mattered now, the zephari thought. The Ihs Repahl had been lost. He had failed in his singular task.

With a few beats of his mighty wings, Pyrnion came to land upon the broad sill of the party’s chambers.

The remaining ShiDaeiri had been bound to a chair with a cord of silver-white, whether by mundane or magical means, Pyrnion could not tell. Alaria stood over it with a hand of violet-red flames.

"Where did he go!" Alaria shouted in a fury.

Braddok pulled the hood off of the creature and lowered the wrap of cloth that covered the face from the nose down.

What sat before them literally shrieked at being exposed to the still hanging light inoked by Haelan.

All of the party gasped and a few took a step away.

Bound to the chair was the head and face of an elf. The hair was a silvery white. The eyes, that pupilleess violet, the skin a dusky charcoal grey. But the chiseled features, the shape the eyes, the pointed eyes...all distinctly elvish.

“Is that...what is it?” Haelan asked in his imminently innocent way.

“I never thought it possible...” Alaria said breathless. “It can’t be.”

“But it can, Stormrider.” came the voice of Celerion form the chamber’s outer doorway. The Lord Chamberlain edged his way into the room, his gnarled staff tapping gently upon the floor. He seemed, to all present, weak...older, somehow, than usual.

“A _dark _elf." the elderly elf stated matter-of-factly, with a discernable mote of defeat in his tone.

"_Those of the Blood of Shadow_ have returned to the world.”


----------



## steeldragons

Guards arrived in bright blue tunics emblazoned with the golden dragon, wings outstretched, holding the blue diamond in its claws, the symbol of Daenfrii and the house of the Dragonmage. At Celerion’s instruction, and Alaria’s protestations, the ShiDaeiri was taken away with the Lord Chamberlain keeping close eye on the prisoner. As they left the party’s chambers, the elderly elf turned back to them.

“You are welcome to return to the gala. There will be ramifications to this night’s events we can not, now, guess. you shall be summoned tomorrow, after the Lordmage has been apprised.” Celerion said curtly.

“Celerion, you must let us interrogate this...um..dark elf.” Alaria protested, again.

“Peace, Magess.” the old elf said with a quieting hand upon her forearm. “As the caretaker of the Ihs Repahl, you shall be included in all further actions. But for tonight...we are defeated. You can make the best of it or remain here and lament. “

Celerion winked at Alaria with a weak smile. “I suggest you enjoy the time that is. For tomorrow shall brign all new concerns.”

With that and a small dip of his head as a “good night” to the rest of the party, Celerion departed after the guards.

“I can’t believe...” Alaria began to say, her mind and body fully tense with frustration and anger...and the realization of failure.

“Do you wish to return to the party?” Braddok said.

Alaria looked at him. His lovely new “formal” tunic was shredded in several places. Haelan looked, not unexpectedly, as if he would burst into tears. Pyrnion’s sweat was glistening in the magical light of their chambers all over his bared chest. Finally, she looked down at her own gown and finery.

“Where else shall I ever wear such finery?” Alaria said.

“N’after tonight when’re we ever gunna get an invitation?” Duor added in his typical cynical observational way.

The ball of light that kept them in communication with elsewhere in the Keep reported, simply, “Intruders no longer detected within the Keep walls. Security protocols dismissed by order of the Lord Chamberlain.” When it had finished this report, the ball of light faded from their presence. The party stood staring at each other in silence in the bright daylight-like ambiance of their sitting room.

“I think...I think we deserve a party.” Alaria said with a smile. “Let’s go back to the hall.”

The party, grinning weakly  at their obviously defeated magess, returned to the festivities though few found comfort in the trappings of grandeur and promises of the new light to come.


----------



## Lwaxy

Finally caught up, great story, as always.


----------



## steeldragons

Other than Duor and Jovias, who both got obliderated-drunk, the rest of the companions were of a heavy heart throughout the night. Alaria retired not long ater Rhea returned to the party with news that her attempts to probe the mind of their new “guest” had met with failure and somehow he had committed suicide in his cell before more powerful magics to interrogate him were possible.

The following day, mid-morning, the party was summoned to the Lordmage’s council. This meeting was, again, held in the great hall of the keep, but the magical building had been cleared and rearranged. A great “U” shaped table facing the dias and thrones where the Lordmage sat. His sons, Montor and Malac stood to the right of the dias. Celerion and the Wyrish ambassador, Zhiranth, stood to the left.

The party was seated to one of the sides, as far from the dias as possible. The others in attendance around the table included [from left to right]: Rhea; Londar, still fully armored with his blue-plumed helm set on the table before him; the elflord Silran; Captain Burgus, Seneschal of the North March; and Captain Rynthis, Seneschal of the South March.

Then the party. Alaria sat next to the Bridgetower captain, learning with great sorrow that the Captain Daeror who had been killed in the previous night’s attack was the Lady Dauphinne’s husband. Elhianne, understandably was with her mourning sister.  Then Braddok, Haelan, Duor and Fen. Pyrnion book-ended the other side of the companions. 

To Pyrnion’s right was the high-priestess of Gilea, Matron Uma; Endrom the Witch-Priest, ambassador of the temple of Manat in Zacha; three of Daenfrii’s court mages which Alaria could tell by their stoles included an Abjurist, Diviner and Transmutation specialist; and nearest the dais, the high-priest of Astar in Daenfrii, a rather stiff man in his fifties Alaria had been introduced to the night before, named Denlap.

All around the outskirts of the table were various underlings, lieutenants, attendant acolytes, and a team of scribes. The satyr bard Jovias sat on a simple wooden stool behind where Duor sat. He eagerly sketched the scene playing out before him. 

Arganor sat upon the thrown, his head in his hand. All of the assembled council were tiring of Endorm's recounting of the passed three months of meetings that had continued for the better part of an hour.

“...and we _told _you this would happen! The Repahlentim belonged in the Temple of the Blue Star under _Her_ protection! I can not _believe_...” the blue star tattoo-masked Witch-priest ranted.

“That will be more than enough, Endrom!” Celerion said forcefully. “Keep you mind, as well as your tongue, and remember to whom you speak.”

“Of course. Apologies, my lord." The cowed ambassador sat in a huff and scowled at the party.

“It is well, Endorm. It is upsetting news to be sure.” Arganor said with a noted tone of the patience that comes with exhaustion. His tone, however, seemed to rise with the swelling though understated tide of anger.

“So, to be clear. A team of spies and assassins entered my keep, slew a dozen of my guards and one of my captains...and the only one we managed to capture, thanks to these adventurers, committed suicide in our custody.”

“That is correct, my lord.” Celerion said humbly.

“And these invaders were _ShiDaeiri_? You are certain?” Arganor questioned.

“Quite certain, my lord.” Celerion answered stoically.

“And they stole the Ihs Repahl right out of one of my own towers...and got away!” the Lordmage’s voice now rumbled like through the massive stone hall.

“Quite correct, my lord.” Celerion said, again stoic.

“Can he not be raised? Spoken to?! Return him to life and get us answers!” Arganor thundered. His gaze came to rest on the aged Gilean Matron.

Uma said calmly from her seat, “The Merciful Mother has no sway in this matter, my lord. The poison which slew him was most thorough. Our Daughters’ attempts to return him from death have failed. The White Rose seems to have no interest in renewing this life. She does not suffer evil, as you well know.”

“If the goddess of _Life _has no interest, then consort with the goddess of _Death_! Summon the Shaalir!” Arganor roared.

“Already done, my lord. They have been inspecting the matter with care since before dawn.” Celerion answered.

”Where are they then. Bring them here!” Arganor commanded.

With a nod from Celerion, a page at the periphery of the meeting trotted out of the hall.

“And you, Lady Rhea, could learn nothing?” the Lordmage asked the emerald robed woman.

“Alas no, my lord. Its mind was thoroughly as slippery and quick as their movements and skills seemed to be. I was unable to glean anything before it administered the poison.” Rhea answered with humility.

“Divinus!” Arganor’s gaze turned to the courtly mage with the white stole of the Sanctemus Divinus, the school of divination magic in R’Hath.

“Alas my lord, the invaders seem completely hidden to any arcane attempts to find them.” the elderly white-bearded man said in defeat.  

“My lord, if I may?” Alaria spoke up to the other companions’ surprise. She prudently waited for a nod from Lordmage before continuing. “Our attempts to locate the lair of the dark wizard Tresahd with magic were equally thwarted. I fear that these _dark _elves are in league with the wizard who we also believe to be the dragon Desaarthal in disguise.”

“Yes, Stormrider, we have been made aware of your assertions. But misdirecting divinations is hardly a singular ability.” Arganor replied.

“My Lord Arganor,” Silran now stood and spoke. “My sister and the half-blood druid uncovered proof in the goblin army camp that connects the ShiDaeiri to this ‘Tresahd.’”

“What is this proof?” Arganor asked, obviously intrigued.

“A communicative device and letters passed back and forth from Tresahd to some agent in Nor Tyrilith. Our sages determined the communications were in both draconic and ShiDaeiri tongues. There can be little room for doubt they are in league.” the golden haired elf prince concluded and sat.

“This is troubling indeed.”

“We have this too.” Duor now spoke as he pulled the dull black metal knife he had liberated fro mErevan some time before his death. “Matches the funny metal of the ShiDaeiri’s weapons and armor.”

“Zhiranth.” Arganor said plainly.

The knife flew from the dwarf’s open palm and floated across the chamber to the waiting hand of the ambassador from the Tower of Wyr. The middle-aged looking man with golden brown hair and beard examined it closely. After a moment, he made his ruling to the Lordmage.

“It is _ens _metal, my lord. The same as the prisoner's weapons and traditionally attributed to the ShiDaeiri.”

“And this I just got last night off the one that got away.” Pyrnion stood and spoke, producing the palm sized piece of finely meshed armor that had been cut from the ShiDaeiri as it escaped.

Zhiranth again held his hand out and the swatch began to float toward the ambassador upon the dais.

This time, it floated through a thick beam of sunlight from the hall’s tall windows, emitting light from somewhere lost among the arched and pillars, high along the chamber walls. Even as it continued en route to Zhiranth, the pieces began to disintegrate in front of all assembled until there was nothing left by the time it reached the counsellor’s waiting hand.

A murmur of concern rolled through the hall.

“Definitely _ens _metal, my lord.” Celerion said with a scowl.

Before Alaria could ask Rynthis what ens metal was, the page returned with a grey robed shaalir in tow. He was human, with pitch black hair pulled tightly back into a thick ponytail. Alaria recognized him, but it was Haelan who said aloud to Braddok, “It’s Dolorn! He was the head shaalir at Bridgetower who kept you...er...um...your body intact while you were...ya know...away.” he explained.

“Hail Dolorn!” Haelan waved with a broad smile.

Duor now put his head in his hand as the rest of the party cringed at the inapprorpiate casual greeting.

The death-priest looked surprised and then grinned a slight grin and nod toward the daelvar.

“Shaalir Dolorn, what news? What killed the creature and what can you learn of it?” Arganor demanded.

“Hail Lord Arganor.” Dolorn bowed deeply. “After careful examination, there is frustratingly little to tell. The agent used to slay the creature was incredibly thorough. A poison and an acid all at once. The body was thoroughly disintegrated shortly after its demise. The bulk of the armor and cloak, anything upon its body, made worthless. Its weapons survived.”

“I don’t care what equpiment survived! Its _life_, man! Its _spirit_! We need answers!” Arganor’s voice again thundered with anger.

Completely unphased by the lordmage’s outburst, the Desriite answered. “I have nothing to tell you on that front, my lord. All attempts to summon the creature’s spirit or consult with Desri’s powers regarding it have failed.”

Observing the obvious dissatisfaction on Arganor‘s face, Dolorn continued, “The Grey Lady holds no sway over _immortal _spirits, my lord. They are free to do as they will. Whether taken immediately by the creature Djarthoon they are purported to worship or simply transform into spectre or demon or traverse the planes elsewhere entirely, there is no way to say. _She_ can not command or impede them.” Dolorn replied stonefaced. 

Manat’s Star! Alaria thought. All of their abilities and skills she saw last night and they’re immortal! 

“I’m sorry,” Braddok interjected as if reading Alaria’s mind, “are you saying those things are _immortal!?_”

This brought raised eyebrows from many on the dais. Arganor turned to Celerion.

“Just so, I am afraid, Braddok Kar Barforth.” the venerable elf answered. “As are all of the Firstborn of elfinkind. The ShiStaliiri, the ShiCynallae and the ShiDaeiri, all birthed in the eon before Men from the blood of the gods themselves. Not subject to aging beyond their maturity nor debility of mind or body...lest they meet with tragedy. They can be slain, of course. But they do not die, naturally, as mortal creations do.”

Braddok looked at the elderly elf in abject surprise. Apparently this elf was not one of these “firstborn” elves, aged so far beyond "maturity". The swordsman’s gaze went to Silran and he found the elflord returning the stare. He wondered if Silran, or any Miralostae, was immortal. Receiving no answer in his eyes, the elvin prince returned his attention to the dais.

“Can I have my knife back now?” Duor said bluntly breaking the silence.

Zhiranth floated the blade back to the dwarf, sure to avoid any of the shafts of sunlight that streamed into the chamber.

“Our thanks, Shaalir Dolorn. Take this gift with our respects to Raven Elektra for your efforts.” Arganor reached out a hand toward one of the servants to the side of the dais who trotted forward with a small chest. Dolorn took the chest, bowed deeply and left the great hall.

The council shifted in their seats while the lordmage apparently deliberated inwardly.

“Father, we must reclaim the Ihs Repahl before this dark wizard can use it to his..or her...ends.” Montor asserted.

“Yes! Let the Steel Dragons go to Nor Gorthok and put an end to this once and for all!” the red-cloaked  warrior Malac joined in.

“Just a beard-shavin’ minute here, now. The dragon’s treasure is ours! We’re goign back to Nor Gorthok and get yor magic ball!” Duor now piped up, jumping from his seat at the idea of someone else claiming his treasure.

“You band of misfits has done more than enough, I say.” Endorm scoffed.

“That is unfair, Endorm. It is because of the Stormriders, that we had the Ihs Repahl in the first place.” Rhea now stood to defend the company.

“And we’ve got lots of information for you too.” Haelan chirped in.

“And defended this realm of yours. Where’s _your_ champions witch-priest?” Duor mocked.

“Here now.” Celerion attempted to interject.

“My lord,” Londar’s baritone boomed through the rest, “It would be my honor to serve Daenfrii in retreiving this orb. But it seems it is the Stormriders to claim.”

“_They lost it in the first place!_ Their claim lost with it. It belongs in the keeping of the Blue Star...where it would have remained safe!” Endorm now stood and slammed his hand upon the stone table. He had heard enough from these upstarts.

“This mediocre sorceress and her collection of would-be heroes...” he began to rant.

“I say! Hear now...” Haelan objected quietly.

“Mediocre?!" Alaria blurted unintentionally in her incredulity.

Braddok stood and placed a hand upon his pommel. ”You will apologize to the Magess Alaria, now wrech, or priest or no, we shall settle this outside.”

Alaria placed a hand upon Braddok‘s swordarm attempting to calm him.

“We have faced Tresahd, defended Bridgetower...” Fen now stood and argued.

”They slew the Bulgruch and saved Miralosta” Rhea attempted to reason with the ranting witch-priest.

“For which we’ve seen no recompense, mind you!” Duor interjected.

“ENOUGH!” A boom of thunder cracked through the chamber as Celerion slammed the butt of his staff upon the floor.

All standing became immediately silent. 

“You exceed your station, ambassador.” the old elf’s gaze bit into the Witch-priest until he retook his seat.

“Master Braddok. If you please...” Celerion’s gaze then turned on the Grinlian.

Braddok removed his hand from his weapon and sat, never taking his eyes from the blue-masked mage.

“Father?” Montor prodded gently.

“I am sorry, my sons. You can not undertake the journey. Things are too unsure at this time and you are needed here. Gather your Steel Dragons and Woodsmaster Kriton. Go to the Giant’s Thumb and scour the pixie wood. Be sure there are no more ShiDaeiri in this realm.” Arganor said.

The princes knew the tone of their father well enough to know what was fatherly and what was the will of the Lordmage.

”Yes, sire.” both young men said in tandem.

”Londar.” Arganor said.

“My lord?" The knightly tall warrior stood to attention. 

“I regret I can not permit your return to Resahd. I am in need of a Captain-at-arms for the moment. You must remain here.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Londar bowed and retook his seat.

“Burgus and Rynthis return to your stations. It seems our borders will continue to require your watchful care.” the lordmage said kindly.

Both captains nodded in their seats. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Haelan whispered, or so he thought, to Braddok.

“You, Master Hilltender, and such of your band as will, may remain here for the time being or may take on the now vacant role of envoy to the Duchess of Resahd.” Arganor replied.

“My lord? But the Ihs Repahl...” Alaria began to assert.

“Is no longer your concern.” Endorm growled from the deths of his indigo hood.

“Be STILL, Endorm!” Arganor now turned to ambassador.

"I will no longer, with respect, my lord. This theft has been an egregious and easily avoidable breach of our affairs. Furthermore..." Endorm did not have a chance to finish his next thought.

“Your services are no longer required. You can trust I shall be in touch with Corandralla for the details of why. You are dismissed.” Arganor said and waved a hand in the witch-priest’s direction. 

Even as he rose from his seat to voice objections, a shower of sapphire blue sparks fell upon his form and in a twinkling of light, the Ambassador Endorm was no longer in the hall.

“Heh heh. Dipspit.” Duor chuckled under his beard.

“My lord, I implore you to reconsider. Give us some time to marshall our resources and then permit us to return to our original undertaking. We must see an end to the threat of Tresahd and the return of the Ihs Repahl. It is, I mean no offense to say...but it is mine and I would have it back.” Alaria presented as diplomatically as she could. 

 “Since it appears, Magess, that the ShiDaeiri are again active in the world beneath the sky, I can not allow you to take on this mission.”

“But if they’re in Nor Tyrilith and not Nor Gorthok, then we should be fine.” Haealn tried to innocently disagree.

“You are welcome to remain here or take on my seal as representatives in Resahd. Those are my offers.” Arganor said staunchly. He turned, then, to the mages and priests and began giving orders for continuing attempts to scry the ShiDaeiri and learn what they could of Tresahd, Desaarthal, Nor Gorthok, and all of this business.

“Ehm, yer lordly mageness, sir. What about some recompense for risking our lives to defend your castle during this invasion. _We _caught one of ‘em, not any of your guards or fancy spell-slingers.” Duor said in his trademark “diplomatic” stance.

The lordmage looked at the dwarf with mild amusement. “Am I to understand, master dwarf, that my protection and hospitality,_ in my own house_, are not sufficient ‘recompense’?”

“Duuuuorrrr...” Haelan said quietly and tugged at the back of Duor’s grey cloak.

“Well, I mean, sure. The magicky digs are nice an all...you throw a helluva party, I’ll give yeh that...” Duor continued.

“Are you still _drunk_?!” Fen said aghast.

“What?! He gave the bloody death-priest a chest of gold to tell him ‘I got nothing.‘ We killed a demon. Two! And you and Pyrnion saved his stinkin’ pixies!” Duor objected to the companions on either side who were now trying to tug him back into his seat.

“That’s enough Duor.” Alaria said in obvious annoyance.

 “So I did.” Arganor said with a bemused smirk. A wave of his hand caused a small sack to appear in front of the dwarf. Duor opened it to see silver and gold coins and a few gemstones glittering.

“That’s more like it.” Duor grinned.

“I’m glad you approve. Your service has been appreciated.” Arganor said with another wave of his hand.

Duor saw a shower of blue and white sparkles fill his vision. An instant later they cleared from view and Duor stood in the middle of a dirt road staring at the front door and hanging sign of The Wyvern’s Wing inn.

Two farmers driving an ox-drawn cart blinked blankly at the dwarf, mouths agape.

“Aw crap.” Duor grumbled. He looked at the sack of coin in his hand. Looked at the tavern door. His mind turned to the prospect of ample ale and whiskey as the scent of baking mutton pasties wafted through the air. The dwarvish rogue shrugged and entered the The Wyvern's Wing.

********** 

Back in the great hall of the Keep of the Dragonmage the companions were assured of Duor’s location and safety. Rhea and Montor chastised the Lordmage, good-naturedly, for his unnecessary eviction. The council was ended and the companions returned to their quarters to discuss their futures.


----------



## steeldragons

*The Ladies who Lunch*

Pyrnion offered to fly to the Wyvern’s Wing to reclaim Duor. The companions decided it better to leave the dwarf where he was, to “cool off and enjoy his gold” for the time being.

Alaria, Haelan and Fen went to pay their respects and offer condolences to the widow-Dauphinne. They came upon the Lord Chamberlain upon their return to the keep, proper. He was busily instructing some pages and maid-servants upon various tasks.

“Lord Chamberlain, a word if I may?” Alaria  asked. Haelan and Fen continued on to their chambers.

“Of course, Magess. Quite a council was it not? How may I be of service?” the kindly elf grinned, sending the servants off with a nod.

“Indeed, I confess I have little experience with such conferences. It was...intimidating." Alaria replied with due humility.

“Not at all. The Lordmage is not prone to outburst and is a man of benevolence. Endorm has been grating upon him for months. Your Duor, on the other hand, was simply a good-natured jest. He is, of course, welcome to return as he wishes." Celerion half-explained, half-apologized for the lordmage.

“I’m sure he is enjoying his afternoon just fine. Thank you. Perhaps we will collect him or he shall return of his own accord. But fr now, I’m sure he’s fine." Alaria smiled. “Can you tell me, are the gardens beneath the north tower available for our use? I had hoped to luncheon with Rhea.”

“Of course, lady. You are guests of the Lordmage. You are welcomed to all areas of the keep, save those reserved for the family, naturally.” Celerion said.

“And the library?" Alaria asked hopeful.

“The family library?" Celerion chuckled a dry old chuckle. “My dear, you are privy to the keep archives, the temple records of Sorilorr’s devoted, and the facilities of Manat...who will no doubt be most agreeable to deal with now that Endorm has been expelled...though I don’t doubt Corandralla shall send a replacement embassy with all speed.

“However, barring invitation from lord-prince Montor or one of the lord’s arcanists, I can not grant you unaccompanied access to the Dragonwing library. I am sorry."

“Excellent. That is fine. Thank you. How might I find the Lady Rhea?” Alaria sincerely replied.

“Well...” Celerion looked around, playfully acting like he might be overheard, “I have yet to rescind your Sapphire level access to Keep. With these recent events it seems a just precaution.” Celerion grinned and winked at Alaria.

“Oh!” Alaria said with surprise. She had not even considered the possibility. “Thank you, Lord Chamberlain. It is quite an honor to receive such trust...um...How do I...access?...the keep?”

“Simply call 'him' as you have seen us do. If I am unavailable, Keep should be able to see to most of your needs within the walls. Communications are one of its simplest abilities.” Celerion said.

“Ah.” Alaria said and looked about her in apparent confusion.

“Would you like to try?” Celerion said quietly to the magess as a grandfather might offer a jellied candy to a child.

“Yes. If I may?” Alaria said meekly. 

Celerion smiled and held out a hand before Alaria, as if to say, “go right ahead.”

“Keep?” Alaria said uncertain.

The blue ball of light, about a foot in diameter swirled into being before her. After a moment of Alaria staring in awe at this remarkable sorcery she had never heard of before. Receiving no immediate instruction, the ball spoke first. 

“Yes, Magess Alaria Stormrider?” the light-balls chorus said.

“uh...heh...Hi. Um...Can you find the Lady Rhea for me?” Alaria asked at first.

“Lady Rhea Willowlake is in her chambers. East tower. Level 6.” the floating ball said immediately.

 “Um. Thank you. Can you ask her if she’d care to join me...” Alaria paused when Celerion’s long-fingered wrinkled hand touched her arm. 

He smiled at her before speaking. “Keep, enable communication with Rhea.”

“As you will, Lord Chamberlain." Keep replied.

Looking sidelong at Alaria he said with a wink, “When inviting one to luncheon, personal communication is best.”

By the time Celerion had completed his explanation, an image of Rhea’s face was appearing within the hovering ball of light.

“Yes, Celerion? Ah, Alaria. Is everything alright?” Rhea asked with a sudden concern in her voice.

 “Yes, fine. Fine, Rhea. Alaria had something she wished to ask you. Good day.” Celerion answered and with a nod to Alaria walked away.

“Alaria?” Rhea asked.

“Well, I was wondering if you would be available to lunch in the west garden with my fellows and I. We would like to discuss things with you...and, of course, your company is always welcome.” Alaria said. She found speaking to the floating head in a ball somewhat disconcerting, but magic was magic.

“I would be happy to...how is two bells past noon?”Rhea responded with a kind smile.

“Two bells would be perfect.” Alaria smiled back. 

“See you then.” Rhea said finally and her image disappeared from the ball, replaced with blue and white swirls of light.

Alaria stood for a moment looking at the ball of light. Again, not offering any commands, the ball spoke.

“Will that be all Magess Alaria Stormrider?” the voices hummed.

“Oh! Um. Yes. Sorry. Thank you, Keep.” Alaria fumbled over her words.

The ball of light dissipated in an instant.

Alaria stood there for a moment.

“Um...Keep?” Alaria finally said.

The ball of light reappeared.

“Yes, Magess Alaria Stormrider?”

“To whom do I speak to arrange a luncheon?” Alaria asked, doubly embarrassed for not knowing and the curious feeling that she was somehow ‘disturbing’ Keep with so trivial a question.

******

Rhea arrived promptly, as two bells rang out from the Vale’s bell-tower, pealing over the town and up to beyond the keep walls. She was, as usual, resplendent in a low-cut long tunic, thigh-high heeled boots and flowing glittering high-collared cloak of emerald green. The golden diadem with the teardrop emerald dangling perfectly between her dark arched brows. A smile gleamed from her face as she greeted the companions.

A table to seat six was strewn with platters of hard and soft cheeses, fruits of varying shape and color, a large basket of fresh baked dark grained breads and several platters of salted meats. A stew pot sat upon a tripod set-up above a fire, bubbling a hearty stew of venison and root vegetables. Alaria had opted for both golden elfvine and some of Daenfrii’s own deep red wine, warmed and spiced, were available.

Not the least of wonders of the magical stronghold was the grounds were kept snow free, trees and vines stayed green and blooming and the air, though crisp, was not uncomfortably cold for the day after Midwinter. 

After some pleasantries and apologies about Duor, the company sat and the two servants (arranged by the Lord Chamberlain or the kitchen, itself, Alaria did not know) began serving bowls and passing platters and filling goblets, to be sure each person received their fill.

“So my dear, this is a pleasant surprise. Thank you for the invitation.” Rhea began. “What can I help you with?”

“Well, we were wondering...what would be the implications if we were to...continue on our own affairs without the 'permission’ of the lordmage?” Alaria posited cautiously.

“I see no reason you could not.” Rhea said, as if surprised by the question.

“Well, he said he wouldn’t 'allow’ us to return to the Feldmere.” Fen said curious.

“Ah. I see. He said_ he _couldn’t allow you, yes. As your lord and the lord of all of Daenfrii... your presence here puts you under his protection...”Rhea began.

“...and his hospitality.” Haelan added.

Rhea smiled. “Just so, Hilltender. What he was saying was that he could not give you permission to such an undertaking. With the ShiDaeiri abroad, and gods permit we are mistaken and this was a solitary incident, it would be too dangerous. 

“And I will add, by your own admission, your last foray into his realm was disaster.”

The company all experienced a wave of melancholy as they recalled the loss of Coerraine, Erevan and Festus.

“So he, as the lord and protector, would not allow you.” Rhea concluded and looked at the company for understanding.

Seeing none forthcoming, the Lady of the Emerald Tear continued. 

“He is cautious with his sons...Understandably so! Montor is the Dragonmage apparent, after all. Until he produces an heir that is recognized by Wyr, the line of the Dragonmage is tentative, at best. And, to save face at the council, he could not possibly deny the Steel Dragons and permit you to go.

“However, Arganor is no despot!” Rhea laughed. “He can not, and _would_ not, prevent you from doing as you will. You are not prisoners here!"

“Ooooooh.” waved over the table as all of the companions gleaned understanding at once.

“Let me ask you this...” Rhea posed, “Do you believe, if you returned to Nor Gorthok you could be victorious?” There was no malice or assumption in her question. She looked around the table with questioning eyes as she took a delicate bite of one of the hard goat cheeses.

There was little doubt among the company she was scanning their surface thoughts as they all thought.

“We believe,” Braddok answered, “with a month, maybe two, we could be. Before the thaw for sure.”

Rhea nodded in full acknowledgement of the warrior’s sincerity.

“Braddok believes Tresahd would not continue with his plans until the spring.” Alaria explained further.

“Then that is well done. Decline the offer to act as envoy to Resahd and remain here. Marshall your resources as you, Alaria, said at council. Set off when you believe you are ready.”

“Will that anger the Lordmage though? Declining his offer, I mean. I suppose he doesn’t offer diplomatic stations to just anyone.” Haelan posed.

Rhea nodded. “It is a just question. But I have known the lordmage most of my life. The princes and I have been friends since we were young, you know? Montor and I both trained in sorcery together as children. He is not an unreasonable man. I have the inkling that his offer was expected to be declined. It was simply an immediate way to fill in the gap left by Londar staying on for a time.”

As an aside to Alaria, though loud enough for all to hear, “A posting I, myself, can not find fault with in the slightest.” Rhea giggled and gave her ‘knowing’ look.

Alaria blushed at the woman’s unabashed sexuality once more.

Pyrnion wondered why the magess blushed. But unconcerned asked for Haelan to pass the fruits.

“I have concerns for the Ihs Repahl, my lady.” the zephari spoke between bites of a dark purple plum.

“And what concerns are they, Pyrnion?” the elegant lady of green replied.

“If the evil wizard has the item he has striven for half a year to regain, what is to stop him from using it before the spring? A ritual or spell needs not wait for the thaw.” the winged man posed.

Rhea nodded. “True. But we have indications that he requires more than just that orb, do we not?”

“Explain?” Pyrnion replied, uncertain.

“From what I’ve been told, your companions found the Ihs Repahl on Dragonbone Isle in the Whitegull Bay. Is that not so?”

“RIght!” Haelan jumped in. “And he had the Tidemaster Kama’s pearl there too...and there were pedestals that were yet to be filled in that chamber, weren’t there?” the Hilltender asked his companions.

“There were indeed, as I recall.” Fen, who had been munching upon fruits and nuts in his usual silent way. 

“So, we can presume he needs more than just the Ihs Repahl to carry out his plans!” Haelan said in excited understanding.

 “If I am correct, and Tresahd/Desaarthal is trying to revive Shaarzak...the ritual must happen there...with her bones!” Alaria said parsing together her understanding of ritual work.

“Should we not just go, then, and take some bones to prevent the ritual?” Pyrnion said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The rest of the party just looked blankly at the zephari. Alaria mentally smacked herself roundly about the head for not realizing this (terribly obvious) thwart sooner. 

“A reasonable assumption, Pyrnion.” Fen said. “But these bones are far too massive to move.”

“Oh.” Pyrnion said, nonplussed as he took a large chunk out of haunch of roasted herbed pheasant the servants had just begun to pass.

“I mean..._we _can’t...but would that be possible?” Alaria said intrigued by the suggestion and cursing herself for not thinking of it herself.

“What do you mean, Magess?” Rhea said quizzically.

“Well, could the lordmage or one of his court wizards, whose magics I am sure surpass my own, move some of the bones from the isle? Perhaps just the smaller ones...There is a Transmutation mage here. Is there not? Could he teleport them off the island? Or _change _them into something other than bone so they'd be easier to move?!” Alaria excitement mounted the more she thought of these possibilities.

Rhea crooked her head at the magess. “_‘Change them’_? You know polymorphing is strictly forbidden...I don’t know where one would even _find _such a spell outside of R’Hath. My understanding was the Archmagus Dalum was the only wizard with access to such things!”

Alaria nodded, defeated once more. Indeed, Rhea was correct, even citing her own fears and admonishments to the Lady Evaranthriine once.

“But teleport...perhaps. We would have to consult with Trymis...the transmuter you referred to. If he can not, than I doubt other mages here could.”

“We had your Dragonmage-apparent teleport all of us, and your friends, and all of our stuff here!” Haelan recalled between large mouthfuls of the stew.

“Montor is unlikely to disobey his father...and a foray to the Whitegull Bay and Dragonbone Isle would most certainly be out of the question.” Rhea said. “Even he, however, I do not know could move more than one at a time."

The party passed the rest of the afternoon proposing plots and possibilities, enjoying their meal and company, but not really getting to any conclusions.

Could Keep transport the bones here? Keep’s powers did not extend beyond its walls.

Would a ritual with several wizards permit the movement of the massive ancient bones? Something to put a pin in and research.

The simplest and most direct option seemed to be returning to Nor Gorthok and getting the Ihs Repahl back! Which Alaria had every intention and desire to do anyway.

Rhea thanked the party again for the kind invitation and repast and assured them she would always be at their disposal should they have further questions.


----------



## steeldragons

Cue the 80‘s movie montage.
Elapsed time: 1 month.

*Alaria spends most of her time studying and researching her magics between the Sorilorr library, the Witch-Priests of Manat’s archives and the Keep’s records and histories.

*Celerion turns out to be correct [not surprising] in that the High-priestess of the goddess of Magic does send a replacement ambassador about one week following  Ambassador Endorm’s most embarrassing expulsion. A dark, brooding, raven-haired woman named Taleste becomes the temple of Manat’s new voice in Daenfrii. 

*Londar is thrilled to take on Braddok and Pyrnion as temporary guardsmen to assist in the Keep’s rotations. In recognition of his noble birth/family, he even makes Braddok a sergeant! 

*Haelan uses a good bit of time to familiarize himself with the other temples and religions available in Dragonwing Vale. He enjoys philosophical discussions with the Sorilorrians, but they are generally a bit too serious and humorless for his tastes. Excellent chess players though! He even pays repeated visits to the Desrite, Dolorn, and finds the man an agreement companion for conversation, eating and drinking, when his duties allow it. Most of his time, of course, is spent with the Daughters of Gilea and training in their enhanced mundane and magical healing techniques and herbal knowledge.

*Buttercream Shadowfeet delights in the party remaining in one, non-deadly, place for a change and enjoys a brief "hibernation"...eating and sleeping her way through the weeks.

*Fen takes travels into the country side with regularity. Often gone for a few days at a time, but returning to the keep at least one day a week or so. He meets repeatedly with Brother Badger [who confirms they’d never met before when they were supposed to. The succubus playing Fen for a chump is the only conclusion.]. 

*Haelan gives Alaria the scroll gifted to him by the Lady Evaranthriine containing the_ Polymorph_ spell. Initially shocked and fearful of the gift, Alaria begins attempts to master to forbidden spell with vigor.

*Fen travels with the forlorn Jovias to find Duor and the three spend some time in the southern marches. When Fen’s obligations take him away, the dwarf and satyr spend many a day in drunken revery...often to the annoyance of the Wyvern’s Wing’s bartender, Amber. The dwarf steadfastly refuses to return to the keep, having more than enough gold to enjoy himself for the month.

*Alaria and Braddok share what time they can, between both of their demanding schedules. The time in training, however, seems to be causing more of a rift between them than coming together. Haelan is the only one that notices they seem to be spending less and less time enjoying each other’s company and more time passing each other by in their personal pursuits.

End montage.


----------



## steeldragons

It had been 5 weeks since their council and luncheon with Rhea. The others were becoming somewhat anxious to carry on their mission. Alaria assured them another week at most would be best forher to complete her research and transcriptions.

Alaria carried her newest spellbook and a manual borrowed from the keep archivist,_ A Treatise on Transportational Magik_, by the noted R’Hathi sage Olion. She walked with resolute purpose, returning to the great library that was available to all of the keep‘s mages and scholars.

“Magess Alaria! ” a voice rang through the hall behind her.

She turn to see, with some surprise, the lord-prince Montor come jogging up behind her. The blond haired mage who couldn’t be any older than Alaria, herself, was in a billowing white tunic lined in dark blue trim and a midnight cloak trimmed in silver, very similar to Alaria’s though the various protective sigils and runes that lined the Dragonmage-apparent’s cloak were significantly more advanced than her own.

“My lord?” Alaria answered with a nodding bow.

“Do you have a moment?” Montor asked as he caught up to her.

“Of course, my lord. How may I be of service?” Alaria replied.

“Montor, please.” he smiled warmly.The fine but strong features of his handsome face and deep blue of his eyes caused Alaria to wonder what, if any, elfin blood the Dragonmage’s line contained. “I have heard of your idea to teleport bones from Dragonbone Isle to thwart the dragon-wizard. It is ingenius in its simplicity.”

“My thanks, my...Montor. I am afraid, however, that I have yet to find a method of doign so. Magus Trymis was intrigued but assured me he would not be capable of such advanced spellwork.” Alaria said with some defeat.

Montir noted the Treatise Alaria covered. “Not giving up yet, I see.” he smiled again.

My, Alaria thought, he was handsome.

“A failing, some might say.” Alaria smiled in return. “I am stubborn, like my father, and do not believe I have exhausted the possibilities.”

Alaria looked at the books in her hands and thought if she ought to continue, knowing the Dragonmage-apparent would be unable to aid them in their cause. 

“I am, at the very least, hoping I might find a way for us to pierce Tresahd’s defensive barrier so that we need not carry out another month of wandering the Feldmere to return to ‘her’ lair. If we could arrive, even just outside the lair, it would be a significant advantage.”

Montor nodded, his face pensive at the possibilities. “It is surely possible...but might required some work.”

“According to Trymis, the fact we have actually been there before should be a great boon and might permit our access. Last time, we didn’t really know where to go...other than the Feldmere and the name ‘Nor Gorthok.’ But having been there, phsyically, Trymis supposes, we might use Keep’s teleportal circle to arrive significantly closer, if not actually inside.”

Montor nodded. “Just so. Trymis is a talented mage and my own knowledge and use of dimensional folding would concur with his supposition.”

“It would be...I do not mean to presume, my lord Montor," Alaria continued, figuring it most appropriate to use the prince’s title and name, as he wished. “But would it be possible for you to accompany us to the Feldmere? Perhaps simply lending some power to the teleportal circle to further its power?”

Montor looked around as if someone might hear his response and smiled again at Alaria, “I would be most amenable to lend what aid I can whilst not disobeying father,” he looked about again before saying to Alaria with a wink, “...too much.”

“It will require some research and work. But I do not doubt the power of Wyr can be of service in this endeavor. Zhiranth has told me at the Council of Wyr is beginning to become concerned with this ‘Desaarthal.’” the lord prince replied.

“Perhaps...” Alaria began to dare to ask. Montor interrupted, as if reading her mind...which as far as Alaria knew of the young mage, he very well might be doing.

“Would you care to join me in my library...later this afternoon...we could search for some possibilities.” he asked.

Alaria was inwardly ecstatic but strove to maintain her ‘professional’ detachment, seemly for a lesser mage being presented with access from a greater one. “That would be...agreeable, my..er...Montor. I would be honored to accept.”

“Very good then, my lady Magess. I shall see you at...shall we say, three bells?” Montor said quickly. He seemed to be distracted by something Alaria did not hear.

“Excellent.” Alaria grinned coyly and tossed some of her dark hair over a shoulder. What was that?! Alaria thought to herself. She shook her head after the prince bowed and turned back down the corridor. What was she sixteen? Acting like a second year apprenti? Why was she feeling so...flirty? 

***

Three days later...

Haelan entered the common chamber and plopped himself upon one of the cushioned chairs around their dining table. Beside a very serious looking Braddok.

“Hiya, ‘Sarge.’ How were your rounds this morning?" the Hilltender opened with his usual cheerfulness.

Braddok merely grunted a reply from behind his flagon of ale.

Their chambermaid had just finished bringing in their luncheon of dark bread , fruit and cured meats and cheeses. Haelan set to making himelf a ham and cheese sandwich, looking occasionally at the grim swordsman from time to time. The warrior seemed to hardly notice his presence.

“Alaria still working?” Haelan ventured another conversation opener.

“Of course.” Braddok replied darkly. 

“In the Dragonwing library again?” Haelan asked, cautiously. “She and Prince Montor have been spending quite a bit of time together of late.”

“Indeed.” He replied. “I’ve spoken to her more through the Keep ball than in person.”

“That so?” Haelan said innocently, though he knew this to be true. The magess had barely returned to their chambers at all in the past three days.

“Hail friends.” came Fen’s casual friendly voice from the doorway .

“Fen! Welcome back. Ho long will you be staying?” Haelan smiled at the druid’s entrance, thanking the Hillmother for some more cheerful conversation.

“I received a summons from our Magess. My studies are ended for the time being. I suspect we will be leaving on our further...mission...in short order.” the half elf replied, ripping himself a chunk of the nutty dark bread.

“Really?” Haelan answered with some surprise mingled in his excitement.

“Oh sure. She tells you her plans.” Braddok said grimly and raised his flagon again to drain it before immediately refilling it from the pitcher of crockery in the middle of the table.

Fen looked to Haelan with some surprise.

“Is there something wrong?” Fen asked, unknowingly.

Braddok stuck a large hunk of cheese in his mouth.

Haelan turned to the druid and answered as quietly as he could, though there was no doubt Braddok still heard. “They’re having some...issues.”

“Well, our mission is of the utmost importance, my friend.” Fen attempted to sooth the warrior’s obviously wounded ego and/or heart. “I am sure once we leave this place, things will smooth themselves out.”

Braddok looked at Fen darkly for a moment and then his expression softened. “You are probably right. I pray that it is so. I will confess, as much as I appreciate the hospitality and expertise of the lordmage and his subjects...I will not be sorry to leave. I fear Alaria might be unwilling to go at all...and leave all of her beloved sorcery.”

Haelan looked at the warrior with sympathy. “Braddok, she cares for you. I am sure of that. You two...all of us, in fact...have shared so much. You’ve faced death together more than once. Saved each other on more than one occasion. We brought you back from the dead, after all! A connection that deep cannot be broken by books and scrolls.”

Braddok nodded in agreement, though his face showed his reticence to agree.

Just then, the blue light bal of keep appeared hovering above the center of the table.

“_Stormriders, the Magess Alaria requests your presence in the Dragonwing library antechamber._” Keep’s melodius chorus of voices announced.

 “Thank you, Keep.” Haelan replied cheerfully. They had been in Lordmage’s stronghold for nearly a month and a half, but every time the Hilltender saw the floating ball of light, he was amazed at the magical oddity.

The ball began to fade before the Hilltender responded. “Uh, Keep?”

The light solidified and increased in intensity once more. “_Yes, Hilltender Haelan Spurthistle._”

“Where is the library antechamber?” Haelan asked.

“_The Dragonwing Library antechamber is accessed by the main hall. North Spire. Level 10. Second door on your right._” the ball replied matter-of-factly.

“Thanks again, Keep.” Haelan answered in his polite manner.

“_You are most welcomed, Hilltender Haelan Spurthistle._” Keep’s voice replied, a bit more kindly and feminine sounding than it’s usual dispassionate drone. 

 Haelan smiled.  The Hilltender had learned the disembodied energy ball, the sentience of the stronghold referred to by all of the inhabitants as, simply, “Keep”, did not require such formality or personal niceties. But it made Haelan feel better to use them anyway...The Keep seemed, Haelan imagined, to appreciate it though the priestesses of Gilea had informed him some weeks ago that ‘Keep’ merely replied to what was presented to it...it possessed no individual ego or emotions to offend.

The company followed the directions, running into Pyrnion on the way, who had received a similar summons. 

“Hail Druid Fen. Happy to see your return. Do we know what this is about?” Pyrnion said stoically.

“No clue.” Braddok said bluntly.

Pyrnion raised a feathered eyebrow at the warrior’s back for his curt reply. Haelan just shrugged and grinned weakly at the zephari.

In the antechamber were Alaria, Montor...standing much too close to the magess for Braddok’s liking...and the Lady Rhea, sitting casually in a high-backed leather padded chair.

“We’ve done it!” Alaria said with a smile none of them had seen in the past several weeks of intense study and training. “We can teleport to Nor Gorthok. Get directly to the keep without having to traverse the swamp.”

“That’s what you’ve been working on all of this time?” Braddok said with some annoyance.

“Yes.” Alaria said with some question in her voice. “Not all of it, to be sure, but these few days passed. I thought the advantage of surprise would be desirable?” she said quizzically.

“Indeed! I have no desire to spend another three weeks in that gods-forsaken place. Even if we’d know where we were going this time.” Haelan answered before Braddok could say anything.

“We must make ready and go by the end of the week. We must collect Duor and Jovias. Montor will then aid us in the teleportation from Bridgetower.” Alaria continued to explain.

“‘_Montor’_ will, will he?" Braddok said in surprise at Alaria’s apparent familiarity with, not only their benefactor, but the lord prince of the realm.

“From Bridgetower, I will still be within Daenfrii. My father can not object.” Montor said with a smirk.

“I didn’t know Bridgetower had a teleportal circle.” Fen said with surprise.

“It does not. But the spell is easily within my power from there.” Montor answered.

Rhea spoke. “You have all progressed so easily in your training that Alaria feels you are all as ready as you will be. My attempts to scry the dragon’s lair have continued to meet without success. However, outside of it, I can tell you, that there have been no notable movements of troops or increased coming or going of notable monsters. Scrollmaster Inden <_Author/DM’s note: the high-priest of Solilorr in Daenfrii who all of the companions had previously met._> tells me his visions on the place have detected no more evil or increased power than there has been since the dark wizard’s defeat in Evandrial. It seems the time to strike is upon you.”

The companions all nodded in understanding, expressions of varying amounts of seriousness and concern clear on the four men.

“What about the demons?” Haelan finally asked, the fear evident in his voice.

“Scrollmaster Inden and Matron Uma have both consulted with servants of their respective deities. Their contacts claim there has been no interplanar activity that they have noticed in the same time. It can be assumed whatever creatures were there before are still there.” Rhea answered. Apparently, unbeknownst to the party, the power-that-be in Daenfrii have taken up a good deal of interest in this Tresahd-Desaarthal business.

“‘Cept the one we killed already.” Fen added.

“We can presume so.” Alaria answered.

“Well, I guess no _new_ demons is a good thing. heh heh.” Haelan chuckled weakly.

“We will have to inform Captain Londar that we’ll be leaving.” Braddok said to no one in particular.

“Already done.” Rhea said with a smile. “He wishes to have a send off for you in two night’s time from Bridgetower...if you are amenable to the idea.” Rhea smiled before adding, “We both do. Nothing formal, mind, just a small gathering among friends. I am certain Captain Rynthis and the Lady Elhianne will be most accommodating.”

“We would be honored.” Alaria answered before anyone else. 

Braddok’s face turned into a stromcloud as he noted Alaria’s smile directed at the Dragonmage-apparent.

“If that’s all then?” Braddok said. “I will conclude my rounds and the conducting of my duties until such time as we must go. My ladies...my lord.” Braddok bowed deeply, turned and left without waiting for a dismissal.

Alaria looked after the warrior with a mixture of annoyance and a slight pain in her heart.

“Alaria, my dear, let us walk, shall we?” Rhea said, rising from her seat and taking Alaria by the arm.

“We should still...” Alaria began to object.

“It can wait, I’m sure?” Rhea said, questioning to Montor.

“Yes, of course. There’s nothing more to do than calculate the final vectors and atune to the location...which we can’t do until we arrive at...” Montor began explaining the magical details, as he was prone to do, often missing the fact that those around him had little understanding f what it was he spoke.

“Very good, Montor. We shall see you later.” Rhea interjected and led the magess out of the chamber by the arm with nodding bows to the other companions.

Haelan, Fen and Pyrnion simply looked at aeach other and the Draognmage-apparent in some discomfort.

“Can we help?” Haelan said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Montor chuckled atthe daelvar. “You are a true representative of your kind, Haelan. But I think I will be able to handle it.” He smiled. “Please, return to your days and what preparations you require. We shall leave the Vale for Bridgetower on the morn after tomorrow.”


----------



## steeldragons

*Nor Gorthok, revisited.*

Suitably equipped by the good merchants in the town below Dragonwing Keep, the party assembled at the appointed hour in the chamber that contained the curious teleportal platform. It was decided that Fen and Pyrnion would be sent to the Wyvern’s Wing to get their dwarf and satyr. The rest, including the lord prince, would collectively go directly to Bridgetower. The Seneschal and Lady of the Tower were expecting them.

Alaria and Braddok had “made up”, though the Grinlian swordsman was still sure to keep near the magess whenever possible and kept a curt, though civil, tone with the Dragon-mage apparent.

The “send off” party, which included Rhea and Londar, who could only get away for the evening before needing to return to the keep, was a casual affair. Lady Elhianne was, of course, delighted to play hostess to her “good friend the Magess Stormrider” not to mention the Lord-prince and two of his Steel Dragons, themselves! 

Haelan was happy to see the chicken he’d left in Bridgetower was still being honored and the sign over her shrine-like coop, as he’d requested, read “The Hillmother’s Holy Hen.”

The next day, the party assembled upon the roof of the great tower. They said their farewells.

Braddok was fit to go into a rage seeing Montor lay a kiss upon Alaria’s cheek when the two embraced in farewell. Well, he was stuck here, the swordsman thought as little consolation.

In a swirling vortex of blue and white sparkles of light, the party felt themselves lift off of the tower’s stones, only for a moment, before encountering a “pushing” sensation, as if they were suddenly moving through molasses, a moment later, the light showering around them cleared and they stood, somewhat unexpectedly, very near the top of the mountain that contained NOr Gorthok. A large cave mouth before them.

A quite reconnaissance revealed they were on the eastern side, very near the summit of the mountain. The great oak trree that had been the druid Ornfael the Long Cursed was around the north side of the mountain about halfway down, beneath their position.

“Ow!" Haelan tripped upon something hard beneath the collection of rocky dust and dead brush surrounding the cave opening. Dipping down to pick it up out of the dirt and brush, Haelan dropped it quickly. It was a skull of...something. Something large.

Fen confirmed it to be a large reptile, likely an alligator from the swamps below. A cursory search revealed several other bones of a variety of creatures scattered about.

“Too bad it’s not Rach’sha.” Duor said as he edged along the side of the mountain to the cave’s opening.      

*Hilltender, I do not like this scent. There is too much death here...and something...musty...damp and reptilean.* Buttercream chittered at Haelan.

“Braddok!” Haelan said in a panicked whisper.

The swordsman looked blankly at the Hilltender.

“Remember that night in the swamp? When we fought the stirges?” the daelvar still soke in hushed tones. “When something flew over us...”

Braddok nodded. He unsheathed Kandu and raised his shield. The rest of the company (except Pyrnion) ecame immediately battle-ready tense. Fen explained to the zephari that Erevan had presumed the creature Braddok and Haelan saw to be a wyvern...and they had further presumed it laired at the top of this mountain.

They stood in the midmorning...presumably the creature, if it were here, would be sleeping.

Opting against torches for the time being, they entered the large cave mouth carefully. Pyrnion was immediately uncomfortable in the dark rocky surroundings on all sides. He turned back to look at the outdoor light in the sky beyond while he could. It helped, but his insides screamed in panic when they turned a bend and the cave opening was no longer visible. 

Fortunately, the cavern before them rose up out of their view. A wide, roughly circular cavern that sloped down. There, in the center of the cavern, their fears were realized as a large greyish dragon-like creature snored loudly. A half-eaten carcass of some humanoid creature lay near its draconic snout.

Fen, silently, pointed across the wide chamber to an opening at the far side.

At Alaria’s frantic silent motions, the party returned out the ledge.

They had previously discussed their tactics to avoid all unnecessary conflicts, lest they come upon Tresahd unprepared. The magess cursed that they no longer possessed the Ihs Repahl which would allow them to simply fly in cloud-form to wherever they wanted. Soon, Alaria promised herself. 

With Pyrnion’s ability to make himself invisible, it was decided the zephari and druid would use their gifts of Pixie Dust to make the whole party invisible. They were, unfortunately, unsure how long the faerie enchantment would last. But they hoped it could at least get them passed the slumbering wyvern, possibly even deeper.

With a pinch for Buttercream, Haelan, Braddok, Alaria, Duor, Jovias and Fen, Pyrnion’s dust was used up and Fen had, about, 3 pinches left. Thankfully, a side-effect of the pixie’s particular invisibility, they could all see each other normally.

The party moved with considerable care and silence across the chamber, choosing to circle around the back of the creature rather than pass near its nose.

Entering the opposite portal, which was no larger than a normal doorway, they found a set of stairs carved from the mountain stone itself. Their decent was long. They continued down and around, Duor supposed that were tracking around the outer perimeter of mountain, as the descent was not steep and the curve more or less consistent, minimal, and seemed to become ever widening.

Finally, the companions reached a platform that leveled off with a large door before them. It was not locked nor, as far as Duor or Jovias could tell, trapped. After a quick cantrip to conjure Alaria’s magical sight, no threat or dweomer she could perceive was revealed.

The party opened the door cautiously. It made a horribly loud, to their ears, creak. But  there seemed to be no one on the other side.

The doorway opened to reveal an immense cavern, light from various unseen sources to shower the whole interior of the mountain in a fiery orange flickering glow. The party found themselves upon a 20 foot wide walkway, also seemingly carved from the mountain, that looked like it extended all around the interior of the mountain. A stone “railing” edged the pathway and various arches and doors were placed, sporadically, around the perimeter, leading obviously, to other sections of the mountain, such as the goblin quarters and conjuring rooms they’d encountered before...though could not begin to guess where those were in relation to the current position.

The greatest shock to the company was the large towered castle that sat within the open cavern, in its entirety. The twisted and bent ancient looking black towers reaching up beyond their vision toward the top of the hollowed out mountain. The roots of the multi-towered and walled stronghold far below their position. The various poeces of the castle look like they were composed of single pieces of black rock that from place to place seemed to be melted, as they’d encountered at the cave mouth of Rach’sha’s lair.

“How’d they build a whole castle inside of a mountain?!” Haelan said in amazement.

“Bah. Dwarves’ve been doin’ it fer ages." Duor said, obviously unimpressed. “Looks like crap. It's old, to be sure...but have a bit o' pride. Upkeep is necessary, even with dwarf-made structures."

“If this is Nor Gorthok,” Alaria posed, “I think it more likely the dragon  created the mountain up around the castle.”

”An additional layer of concealment.” Pyrnion nodded in agreement.

”How do we get over there?” Duor said, leaning over the stone railing and looking down.

”Do we have to? Maybe we could find the orb someplace else.” Haelan said hopeful, peering over the rail beside the dwarf.

”That‘s where the treasure is. Make no mistake.” Duor pointed forefully at the black castle.

”And there is little doubt the Kalanaptra is there as well. I presume that is where Tresahd resides. As crucial as it seems to be, the wizard will keep it with him.” Pyrnion said.

Buttercream‘s hair bristled immediately before she spoke to Haelan. *_Blek. I smell goblins._*

As the party scanned their surroundings left and right. From the archway closest to their left, some fifty yards t their left, pair after pair of hobgoblin solders came marching out. Their booted feet creating a stomping beat that echoed through half of the cavern. Twenty in total exited. Half marching to the right, away from the party, half turning toe left ...heading for the party!

“Make way. Stand clear if you can.” Braddok hissed in command.

“Quiet now, Buttercream." Haelan whispered. “Let them pass."

The party split, pressing themselves against the railing or wall to allow the marching patrol to pass. 

They seemed to take no notice of the adventurers. They continued to march the wide circle of the ledge, carrying on out of view around a bend in the perimeter.

“Now what?” Duor said.

“There.” Pyrnion pointed to their left. There are stairs going down to the next ledge.”

Braddok followed where the zephari indicated. “And there!” the warrior noted with some excitement.

A narrow sliver of natural looking stone jutted out from the level beneath them to the outer wall of the black castle.

“Well let’s get to it. I’ve been waiting half a damned year for this booty. Let’s get it over with and get out of here.” Duor said even as he began trotting off in the direction of the staircase a quarter of the mountain’s arc away from them.

The rest of the party followed, in their prescribed order.

“Uh, Alaria...” Haelan whispered as they edged around the outside of the cavern.

“Yes Haelan.” Alaria replied distractedly, as she continually scanned their surroundings for any sign of magical alarms or traps that might give away their presence.

“When we find the treasure and the Ihs Repahl...um...I mean, assuming we don’t have to fight or kill Tresahd...How are we getting back?” Haelan asked.

“Oh...well...we’ll...ummm.” Why hadn’t that been decided in all of their plans?!  “We’ll get out like we did last time.” Alaria finally said. “For now, concentrate on our goal.”

“Well...my goal includes getting out of here alive.” Haelan answered somewhat perturbed.

“As do we all, Hilltender. Be stalwart.” Braddok answered for the obviously at-a-loss magess.


----------



## steeldragons

They moved swiftly, but with care. They reached the staircase in time to avoid a patrol of six hobgoblins coming up from the level below. 
They stood silent and pressed against the wall to let the patrol pass.

The troops marched up, in rhythm, and along the ledge to the archway that the previous hobgoblins had exited and disappeared into it.

*Can’t I take just one? I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.* Buttercream implored the daelvar cleric.

“I know. But better not to just now.” Haelan said kindly, though in his mind he couldn’t imagine how awful raw hobgoblin might taste.

Duor took this opportunity to command his magic boots to give him “Hobgoblin boots” footprints.

 They descended, now further away from the castle and made their way around the lower ledge to the stone bridge. It was much more narrow than the ledge, barely ten feet wide, with no railing to avoid falling off the sides. But it led straight to the outer parapets of the towered fortress of black. It extended, seemingly without physical support, a full hundred feet to the other side.

Two guards stood at the ledge side and two more could be easily seen by the tall polearms they held, at the far end. There could be little doubt engaging either would undoubtedly cause an alarm to be raised in moments if they were not careful.

One by one, with as much care as possible, Haelan even holding his breath as they passed by the guards on the ledge said.

“_<You hear that?>_” one guard grumbled to the other when Buttercream passed by, her claws clicking lightly on the stone. _<translated from Goblinese.>

<”I don’t hear nuthin’. You just tryin’ to go off for another break. Shuddup n’ keep your station.”>_  the other replied.

Duor couldn’t resist himself and said, from just passed the guards on the bridge. “_<You shuddup!>_”

The first guard immediately took a battle-ready stance, lowering his polearm, almost into Alaria’s chest.

“_<Wut you said?>_” the apparently senior guard said as he turned to the first one, drawing a serated curved blade._ <You want to ‘splain insubordination to Overseer?>_”

_“<I didn’t say nuthin’! Somethin’ is here!>_” the first one said.

The senior guard looked side to side for a moment but kept his weapon drawn on the first guard.

“_<Now you makin’ up lies for insubrdination? You looking to be Rach'sha food?>_” the senior said.
_
“<No! No! I didn’t say it! Something else is here!>_” the first guard said immediately and jabbed into the air around him.

Pyrnion grabbed Alaria from behind, pulling her clear of the stabbing weapon, and took wing across the expanse. 

This left the satyr Jovias and Fen on the ledge side. The satyr stood stock still. The druid, similarly pressed up against the wall.

The senior guard twisted his face and looked aruond again while his comrade was seemingly flailing at nothing.

“_<Gutslug! Get over here. Smakdown’s goin’ all crazy.>_” the senior guard yelled across the expanse.

One of the guards at the wall side turned in response to the senior guard’s command. Without question, he began racing across the bridge.

Pyrnion scooped up Haelan,  who was directly in the hobgoblin’s path and flew him over to the other side.

As he returned to try to get Duor, the hobgoblin guard was coming up to the dwarf. He moved as close to the edge as he dared to get out of the wide, heavily armored hobgoblin came by.

”_<Arse-hat gobslug>_” Duor whispered as the guard passed.

“<_Wut!?>_" Gutslug whirled around at the insult and felt the impact as one of his large shoulder plates bumped into something that wasn’t there. There was the distinct sound of a bot scraping against the dusty rock. 

All of the companions sucked in a breath to see Duor‘s enchanted form slip off the edge of the bridge. Pyrnion dove for the dwarf but, before he could reach him, Duor threw up a strand of silver cord. The rope rose up and clasped the edge of the bridge with a “claw” like grapple of silver. 

The companions exhaled prayers to their respective gods that the enchanted rope seemed to also be invisible to the hobgoblins.

Duorhung there for a moment before Pyrnion scooped him off of his line, like a piece of bait hanging from a fishhook.

Upon depositing the dwarf on the battlements, away from the other hobgoblin guard and the other companions, Pyrnion whispered to the dwarf, “One more stunt like that and I will kill you myself.”

Duor looked at the zephari, ready to make a crass quip in reply until he saw the burning seriousness in the bird-man’s eagle eyes.

“Stay here. And do not make another sound or I will remove your tongue with my own hand.” Not awaiting a response, Pyrnion took off again to go collect the hard-pressed Fen and Jovias.

 “_<Look! Look there!>_” Smakdown cried, still trying to defend himself. The hobgoblin was pointing at the distrubed ground on the ledge where there had obviously been a lot of movement. There was a distinctly small non-booted footprint and another cloven print.

 Fen held a hand over the satyr minstrel’s mouth and pulled him close to the wall. If they were looking for them, his druid’s cloak, he hoped would add an extra layer of defense from being revealed.

The senior guard looked at the prints and for a moment thought the crazed Smakdown might be telling the truth. 

“_<Might just be one o’ the Master’s demon-things playing tricks.>_” the senior guard squinted into the surrounding air as if he was going to perceive some invisible demon.

“_<This’uns got four toes. See! It’s a dwarf!>_” Smakdown insisted.

“_<Pah. Too small fer a dwarf. Last youngling we had died last month.>_” the newly arrived Gutslug added.

_“Go check the slave pens._>” the senior guard commanded. “<_I want full count of every bearded head!_>”

Gutslug saluted the senior and took off down the ledge to another staircase that led further down. 

“<_You stay here an stab at anything in the wind. I'll be back._>” the commander told Smakdown before he headed over the bridge back for the castle.

Bringing both the satyr and half-elf at once, the company reassembled at Duor’s position.

“That was stupid.” Braddok admonished. “Do that again and...”

“Yeah, yeah. You can arm wrestle the birdie fer the honor.” Duor said dismissively.

Braddok grabbed Duor by the shoulder and turned him, forcefully. His image fluttered into a ghostly transparency for a moment before the pixie dust invisibility reasserted itself. “I am serious, Duor. You’ve wanted this for a long time. I need this to work. We all do. Do not jeopardize us all again.”

“Alright. Yer right. I’m sorry.” Duor.

“We may be jeopardized already. That captain or whatever he was is no doubt going to inform someone. Maybe get magical assistance. We are in jeopardy now. Thanks so much, Duor. Festus would be proud.” Alaria admonished. “If any of us are killed as a result of your foolishness, I will turn you into a toad. I _can_ do it and I swear by Manat's Star_, I will_. Is that clear?”

“Yeh...uh...yes, Alaria. I am sorry. Jus’ trying t’have a bit o’ fun at a hobgoblin’s expense.” Duor tried to  defend again.

“Enough time wasted. Haelan, you’re up.” Alaria said, ignoring the dwarf’s apology.

Haelan nodded, his face a mask of grim seriousness for the daelvar.

“_Deisa Faerantha, dicteus beneficia supplicantus positus locuitum Ihs Repahl.” <cleric spell: Locate Object. translated from Old Selurian: “Holy Faerantha, bless your loyal servant to reveal the location of the Ihs Repahl.”_> 

Haelan felt a tingling sensation come over his eyes and mind. There was a distinct impression of a sweet-smelling breeze touching the right side of his face .(though none of the other companions perceived such a wind)

“That way.” Haelan pointed the direct the breeze had come from. This took them back passed the remaining guard on the fortress-side of the bridge. They passed around the edges of the battlement walls, towards what appeared to be the “back” of the castle. Haelan stopped after a moment. The breeze was felt upon his face again.

“That way.” Haelan pointed down at an archway on the far side of an empty courtyard of black stone below them. 

”And up.” Haelan pointed up at the largest of the fortress‘ twisted towers.

“Everybody ready?” Braddok said


----------



## steeldragons

The group descended the black stone staircase that led to the empty courtyard. It was curious, Pyrnion noted, that there were no guards along the walls at this “back” section of the castle. No apparent gate at the archway.

As they descended, Alaria renewed her detection cantrip, sure that there could be magic at any moment. Her instincts proved true as the party came to the courtyard and began edging along the wall toward the arch in the main building of the keep.

There were two statues, to either side of the twenty foot wide arch. Seen by the two stone scones built into the walls that bathed the courtyard in an eerie green fire, they were monstrous...swans? Or perhaps had once been. Now they each had two long necks. Their postures were obviously twisted and bent in ways no living creature could be. The necks bent backwards and curved around, their bills filled with pointed teeth and what might have once been smoothly shaped feathers and wings, were now splayed and struck out in all directions, the tips of the flailing wings with sharp dagger-like pinions. For all their unreal shape, one of each neck terminated with the head looking outward into the courtyard while the other head looked inward. 

As they neared, Alaria’s glowing violet eyes perceived magic auras surrounding the statues. She halted the party with a gesture and concentrated.

A few moments later, the auras began to coalesce in her sight. A strong globe of pulsing red surrounded each..."Conjuration", Alaria knew. There was also...white just beneath the red but nearly as strong..."Divination" magic. That will be a distinct problem. What was it these stone carvings were divining? Something else...between and beneath the other two...a lesser globe of green....Transmutation! 

“We’re in trouble.” Alaria whispered. “Those statues, I believe, are detection devices...possibly living or at least_ aware_, as well.”

“We must cloak ourselves better.” Braddok surmised.

“We’re already invisible. Wut else’re we supposed t’do?” Duor hissed under his breath.

“Haelan?” Alaria inquired.

“We must go through. ” The daelvar closed his eyes and concentrated once more. The divine cooling breeze only he could perceive was coming directly from the arch. He pointed again at the widest tower of the fortress. “The Ihs Repahl is up there. If I invoke another blessing, I will lose my directional cues.”

“Can we, maybe... I don’t know...shut the magic off somehow?” Fen suggested.

“I have but one spell of Unmaking available to me. I would prefer not to use it at this time. Who knows what further sorceries we will encounter inside.” Alaria admitted somewhat annoyed with herself. “Can you?”

“There is such an incantation, and I have harnessed the Green for such a purpose today only once, myself. I also can not speak to its effectiveness against such potent arcane energies.” Fen admitted.

<_Author/DM’s note: In Orea, while clerics and druids have free pick -spontaneous casting- of the 1st and 2nd level spells available to them...within their daily allotment of slots, of course...as their access to more powerful energies increases, they must specify/choose 3 level spells and higher. For those keeping track of Orean rules, clerics and druids are always partially spontaneous casters - 1st and 2nd level spells only- while mages become partially spontaneous casters as they increase in level. Just another minor tweak to further differentiate the flavor of divine, natural and arcane magics in Orea._>

“Well, wut’re we gonna do? Take our chances with the pixie dust or go ‘round to some other door? This stuff’s not gonna last forever.” Duor noted, looking at his (to their vision) arm with its twinkling yellow sparkles outlining his form.

The others looked at each other and it did appear that all of their “twinkles” were noticeably less vibrant than when they were originally “dusted.”

“Minstrel,” Duor said with authority. “Got any satyr tricks up those goaty sleeves?”

Jovias stepped forward and looked at the statues intently, as if he were discerning something about them. “Well, they’re magic for sure.” He looked at his boss in hopes of approval.

Duor and Braddok scowled.

“We know that. Alaria’s magic sight has never let us down.” Duor said. “Anything else?”

“Wellll...” Jovias face became serious for a moment. “It _might_ be possible for me to sing the Song of Silence...But I’ve never done it before...and it would require the limit of my spellsongs for the day.”

<Author/DM's note: As I recall, this was a purely DM fiat "let's get this show on the road" thing. Jovias is a 3rd level bard which, by Orean standard, does not permit him 2nd tier spells. I ruled that, though we don't do "mana points" or anything like that, if he wanted to use up his 1st tier slots, I would allow the second level spell. But it was the party's desicion to proceed.>

The companions looked to each other for in silent conference.

“Do it.” Braddok said. “We will skirt through as quickly as possible. Once on the other side, try to get out of view of the things at our first opportunity.”

All nodded in understanding.

“Yer up, bard.” Duor said.

“Wait! The spellsong itself won’t make any noise will it?” Pyrnion asked.

“It is the Song of _Silence_, master Pyrnion.” Jovias said, as if this answered the question.

“Proceed.” Alaria said.

The satyr slunk around the wall until he was within twenty feet of the statues, “behind” one of the statues. Carefully, he unslung his lyre from his shoulder. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

All of the companions winced to see his fingers go to the strings and his mouth open wide. The satyr plucked a particular chord.

No sound emanated from the instrument or the satyr’s mouth.

Alaria could see, with her arcane vision, a wash of centric waves of pale yellow light extend from the minstrel and pass over the one swan statue, but not the other.

“Stay to the right.” Alaria informed the others.

Quickly as they could, they ducked beneath the outward facing serpentine neck and monstrous looking swan head.

Once inside, the hall widened a bit and they all struck close to the right wall. Shortly inside the arch a doorway with stairs leading up opened into the broad open corridor. They could see the other side opened into another courtyard.

Buttercream bristled and a low growl rumbled from her innards. *_Goblins. The big ones. The whole place reeks of them. I don't like it...and they’re making me hungry.*_

Haelan relayed this to the others. Nothing to really do but accept it. 

At silent gestures from Braddok, the party began climbing the stairs.

They came to the first floor. It was a simple round with a stair case opposite that continued up. There was a simple table and a few stools. A pile of spears leaned in one corner, a crossbow and bucket of crossbow bolts against another. A few shields piled up beside the spears. Two arrow slits let in the green glow from the courtyard they’d just left. It seemed to be a simple guard room. Thankfully, unmanned for the moment.

They continued up to the second story, this floor was a similarly round chamber with two sets of bunk beds and a few coffers. One of the bunks contained a slumbering hobgoblin. Another, awake, sat upon a stool, sharpening his long sword. There was a door at the other end of the chamber, but no obvious other stair or exit. The door was closed with a large iron padlock.

The party returned to the floor below.

“This isn’t the right tower.” Haelan said in concern.

“Should we go back down and try to get through the other next courtyard?” Fen questioned.

“The breeze tells me we can still go through that door and get to where we’re going.” Haelan answered.

“I did not notice any statues at the far archway.” Pyrnion asserted. 

“Master?” Jovias ‘called’ softly.

The others looked around. The dwarf was not with them.

“Damn that dwarf.” Braddok cursed under his breath. The warrior ran up the stairs, followed closely by Pyrnion.

The hobgoblin who had been sharpening his sword sat in the chair. Its throat cut and oozing greenish black blood down into his heavy breast plate. Examination of the sleeping hobgoblin revealed he too was dead. Throat cut, large hobgoblin ear to large hobgoblin ear.

Duor, fully visible, stood be the pad lock of the door, twirling a large iron ring that held four keys around one finger.

“Duor!” Braddok whispered. “What are you doing?!”

“What I do best! Sneakin’ and finding ways into places.” the dwarvish rogue answered the empty air.

Pyrnion made himself visible within the room. “I told you not ten minutes ago...” he pulled his axe from his belt.

“This is not putting anyone in jeopardy, my good birdie bird. This is getting things done and doing what I am trained to do, better than any of you.” Duor said without a hint of remorse or defense.

“He’s right, Pyrnion. Stand down.” Braddok’s voice sounded again in the room.

With a derisive snort and piercing glare, the zephari wrapped his golden feathered wings around his shoulders, assuming the appearance of a great feathered cloak, and made himself unseen, again, with a thought.

The rest of the party again ascended to see the dwarf applying something to the hinged side of the door. He had a curious small rubber bulb in his hand and used it to shoot lamp oil into the crease of the door, where he had determined the hinges to be.

“What is that?” Fen’s voice sounded close to Duor’s shoulder.

“Oil. We don’t need to be making any more noise than necessary. Especially since, if it locked from this side, who knows what’s one the other side.” Duor explained and then returned the small flask of oil and small rubber bulb to one of the many pouches on his belt.

A simple tirn to the right and a click opened the padlock and Braddok, with Duor out of view to the side of the door, urged the door open. It swung fairly easily and by Duor’s oil or not, did not make any discernable creak.

The other side revealed another brief curve of stairs going up.

Coming to the third floor, they were in an empty chamber. An archway without a door led out from the tower to a narrow bridge connecting to the larger wider “central” tower of the fortress. There was a door at the other side. No lock was apparent from their position.

First Alaria, then Haelan and Fen each, in turn, seemed to waver into a semi-transparent form for an instant before returning to an invisible state.

“We must hurry. The dust is wearing off.” Alaria voiced the obvious.

“What about Duor?” Haelan asked, always worried for others as was his way.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I can make myself scarce when I want.” the dwarf boasted.

A quick peek out revealed two hobgoblin guards upon the outer wall, in easy view of the bridge. It seemed there was another stone bridge on that side of the fortress, like the one they had used to get from the mountain perimeter ledges to the castle wall. Thankfully, they seemed intent on looking “outward” along the expanse of stone that led back to the mountain’s inner edge.

To the left, and down, the second courtyard. There were two lengths of reflecting pools, gleaming black [presumably] water and the walls facing the courtyard completely lined with mirrors. At the far side, connecting to the base of the large tower, was the large rectangular section of the castle.

The companions each felt a shudder of fear filled them as each assumed that area to be the great hall/throne room which they had found themselves in on their last visit...where Erevan and Festus were lost to the acid breath of the black behir, Rach’Sha.

“Let’s go. Duor, stay here until we get that door opened. We don’t need those guards noticing you tinkering around on the bridge.” Braddok said. There was no room in his tone for debate.

On a silent cue, the companions raced for the other side of the inter-tower walkway. It was only wide enough for single file. Alaria went first, the spell of Opening upon at the forefront of her mind. 

No sooner had she whispered the opening spell than her sparkling dust seemed to flicker and fall from her shoulder and she was completely visible to any eye.

The spell worked without incident and the party raced into another empty open chamber like the one they had just left. Much broader/wider across, but suitably empty of guards or apparent threat. One staircase leading further up. One at the opposite side twining down to the lower floors.

One by one the companions entered the chamber and exhaled in relief as they too, other than Pyrnion of course, came flickering back into normal sight.

Duor raced across, though completely silent with his magical boots and, luckily, was not seen by the well disciplined hobgoblin guards.

“Now what? How much more dust yeh got?” the dwarf said.

“Not enough.” Fen admitted.

“We must use extra care.” Braddok said. “We’ve made it this far. We should collect the Ihs Repahl, what riches we may come across, and make for the throne room with the teleport disc to get us back to Bridgetower.”

The companions agreed, accept for Duor, who insisted that any castle anywhere kept its treasure vaults beneath the castle. And that after coming here twice, he was not leaving without the treasure. Engaging the dragon or not, not being the natural preference, he was going to get that treasure.

“You do realize, up to now, we have only been presuming a great treasure hoard?” Fen pointed out.

“Killjoy.” Duor grumbled. “It’s a dragon. It’s been here, what was it...four hundred years? Four thousand? Came here when those weird witchy women’s dad ruled Grath...Gor...Greyhard...”

“Gorathgraard.” Alaria corrected.

“Whatever..._here!_ There’s a trove, make no mistake. There’s gotta be.” the dwarf argued.

“Fine. Fine. But the Ihs Repahl first.” Alaria injected. “My power will be much increased with it in my possession and we will stand a much higher chance of success in all of our goals...as well as a potential additional mode of escape.”

“No arguments there, boss lady.” Duor said with a smirk.

Alaria’s mood lightened some to hear Duor refer to her as such. It had been what seemed an eternity since she had been their official “boss”, though in reality a matter of a few months.

“So...'up’ it is then, Hilltender?” Braddok asked Haelan.

“Up.” Haelan said looking distractedly at the ceiling. Something was cold here...not the temperature...something dark...pressing upon his soul. Like he had felt before in the Dunrician shrine at Shafton. A dark presence...he could feel it.

“I feel like we are being watched.” the daelvar cleric said softly.

Alaria immediately renewed, again, her visionary cantrip. There was a power that pulsed all around them...but there was no specific aura she could discern. Fen did the same with his own detection incantation.

“There is certainly nothing of a divinatory nature.” Alaria said. “No immediate auras I can see.”

“Though a power cascades throughout this place. That can not be denied.” Fen added.

Alaria concurred and said, what might have been obvious, “The longer we are here, the more likely we will be discovered. We must make haste for the orb.”

The companions took their [marching order] positions and ascended the staircase to what [they presumed] would be the fourth level of the tower.


----------



## steeldragons

A cursory glance by an invisible Pyrnion revealed no enemies in the next level. There was, however, a large crystal sphere upon a pedestal in the center of the open floor. A high backed chair of dark wood, heavily carved with images of swans and padded on the seat and middle of the back with a well worn blue velvet. It had apparently been very rich fabric once, but now worn from age and use to near tatters.

Alaria and Fen neared the orb. Both of their magical vision still intact. The orb gave off an aura that nearly filled the whole chamber. While Fen’s natural magic revealed nothing more than the sphere’s arcane nature, Alaria’s revealed a huge swirl of divination intermingled with transmutations, evocations, the inky blackness of necromancy...and a fifth swathe of energy she could not identify...a dark blue inset with twinkling star-like points of light within it.

“That’s not it, is it?” Haelan asked, confused. It was much too big and his sense, which he reported was beginning to fade, still said “up.”

“Definitely not.” Alaria reported. She reached out a hand toward the sphere and concentrated...the ball immediately began to pulse with inner lights of white and dark blue, pink and orange.

“Show me.” Alaria whispered out loud.

An image took form within the sphere, fuzzy at first, then more solid. White...fields of white...a barren silver forest swept in snow. She saw great white and grey wolves...then the ice giants...she saw the spire upon an isle in a frozen lake. It was the winter realm of Gorathgraard!

“Is that...?" Braddok questioned.

Alaria thought upon the Lady Amthyriine.

The image stayed upon the spire in the lake.

Of course, Alaria realized. When they had been there, Amthyriine had been clear that Tresahd’s power could not pierce her tower.

Alaria turned her mind the Lady Evaranthriine and the starry realm of Summer’s Night.

The image within the crystal swirled once again and came to center on the spire in the night realm, edged now on one side in a the pinkish dawn and to the other the orangey glow of a sunset. The garden Fen had brought into being there bloomed and full still beneath the daylight glow he had created. But of the Night Lady or her Swan Knight lover-champion, there was no sign.

“Hey...memory lane is nice and all...but can you see stuff here with that thing?” Duor posed.

“Perhaps this is what the dark one’s servant called the Overseer uses to...ya know...’oversee.’” Fen guessed.

“Just questions, both.” Alaria answered distracted as she turned her mind first to this “Overseer” the image swirled a bit and there was only an image of the castle itself. With more concentration, the image “moved” into the great hall/throne room where they had been so sorely defeated on their last visit. A curious scene appeared as it seemed beings in the tattered finery they recalled form the wights last time, moved and swirled about the hall’s floor in smooth motions of...were they...courtly dances? There were about a dozen of them just...dancing. The dais with the teleportal pulpit, for lack of a better term, and the grandiose carved throne sat vacant. 

What was this? Alaria wondered. They couldn’t _all_ be the Overseer. 

“Well, least we know the wights are still here.” Haelan said with a nervous smile.

“True.” Alaria said and turned her mind to Rach’sha. The image swirled again, the behir seemed to be in its cavern lair, lounging the in the pool of sulfuric waters near where they had escaped. Whether it slept or merely relaxed, she could not tell. But it was there, beneath the mountain in its lair. Past experience, however, told her that wherever the passages were, the creature could be in the castle in only a short time.

“How 'bout those dark elves?” Duor asked. “Be nice to know for sure they aren’t here.”

Alaria gave it a moment’s thought but the sphere revealed nothing, simply continued to swirl its colors.

“So...that’s a no?” Haelan very much hoped.

“I...don’t know.” Alaria admitted. “Either it is a 'no’ or they are impervious to such revelation.”

“Should we see about...ya know...the big one?” Fen posed cautiously.

“Better, I think, we should seek the Ihs Repahl.” Alaria said. “I fear that Tresahd might be made aware if we were to try to scry him directly...and even searching for the orb might tip him off.”

“Then don’t.” Braddok quickly said. “We can go off of Haelan’s magic and not tip off anyone.”

Alaria pulled her hand away from the sphere before she thought too long on the wind-controlling orb. The sphere went dark.

“If we are successful, I definitely wish to retrieve this device.” Alaria noted.

“_When_’, beloved.” Braddok grinned.

“Huh?” Alaria replied.

 “_‘When_ we are successful.’ I shall carry it back to Grinlia for you myself.” the swordsman smiled.

“Oh will you?” Alaria grinned back.

“Honestly! You two pick the absolute _worst_ times to make goo-goo eyes. I'm gonna yack.” Duor blurted and headed for the next set of stairs.

Pyrnion now made himself visible to the party. This caused a second of alarm as most of them had forgotten the zephari was even around. His face was a stoic mask of severity.

“I have taken a look upstairs. It is a laboratory of some kind. There is a hunched figure in black robes working. I did not see the Kalanaptra, but the wizard is there.”

The party stood in a cold silence of tension that could be cut with a butter knife.

Steeling themselves, the group raced up the stairs, Braddok first. Then Fen. Haelan followed then Alaria, hands pulsing with magic, prepared to throw darts at a moment’s notice. Pyrnion flew up into the chamber, short bow at the ready. Duor had drawn his ethereal dagger, but stayed decidedly behind the magess [“Savest place t’be in a wizard duel."] Jovias brought up the rear, also with a shortbow nocked.

Alaria’s energy darts slammed into the back of the black-robed figure and the thing seemed to splay onto the table before it, sending beakers and bottles scattering across the table and to the floor. 

Two arrows whizzed through the chamber and pierced through the back of the robes. 

Braddok’s sword blasted into blue fire as he entered the chamber and the warrior heard Kandu speak into his mind even as he brought the blade down upon the hunched figure.

*_Braddok, this is a creature of undeath._*

Braddok didn’t stop to consider the statement, but swung a second time and removed the head from the shoulders with a single blow. 

The hooded robes caught the mystical blue fire of Kandu and burned away into smoldering tatters, even as the bones revealed beneath it burned for a time before turning to dust.

“What in the...?” Haelan began to voice.

“This is a ruse! We’ve been tricked!” Braddok said in horror, seeing the skeleton’s bones burned away in Kandu’s blue undead-eating flames.  

“Then...he knows!” Fen said in panicked comprehension.

“HA! HAHAHAHAHA!” a horrid pitched cackle came form the side of the chamber where the fake-Tresahd’s head had sailed.

The party came near enough to see a bare skull, sitting upon the floor. Its jaw moving of its own accord.

“Of course ‘he’ knows. Storm-_Jesters!_ You think flitting around my lair cloaked in _faerie_ magic would hide you from_ my _Sight?” the skull said.

The companions stared in silent fear and horror at each other and the speaking skull.

The skull’s wicked cackles echoed through the chamber to a deafening pitch.

“HAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!”


----------



## steeldragons

“So nice to see you again, Magess Alaria. It is nice of you to come all of this way...just to see me. It warms the cockles...and saves me a great deal of time and effort.” the skull continued to speak.

“For what dragon? You already have the orb. What more do you need of us?” Alaria said angrily.

“Whenever you are ready, I await your attendance to the party in the throne room. You recall where that is, I’m sure. You’ve given us cause for much celebration.” the skull replied.

“But...but my spell said...I was so sure...” Haelan practically whimpered in fear as he listened to the magic-mouthed skull.

“It seems your spell was fooled, Haelan. I am sorry. We...I should have anticipated that contingency.”

“Whenever you are ready...I’m waaaaitiiiiiing...” the skull said as Braddok set Kandu’s tip upon the skull and it burned away into dust.

“What do we do now?” Fen said.

“Pyrnion, make yourself invisible and remain so until we have an opportunity to escape.” Braddok said. “The rest of us...sounds like we have an audience to attend.”

“Braddok, how can we...they’re waiting...ready for us. We can not possibly fight our way out of this entire mountain.” Alaria said, defeat dripping from every word.

“We will find a way.” Braddok said, seeking to reassure himself as much as the others.

They descend the long circling staircase that clung to the outer edge of the wide tower.

Braddok thought frantically.

“Haelan, when i give the word, you and I are on the wights. Alaria and Fen do what you can to stop...or at least distract, Tresahd. Duor, you and Jovias are in charge of holding off the hobgoblins that will, no doubt, be there. Anyone who sees the Ihs Repahl, go for it and then we all make for the teleport dais, like last time.” the warrior finally explained in hushed tonesas they came to the base of the tower.

Two smirking hobgoblins bowed and directed them with opened arms to the doorway that led them to a long hall way that wrapped around and brought them to the great main gates, where a dozen more hobgoblin soldiers stood at attention, of the central hall.

“Are you insane?!” Fen blurted. “We don’t stand a chance.”

“We are the Stormriders, my friend. We always stand a chance.” Braddok asserted.

“What if Rach’sha shoes up?” Haelan said nervously, eyes the grimacing hobgoblins as they walked by.

“Then we deal with that.” Braddok said simply, inwardly hoping very much that the behir would not be in attendance.

As they entered the hall, at the far end directly across from the huge swan-carved throne, the ghostly music played an eerie melody and the wights, in their tattered finery, swirled and pranced in organized rows. Inside the chamber, at each of the pillars, stood skeletal warriors in the tattered remains of blue tunics, the dingy remnants of once-white swans seen on a few that were intact.

“Come! Come closer! Enjoy the party. Can I offer refreshment?” Tresahd nearly chuckled from the throne as he ushered them forward.

The wights made one last swirling turn before parting into two even rows to either side of the chamber, bowed low toward each other and remained bowed to form a pathway for the heroes down the middle of the chamber.

“Come closer, Magess Alaria. It is a delight to see you and your companions once more. Here, have some wine.” Tresahd said and with a gesture, a skeleton holding a silver platter filled with goblets came forward from the side of the dais.

“It’s not poisoned, I assure you.” Tresahd grinned.

“You will forgive me, Magus Tresahd, if I do not take your _‘assurances’ _to heart.” Alaria replied. “We are defeated. You have won. The Ihs Repahl is yours. Release us and we will not return.”

“HAHAHA!” Tresahd guffawed. All of the wight “nobles” joined in the laughter, ending abruptly as soon as Tresahd finished.

“_Release_ you? Nononono. I don’t think so.” Tresahd said.

“Well if you are to kill us, get it over with!” Braddok dared.

“So eager to return to the Greylands, are you? *tsk tsk* Desri would not be too pleased, I’d dare say.” Tresahd replied.

Braddok, in fact all of the company, was surprised to hear the wizard-dragon knew about Braddok’s past. 

“Oh yes.” Tresahd said, whether reading their expressions or their minds was uncertain. ”You don‘t think these passed months_ you_ have the ones doing all of the research and attempted spying, do you?”

“What do you want, Tresahd...or should I call you Desaarthal?” Alaria said, stepping forward and mustering all she could not to quake in her boots before the palpably powerful creature. 

“Oh? You want to play it like that do you...Would you like to see that one? The form I used to seduce my_ dearest_ lord and husband, Gorathial?” Tresahd’s shape was momentarily shrouded in shadows and when they cleared, a woman of otherworldly beauty and baring sat in the throne. Her skin as alabaster as the Lady Amthyriine, her hair the raven tresses (though missing the starlight sparkles) of Lady Evaranthriine, eyes of glinting silver and black lashes twice the length of Rhea’s that seemed to all but flutter off her very eyelids. Her gown, a sleek midnight of velvet with a high collar and trimmed sleeves of soft black feathers <_DM’s note: think black ostrich feathers, not ravens or other tightly closed feathers>._

“This form you mean?” a melodic feminine voice that was pulsing with power asked.

“Where _are _our manners?!” she said in mock distress. “My dearest, you’ve not welcomed our guests.” Desaarthal spoke into the shadowed arched recesses of the ceiling. She reached up an elegant arm and seemed to “pull” at the air.

The companions eyes followed the dragon-woman’s gaze and from out of the shadows above them came a grotesque, stony form. Tendrils of flowering vines carved of stone lowered and twined within them, a giant human-looking face of white marble lined in silver. The skin paler than death, drawn tight, wisps of silvery threads struck from its chin forming a thin beard, and looking, for all intents and purposes, a corpse of stone. 

As it lowered into the light of the court the wights all again bowed low.

“What is that?” Haelan said in mild disgust.

The marble eyelids then opened t reveal eyes of silver that glowed with a white light.

“This, my dear Hilltender, is the Lord of Gorathgraard. May I present, my love, our guests the Stormriders. Stormriders, the Lord Gorathiel...or what remains. My minions prefer the honorarium of “Overseer” these days. But we’re all friends here, are we not?” Desaarthal sneered at the company.

“My dearest, these are the lovely heroes who slew your beloved daughter Madagbueil.” She spoke to the giant stone face as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

The stone face twisted and contorted in what appeared a painful and horrifying visage before a burst of silver light shone from the opened mouth, encompassing all of the companions. A wailing moan of pain and sadness rose until it shook the whole of the throne room.

The companions had to cover their ears to avoid the audio onslaught. Braddok, Jovias and Alaria fell to the their knees beneath the physical force of the sound raining down on them. All felt like their souls would be ripped through their ears. In a final moment of hope, Haelan threw up his arms and in a pleading cry to Faerantha, called up a protection circle that would thwart magical assault...for a time. The silver ring of the sanctuary spell appeared on the floor and immediately became a visible sparkling dome of silver light as the light from the Overseer rained down upon it. The companions relaxed and recovered from the wracking pain left in their heads and hearts.

”Clever quick fix, Hilltender.” Desaarthal said, sincerely impressed. She waved her hand again and the mouth and eyes of the stone face closed and the whole thing receded back into the shadows, pulled up by the stone vines.

“They were very close, you see.” Desaarthal said in mock sadness when the moan subsided. “She was his favorite. Made it all the more important to turn her to me. The others...proved very stubborn wenches. They are free to rot in their demi-planes...cowering in their spires. I care not.” 
“So if you do not want to release us and don’t want to kill us...what do you need us for?” alaria posed again.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Desaarthal said, as if reminded of something important.

“You see, as you’ve no doubt surmised...I need more than just this to see my plans to fruition.” She reached into some unseen pouch or fold of her garments and held out her hand with the Ihs Repahl.

Braddok looked to Alaria. All of the party exchanged glances.

Desaarthal pointed at Haelan. “Bring it to me.” she commanded.

A wight moved closer and was halted by the momentary silvery sparks of the sanctuary spell. 

“Ah. _Arcana rebismio theran._” Desaarthal spoke th spell of Unmaking with a wave of her arm.

Immediately the sanctuary spell dispersed in a twinkle.

The wight neared Haelan and the daelvar, frozen in panic pulled out his pinecone embossed medallion.* “BACK foul creature of undeath! Back away from the glory that is Faerantha!” *

The little cleric shone in his honey-colored sun and the scent of evergreen trees filled the hall. 

The wight nearest Haelan burst into dust while all the other wailed and shrieked their displeasure and receded into the shadowy forest of pillars to either side. While four of the skeletal guards similarly fell to dust and bone shards.

“That was hardly necessary.” Desaarthal said with some annoyance. She stood and shouted in a voice that must have been heard in every corner and crevice of the fortress.

“BRING ME THE DAELVAR’S PACK!”

“Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose. Stormriders, GO! Get the orb!” Braddok called.

Alaria stood in momentary shock. The daelvar’s pack?! What on earth could Haelan possibly have to do with Desaarthal’s plans? No time to figure it out now. Alaria raised the Staff of Azanna and sent forth a lightning bolt at the woman in the throne.

Pyrnion dove down, still invisible to normal sight, to grab the Ihs Repahl. 

Fen invoked his most potent protective incantation. All of the companions, including an unseen Pyrnion, felt a tingling sensation some over them and say a momentary flicker of green light dance across their skin. Then, taking up his green-flaring sacred leaftip spear, raced for the dais.

Braddok took a defensive stance at the rear with Duor and Jovias as hobgoblins came racing into the chamber. Kandu’s blue flames burned fiercely. The sword was beside itself to bite into some wights and shouted into Braddok’s head to do the same. 

Buttercream Shadowfeet first took up a defensive stance around the daelvar, but noting the approaching hobgoblins, bounded off to pounce on the first one she could.

Desaarthal held up her left hand and the lightning bolt seemed to...just flow into it. She was completely unharmed!” 

The zephari turned visible as he punched at the dragon-in-woman-form with one hand and scooped up the crystal orb with his other.

“AGH!” Desaarthal cried out at the surprise attack. “You. Will. DIE!” she shouted after the winged man. Punching her left hand into the air after him and firing a lightning bolt from it. 

Pyrnion saw, with utter amazement that the lightning sparked and danced all across and around him but he felt little more than a static tingle. If not for Fen’s Elemental Immunity, his wounds would have been much worse.

Desaarthal seemed as surprised as the feather winged man as he swooped down and passed the orb to Alaria.

The women’s eyes met and Alaria now smirked a wicked grin. With a thought, Alaria buffetted the dragon-lady back into the massive throne.

Buttercream had taken a wound and decided these ”big goblins were too hard” [their heavy armor] and curved herself around Haelan, stuck in pace maintaining his Turning.

Braddok had slain one hobgoblin and was engaging another, but there were three upon him.

Duor and Jovias were back to back, swiping with daggers. The hobgoblins, however, were using their spears and polearms and both adventurers had taken multiple jabs while the hobgoblins remained out of reach.

“Fen!” shouted the dwarf. “A lil’ green crowd control would be appreciated ‘bout now!”

The half-elf turned and glowered down the hall, taking into account the positioning of his allies. He slammed the butt of his spear into the floor, green lightning struck across the floor of the chamber and vines and roots burst through the cobbled stones of the ancient floor. Nearly all of the hobgoblins assaulting the three companions at the rear were picked up off the ground and held, helpless in the vegetative constraints. Others of them attempted to slice up the vines holding their companions.

Duor and Jovias took the opportunity to switch to their crossbow and short bow respectively and fire into the still entering soldiers as they backed up toward Haelan and Alaria.

Braddok sliced an arm off of one of his foes, ending it, avoided a blow with his shield, but took a nasty slice into his side with a bladed halberd.

_*“RACH’SHAAAAAA!”*_ Desaarthal shrieked out from the throne.

_“RACH’SHAAAA!” “Rach’Shaaa!” “rach’shaaa!”_ echoed throughout the mountain.

Alaria’s concentration was momentarily broken and the winds died down enough for Desaarthal to remove herself form the throne.

Haelan concentration was similarly interrupted by the shuddering noise and his honey glowing light faltered and dimmed.

The wights immediately pounced at any adventurer they could. Six, in total, headed straight for Haelan to carry out their master/mistress’ wish to bring her the daelvar’s pack.

“Run Buttercream! Stay with Alaria!” Haelan commanded as he flung his shield at one approaching wight while slamming a second with his pinecone-headed mace even as the shield returned to his waiting hand. The ferret followed its orders.

The mace, not itself magical, did little to deter the wight, the one slammed with his shield was momentarily dazed.

Haelan cried out as another of the monster‘s claws bit into his arm. The preternatural cold of undeath coursed through the Hilltender. Still another pulled at Haelan’s back, trying to remove the pack still strapped over his shoulders.

“Abomination! Fall before the Green!” Fen shouted through the hall as he twirled his spear, like a propeller above his head. A ball of green fire flew out from the spear tip, striking a wight nearing Haelan. the green burst into green flames and hooped and shrieked about for a few moments before racing off into the shadows.

Pyrnion swooped down and took down a wight with two strokes of his enchanted hand axe.
_
“Arakness Aknis Arankinae!"_ Alaria called out and fired her ball of milky white light at the dark gowned woman on the dais.

The spell struck and iridescent webbing of light was seen for a moment before the spell simply... vanished. 

“Nice try, Magess. But do really think your puny mortal magic can compete with real power?” 

“We shall see wyrm!” Alaria replied before again commanding the Ihs Repahl to raise her into the air to avoid the encroaching wights.

Safely out of reach, she rained down fans of violet-blue flames upon the wights coming up behind Haelan, being sure to catch one that was lunging for Buttercream. 

There was a thundering crash as Rach’sha, the black behir, came through the front gates, trampling over those unfortunate hobgoblins that didn’t know he was coming or unable to get out of the way in time.

Braddok backed away from the great serpentine draconic form that coiled its way into the hall.

“Yes Mother?! What’s all the commoo-hoohoo-tion?...OOOOHOOHOOHOO! Pink Flesh! You’ve returned.” Rach’sha clapped its front four limbs together as it reared back up to look down over the chaotic melee acting out throughout the hall. “I owe you an acid bath.”

“_Mother_?!' Eeshblek.” Duor said with a shudder.

“Leave the daelvar, Rach‘sha. Kill the rest!” Desaarthal commanded.

“Stormriders, to me!” Alaria called out.

Fen released another ball of green fire into another of the attacking wights. The ‘natural’ magic flame seemed to cause the undead creatures great pain. Before looking up to see the behir at the entrance. A blinding fury filled the half-elf and he bolted for the creature.

Duor and Jovias were scrambling, between and amongst hobgoblins, writhing vines and wights, dodging and tumbling their way back toward the magess who now hovered roughly in the center of the hall.

“HELP!” called out Haelan, who was being physically dragged by two wights toward the dais, limbs flailing but unable to reach his assailants.

“Haelan!” Braddok answered and raced through the hall toward the wights.

*Now we’re talking!* Kandu’s voice sounded in his head. *Finally.*

“Will you shut up and just kill stuff!” Braddok said aloud in annoyance.

Rach’sha took in a great gulp of air, the folds of scaley flesh beneath his snout, where the head met the neck, inflated like a great draconic pelican. Then the behir breathed.

Alaria used the Ihs Repahl to summon up a wall of air and green glowing acid sprayed and rained down all across the enemy forces. Wights, hobgoblins, and more than a little of Fen’s Entanglement vegetation sizzled and hissed as cries of pain went up everywhere.

A bit even sprayed back onto Rach’sha. The behir simply ignored the fluid and shook its head like wet dog to remove the acid that easily slipped off its glossy scaled hide.

Thankfully, Fen had been on the “good” side of the wind wall and the splattering of acid across their enemies seemed to bring him back to his senses. 

“Take cover!” the druid commanded in a tone darker than any of the companions had heard before, save Haelan when the druid assaulted Duor in his grief-madness...but the Hilltender had bigger problems.

Braddok sliced one of the wights attempting to block him in two and continued on for the wights dragging.

They were nearing the dais and literally threw the daelvar up onto it. He rolled twice and came to a halt at the feet of Desaarthal. 

Haelan looked up at the woman who glared down at him...cold inhuman eyes in a beautiful human face.

“_Beliviara contro damini_" she said. The words dripped from her lovely lips like honey.

Haelan felt a strange sensation...she wasn’t so bad. She was beautiful...and apparently powerful. She had this fortress full of minions that loved her...she couldn’t be so terrible...she might be a good friend to have.

“Give me...your pack...my dear.” Desaarthal said with a gentle loving smile.

“Of course, Dessie. Can I call you Dessie? I won’t if you don’t want me too...but I think it’s a fine name and rolls off the tongue easier than...”

“GIVE ME YOUR PACK!....Please, honey.” Desaarthal interjected with more than a slight loss of temper.

“Haelan, no!” Braddok shouted as he was cutting his way through the two wights blocking him from the dais.

“Well fine. Pff.” Haelan handed over the holding pack. “No need to yell about it. I mean we’re friends after all.”

“Yes, dear. Yes we are. Now be a love and throw up that little protection incantation you use. It’s getting very dangerous around here and I am afraid I might get hurt.” 

“Of course! If it’s one thing I can do its protect my friends...I’m all about it...” Haelan began again to ramble, starry-eyed at the dragon-woman.

Haelan invoked sanctuary even as Braddok climbed the steps and made a great arching strike toward Desaarthal.

Kandu’s blue fire burst against the field of silver sparks.

A roaring rose up, echoing through the hall as green swirling light began to take shape into a vortex emanating from the twirling leaf-tip spear at the opposite side of the hall. Fen had summoned up a storm of hail, ice and frozen winds even as Alaria assaulted Rach’sha with a blast of lightning. 

Pyrnion was busy swooping in the slice up wights and what few hobgoblins survived and were trying to work their way around their flanks, while simultaneously assisting Duor and Jovias, who seemed the worse for wear.

“Haelan, take down the spell!” Braddok shouted. “She’s charmed you! She’s the dragon! We have to stop her!” He made another swipe at the mystic barrier but knew it was pointless.

“Pff. I _knoooow_ she’s the dragon, Braddok. But she’s so nice. You’ve got her all wrong..and you were just going to hurt her. I can’t have my friends attacking each other...I mean, what is this world coming to when a human and daelvar and dragon-turned-lady-wizard can’t just get along?”

“Indeed. Well said my champion.” Desaarthal said with a sly grin at Braddok. She opened the pack and removed a few simple items, tossing them to the floor, before pulling out the grey and red-flecked stone food-producing bowl. “Ah, here it is.”

“Oh that’s what you wanted? It does make the most delightful mutton pasties. Have you ever been to the Wyvern’s Wing Inn in Daenfrii?” Haelan said without a care.

“No my dear. But I think I may soon visit.” Desaarthal said with a smile. “Thank you, Hilltender, you’ve been a wonderful help.”

“Well of course, you’re wellllcommOH?” Haelan began to say as the dragon-lady picked the daelvar up by the scruff of the neck, with one hand, and flung him through the air at Braddok.

The Hilltender’s crossing the perimeter of the Sanctuary dismissed the spell, but the swordsman had no choice but to catch the flying hairfoot, as the two fell backwards off the three shallow steps of the dais.

Desaarthal’s cackle again filled the chamber as she said “Kill them ALL!” and disappeared, surrounded in a globe of darkness that dissipated as Alaria’s energy darts flew through them to flash, harmlessly into the stone wall behind.
The dragon was gone. Or, at least no longer in the chamber.

There were no more wights to worry about. The hobgoblins, after heavy casualties, were regrouping behind the behir who was, actually, taking significant damage from the magical assaults from Alaria and Fen.

Pyrnion, Jovias and Duor were picking off what hobgoblins they could with bows and sneak attacks from their flanks.

Once Braddok was sure that Haelan sustained no permanent damage, the two raced back for the battle at the main gates.

“Can you get it outside?!” Braddok shouted over the roaring winds being poured out by the magess and druid.

Alaria nodded. Not a bad idea. Something else she hadn’t thought of. Alaria put that bit of chastisement away for the time being. Gods willing she will have plenty of time for self-recrimination later. With a significant effort, she generated a whirlwind beneath the front half of the behir. 

“Oohoohoohoo! Pink flesh, that tickles! HooohoohooOOhoo!” Rach’sha tittered.

Between the two casters, the behir was forced out the gates and swept many of the assembling hobgoblins behind it.

Pyrnion and Braddok grabbed the massive multi-storied stone doors and began straining to move them. 

“Get...these...closed...” the swordsman strained with effort.

Both the zephari and Grinlian were sent reeling when a great wind whipped up and slammed the gates shut with a massive crash.

_“Kantel Arkanum!” <mage spell: wizard lock_> Alaria shouted as she floated over to the doors and pressed her open palm upon it. She then lowered herself to the ground.

Suddenly, the great echoing hall was silent. Corpses and pieces of corpses were scattered around the room.

“Now _that_...will make a song.” Jovias said as he slumped down to the floor, back against a pillar, blood streaming from multiple wounds.

The companions just looked at the near death satyr.

“I mean, ya know...if we live long enough to get out of here.” Jovias admitted before slipping into unconsciousness.


----------



## SolitonMan

Great updates!!    Thanks SD, can't wait for the next one!


----------



## steeldragons

Fen slammed his fists against the gates and let out a pained roar that turned into a sob as he slumped to his knees.

“Why did we do that?! I had him! I want the behir dead!” Fen said in pained frustration.

“We all do, my friend.” Braddok said putting a soft gloved hand on the druid’s shoulder. “But we need to regroup.”

Alaria leaned against the great stone gates as well. She was tired, obviously so.

“We all want revenge, Fen. But the battle could not be sustained. I fear now, we are trapped here. My spell will hold the gates for the night...unless, perhaps Desaarthal herself tries to break them. But, for now, we can rest. We must check the chamber for other portals and seal them.

“Braddok, assist me...please” Alaria held out her arm for the warrior’s strong support and moved to the other side of the chamber where they presumed at least one other entrance to the hall was near the dais.

Haelan finished administering healing to the satyr minstrel who snapped back to consciousness, weak but alive. He moved to attend Duor and saw that Braddok, too, needed his care as the warrior helped Alaria move back into the hall.

“We have the Ihs Repahl..." Braddok said with a weak smile as he helped Alaria through the hall. “But Desaarthal took Haelan’s food bowl. Why on earth would that be of any use to her?" the warrior asked as he pondered. He knew he could not hope to parse out the ways of sorcery on his own.

“Why, indeed?" Alaria said before stopping dead in her tracks. Braddok looked at her in concern as if she might have sustained some damage that was not apparent.

“Why...on..._Earth_!" Alaria said as if that meant something.

Braddok didn’t get it.

The magess fumbled into one of her pouches and withdrew the emerald teardrop that allowed telepathic communication with Rhea...or so she hoped from so deep within the dragon’s lair.

*_Rhea...Rhea! Are you there?....Can you hear me?..._* Alaria focused all of her mental energies, which at the time was not much, to try to reach the seeress.

*_I hear you._* came a low rumbling echo of a voice. It was definitely not Rhea.

Alaria’s mind backed away for a moment but then, seeking knowledge was never always easy or safe. *_Who are you?_*

*_I am Gorathhhhhhriallllll_* the low soft voice echoed again, its last word trailing off into untold planes of mental awareness. With it came an near overwhelming tide of telepathic impressions.
*
Defeat. Despair. Sadness. Melancholy. Pain! Hopelessness. Remorse.* So much remorse it threatened to drown her mind.

Alaria looked in shock up into the recesses of the arched hall lost in shadow.

*_Will you harm us?_* Alaria thought.

*_Thhhh....rooooooone._*

*_Lord Gorathriel, we are sorry about your losses, but we are striving to aid your remaining daughters and save them and our own world._*

*_Thrrrrrrooooooonnnnnne._*

Alaria shook off Braddok’s concerned grasp and made her way to the dais. The great crystal throne sat there. Beautiful. Elegant. Powerful. Even without her arcane sight, Alaria could feel the waves of arcane energies waving off of it. In her weakened state she had no faculties to ward them off.

“Alaria what are you doing?" Braddok asked, unaware of the mental exchange and full of concern for the magess.

She walked up the steps...turned...and stood for a moment staring out over the great hall. Her eyes went to the shadows above. Then...she sat.

The crystalline head of the swan moved of its own accord, bending down until the tip of the beak of the swan's head almost touched the wizardess' forehead.

*_This is best. Easiest.<Remorse.>_* the low bass voice rang clearly in her mind.

*_Will you share your knowledge with me? We want to help! We want to restore hope. What other ways are there into this hall?_*

*_I will try. <Sadness>With her gone, I have not more than a few moments. Her power is almost absolute when she is present.

*There is a hole in the roof. *<Anger>* It is large enough for Rach’sha to get through._*

“FEN!” Alaria shouted down the hall to the druid. “There’s a hole in the ceiling. Seal it!” Almost unbidden, the thought of the opening’s location entered Alaria’s mind and near-instantaneously transmitted to Fen’s. 

The druid began to move immediately.

*_Do you know why Desaarthal wants Haelan’s food-making bowl?_* Alaria posed. 

*_It is the last known...remaining...piece of the Iht Repahl...*<Sadness>**
_
“Oh no!” Alaria cried. The companions all turned in the alarm.

“What is it?” Pyrnion called to the two adventurers hidden somewhere among the many columns.

“Not sure yet.” Braddok called in response.

*_Does she have the others?_*

*_There is only one she needs. <Remorse> The Ihs is present. The Voht is captured. *<PAAAAAINNNN!!!>*. She now has the Ihnt. The Fehs is guarded by a power to match her own. *<PAAAAINNNN *followed by *Satisfaction*>It will be difficult unless she can claim the Kahl._*

*_So, she has the Water Repahl already?_* Alaria felt panic building up within her. Tidemaster Kama’s pearl? The village of Shoal? Had they already fallen to her? *_What is the Kahl?_*

*_I see the information in your mind...you call it the Eye of Arinane? What a curious name.<Curiosity>_* said the low deep voice of Gorathgraard’s original lord.

*_How do I know this is not a trick?_* Alaria thought, suddenly filled with doubts.

*_You do...not, I suppose. <Sadness> While the Dark One is within the tower, there is little I am capable of of mine own will. I take, of course, great pleasure in disciplining <ANGERRRR!!!!>...harshly...her minions. But I am unable to break from her yoke.<Weakness. Remorse>_*

*_So, she is no longer in the mountain?_* Alaria questioned immediately, full of hope.

*_She has gone. <Satisfaction> To the isle, no doubt...to place her newest treasure. Gods forgive me my hubris. *<REMORSSSSSE!!!!!>*_* the voice said to Alaria’s mind.

*_She has what she needs. She needs the when. <hope>_* the low voice faded.

*_WHEN?! When can she conduct the ritual?!_* Alaria mentally implored.

*_Whenever she has the necessary ingredients...the best time for the ritual is at the Dawning of the Spring._* Gorathial stated plainly...without the overwhelming emotional overtones.

*_Do you mean at the Spring’s Equinox?_” Alaria said frantically. She knew the date was barely more than a month away.

*_The...Vernal...yes. yes, to your understanding...that is true. <Sadness>_* the voice replied, sounding defeated.

*_She can not be stopped. I have cursed my land *<Remorse> *and my children *<REMORSE!!!!>*...I have sealed the fate of the world, all of these ages later...I am the TRUE Dark One. <overwhelming *Sadness/Anger/Self-pity*>_*

*_My lord...ENOUGH! PLEASE [?]....I can...not deal with these feelings!_* Alaria cried out in anguish at the waves of emotions flooding her psyche.

*_How do we defeat Desaarthal?!*_ Alaria’s concentrated thoughts became concrete with this singular purpose.

*_Rach’sha is here..._* Gorathial’s thoughts replied without a hint of emotion.

“OoooooHOOHOO! Piiiiiink Fleshhhhh. Nice trick on the doo-hoo-hoor! Oo! What’s this?!” the behir’s lilting tones came down from the ceiling.

Fen had, immediately following Alaria’s warning had invoked his power to SpiderClimb and risen up the steep walls of the chamber, found the large opening in the ceiling, and sat there, waiting, wrapped in the blending enchantments of his sacred cloak.

Upon seeing the behir stick its head and first ten feet through, in an instant, the druid smacked his bare hand against the arched roof and shouted his incantation of shaping stone.

Fen sealed the opening around the behir.

“NoooHOOHOO fair! Get this...OOHOOHOO...That’s tiiiHIIIHIIIGHT!” Rach’sha objected.

Fen, braced against the wall by this spider-sticking feet, thrust his green-glowing sacred leaftip spear, with all of his might, into the side of the dragon-snake.

Rach’sha roared out in an attempted retort. He ungulated to the side, pulling the druid’s spear from his grasp, and clawed at the presumptuous half-elf.

Fen took two strides up and above the behir trapped in the stone ceiling, withdrew his cudgel with the head shaped like a butting ram’s and struck.

Thunder filled the great hall. Before the rumble had subsided, a second duller “boom” filled the room. 

Pyrnion and Duor raced over to the side where the altercation far above them, though visible to their enhanced vision, occurred.

Duor stopped and Pyrnion alit beside him, both with wide opened mouths.

The head and ten feet of the black behir Rach’sha, with only 4 of its limbs, lay upon the floor of the hall. Black and purple ichor streamed from the severed end. A look of utter surprise and whimsy upon its draconic face.

*_Rach’sha is dead. *<Satisfaction! Hope!>*_* the voice of Gorathiel informed Alaria. An image of the front portion of the beast, with Pyrnion and Duor staring at it filled her head. Then an image of Fen, impossibly “standing” upon the wall with a club in his hand, breathing heavily.

**Good.** Alaria and Gorathiel’s mind said at the same time.


----------



## steeldragons

“Where’s the treasure? Ask him where the vault is!” Duor insisted, as all of the companions were now crowding around Alaria seated in the throne in telepathic conference with Gorathgraard’s long lost and cursed lord.

_*My lord, we must defeat Desaarthal. How is that possible? What other powers does she possess within this fortress?_* Alaria asked, ignoring the dwarf’s crass short-sighted cares.

*_She is a Child of Zho...born when the world, as you know it, was young. Her might is great. Her magics all but lost to those not of her kind. Still, she can be defeated by force of might and magic...as any of them can be. It is simply a matter of if you have enough. I certainly could not say if you do.*_ the low voice of Gorathiel echoed through Alaria’s mind.

*_You said the Fehs Repahl is held by a power equal to her own? Where is it, exactly? Does another dragon hold it?_* Alaria said with concern. She had an inkling, from Stenthil’s research, that the Fire Staff of Nator held the Fire Repahlentim. But where, exactly, that was...the Fire Staff had been lost from R’Hath’s record for centuries.

*_Indeed._* Gorathiel replied, apparently reading Alaria’s musings as easily as her directed surface thoughts. *_The Witch-Queen of Dunsmoor holds the staff which holds the Fehs. She is no Child of Zho...nor any descendant thereof..._*

Alaria rose an eyebrow at the fact that these two things were worthy of differentiation. A dragon was a dragon, as far as she had ever known.

*_She is of your own kind. But her sorcery is potent, even without the staff...and she holds many more powers, whether of material items, spells, innate ability...as well as legions of minions who worship her as a goddess...She is much akin to how we once were...which makes her as capable and formidable an opponent as the Dark One._*

Note to self, Alaria thought. Don’t go messing with the Witch-Queen of Dunsmoor...or?... Maybe...?

_*She will not be pleased that Rach’sha is dead. He is one of her last progeny to remain here. It would be best for you to leave before her return. Take the Ihs out of her reach, lest she reclaim it in a single day._*

*_Our thanks, Lord Gorthiel. I know your daughters remember you fondly and if there were some way for us to undo the curse that keeps you in such a state, I would surely know it and do what we could to end your suffering and servitude._*

*_I see in your heart, you speak the truth...and I thank you. Alas, this weave is far beyond your capacity to untangle. Dragon magic of the Dawning Age. All I can hope for is the Dark One’s defeat and the final fall of my house. Only then shall I be freed of my suffering._*

“What’d he say!?” Duor was growing increasingly impatient...and annoying.

*_My lord, if I may...impose one more question...Where might..._*Alaria began to ask.

*_As a boon...and hurtful insult to her...you will find what you seek two floors below...behind the old casks of wine is a gate hidden in the wall. There will be magical and mundane traps to bypass upon the portal. There are also summoned guardians, unhappily bound to its protection. But you will find the she-devil’s riches there. Take what you will. They are of no further use or value to me and mine._*

*_Our most humble thanks, my lord. We will bring your suffering...and the Dark One to an end.*_ Alaria thought and, as gently as she could, severred the telepathic exchange and stood up from the throne.

“Well?!” Duor said. His eyes were nearly mad with anticipation. He wrung his hands together and practically hopped up and down.

“Two levels down. There will be a wine cellar and a hidden gate.” Alaria replied calmly.

“LET’S GO!” Duor roared and began to take off before stopping three strides later, realizing he had no idea which direction to go.

“There will be traps and guardians...and magic to be overcome. Plus, it is likely Desaaarthal will be returning shortly. I am not certain, Duor, if we possess the needed strength to undertake the descent.” Alaria admitted, unhappy in the public admission of her own limited power.

“Well, yeh’ve got yer 'Unmakin’ whozzits, right? N’ Fen’s got his! Plus the orb? We’ll be fine!” Duor said dismissively. 

“Do you think you can, Alaria?” Braddok said in full concern. “We can gather what we can and return here or use the orb to escape?”

Alaria nodded. She cared not a white for the dwarf’s desires, but she knew how much this meant to the warrior.

“Fen? Haelan?” Alaria looked to the other casters.

The half-elf and daelvar nodded, their faces grim with determination.

“Let’s get to it then.” Alaria said. She moved to the doorway to the side of the throne dais. Another small antechamber housed some tables with platters and other serving ware. Duor and Jovias grabbed a few of the ancient silver wares and stuffed them into Haelan’s holding pack (which, thankfully, the disinterested dragon had left) and their own  pouches and packs. 

“Are we going for the vault or do you two want to raid the crockery as well?” Haelan said in some annoyance. He was overjoyed at their apparent success against the behir and prayed silently to Faerantha to tell Erevan and Festus’ spirits that they’d been avenged.

But the young Hilltender understood, all too clearly, that they were far from out of danger...and that by his own weakness of spirit had fallen to the dragon’s charms and gotten her one trophy even as they’d stolen another away from her. The daelvar’s face held a stern scowl that the other companions had not before seen.


----------



## Lwaxy

I always had a feeling that food bowl could turn out to be more than it appeared to be


----------



## steeldragons

The companions descended a narrow twisting staircase to come to an open archway that opened into a very long room. From the series of three huge fireplaces, two with massive spits, long tables piles up with bowls and pots and pans hanging from hooks and beams in the ceiling, it was obviously a kitchen once fit for a king. The whole of the place was dusty. Cobwebs clung to just about every corner or anything that had not been moved in gods knew how many years.

Around the stonework of the fireplaces, patterns of various animals were carved. One entirely bulls. The next sheep and goats. The third seemed to be all manner of fowl: chickens, geese, pheasants and other birds that were not immediately recognizable. Another wall contained what appeared a massive oven. The trim here was lined with sheaves of wheat and other grains, long loaves of bread, cakes, pies, and what they guessed to be smaller squared rolls or buns

The party passed through with some trepidation, expecting attack from every webbed or shadowy corner, which were many as the only light sources came from the party’s weapons or the ball of light at the end of Alaria’s staff. 

“This is the epitomy of a shame.” Haelan said sadly.

“How do you mean, Hilltender?” Pyrnion said, more to distract himself from the dark closed space than any interest in the daelvar’s musings.

“To have a kitchen like this just sitting...unused. The amazing feasts that must have been made here once upon a time.” Haelan tone was filled with obvious sorrow.

Duor and Jovias poked around the carvings and looked up into the completely black and soot stained chimneys. The crockery was ancient. The multitude of various sized pots, pans and assorted utensils of iron and copper and ancient cracked wood.  Nothing of note or value to the dwarf or satyr’s eyes.

Buttercream nosed around, as ferrets were want to do, investigating on, under and around the kitchen. She mentally pointed out a small archway that led to an small side chamber. 

_*I’m not goin’ in there.*_ she said with a small sneeze. _*Stinks bad. Worse than goblins.*_

They examined the pantry that was apparently for perishables. The whole place stank of musty dead vegetation and dried husks of vegetables and fruits that were ages beyond identification. A noticeable chill filled the room.  Molds covered and filled most of the ancient wooden boxes and reed baskets that would have housed the castle’s foodstores.

Fen noted the distinct lack of dampness for something laying beneath a swamp.

“Woof. Let’s get out of here.” Alaria said with a shiver. Whether from apprehension or insulation, the chill of the room seemed to be increasing to a bone-biting cold.

“Agreed.” Braddok said, his nose scrunched up at the unpleasant rotting odor.

“LOOK OUT!” Jovias cried and swung his pinecone headed mace very near Alaria’s arm.

The magess, instinctively, shirked away from the halfling’s blow and whirled about to see the mace pass through a...tendril, of sorts, a bulbous nodule of...something...reaching toward to her arm from one of the baskets.The mace passed through it, merely scattering clumps of the stuff to the floor before a second, then third and more reaching shapes began to lift from the boxes and baskets.

It seemed to be the mold, itself! Moving of its own accord toward any of the companions close to it.

“EW! It’s...the mold?” Haelan said in surprise. the breath of his exclamation a visible puff escaping his mouth as the room now felt like the winter air.

“Get out of here!” Braddok commanded, swiping Kandu through two of the reaching, rapidly increasing growths.

“Cover your mouths and noses! Don't breathe it in!" Duor shouted out as he quickly wrapped his own cape around his face.
_
*Hilltender! The door! The door!*_ Buttercream's voice came to Haelan's ears. The daelvar turned to see the ferret, moving back and forth before the doorway, slowly being sealed by expanding mold.

The party turned to see, with a good deal of alarm, that the mold also coated the walls and was quickly building up around the doorway, closing it off.

 Fen’s leaftip spear head blazed with green fire and swiped at the opening. This, apparently, was the wrong thing to do as the mold growth doubled in size in an instant. The cold became more intense and the doorway was nearly entirely closed by the mold, expanding in a visible burst nodules.

“Behind you!” Jovias shouted in alarm, pointing behind Duor with his short sword but completely at a loss as to what to do with it. Weapons, it seemed, did nothing against this stuff!

The dwarf rogue swung around with his green etheral energy to strike into a very solid, very hard, lumbering form. The size and shape was vaguely hobgoblinish, though what few bits of the desiccated skin could be seen were nearly blue. The bulk of the form, however, was covered in the brownish mold.

“Hobzombie!” Duor shouted.

The creature swung, clumsily, at Duor and missed completely. Another strike from Duor and additional swipe from Pyrnion’s magical axe laid the creature low, though the mold still undulated around it on the floor, reaching for the feet and legs of the dwarf and zephari.

Mold was growing before their eyes. Pressing in from the walls, spreading out from the baskets, lowering from the ceiling.

“I must...We can’t...I have to get out...out of here...LET ME OUT!” Pyrnion said in obvious panic and dove through the doorway back out to the kitchen. His great muscled form and golden feathered wings brushed through the closing mold and clung to him. He disappeared from the others’ view behind the curtain of brown mold with a cry, whether pain or panic, none could tell.

“Th-th-that d-d-didn’t s-s-s-sound goo-ood." Jovias shivered through chattering teeth. “B’may b-b-be the right-t-t idea."

Haelan invoked a prayer of his goddess and the cold which was now severely inhibiting the party’s movement and actions was alleviated...still noticable, but no longer freezing.

“Fen, can’t you control it!” Haelan suggested.

“Do what now?!” the half-elf replied, incredulous, as he backed away, pressing now, back to back with the rest of the companions.  

“It’s mold! It’s a plant, isn’t it?” Haelan explained.

“I’m not sure. But whether it is or no, I can not today.” Fen said.

“I say we dive.” Braddok said. The cold blue flames of Kandu seemed to be their best defense against the stuff. The reaching clumps of mold were the least interested in the swordsman and noticeably backed away from his sword swipes.

The hobgoblin corpse seemed to be reanimating. Braddok, again, cut it into multiple pieces. The mold set to bringing the parts back together.

“Alaria can you get us out of here?” Braddok asked.

”Fire would seem to be ineffective. I have no ice or cold incantations.” she replied, swiping at a clump of mold with her staff. The sparking electricity at the end of the staff did burn away a bit, and it did not grow after. “Lightning seems effective, but I dare not risk electrifying all of us in so small a space.”

“Fried or frozen seem to be our options.” Fen said in dry seriousness.

“Use the damnable orb! We have it and nearly die. We don’t have it and nearly die. We have it again. Bloody thing’s a curse and a half. Blow this stuff...somewhere!” Duor shouted in frustration as he burned away bits of mold that had begun wrapping themselves around his forearm.

Alaria knew the dwarf was right, but she’d expended so much energy in the battle with Rach’sha. Manifesting the orb’s powers again might be more than she could handle. They needed a rest...yet, again, the dwarf’s need for greed seemed to have landed them at the doorstep of the Grey Lands. What choice did she really have?

“Make ready to race for the door.” Alaria said calmly as she withdrew the mystic orb from her pouch. A moment of concentration and, thankfully, very little effort later, the orb’s blue and white light swirled within the crystal. She let loose a single short burst of wind, directly at the doorway. It was strong enough ( or perhaps cool enough?) to brush aside a small opening.

All of the party made a made dash for the kitchen.

Some minor swipes and scrapes to remove the few bits of  mold that had struck and clung to a few of them was all that was required. The concern immediately became Pyrnion, on his hands and knees, nearly in the middle of the huge kitchen. His axe lay on the ground just beside his hand, yet he had not the strength to grasp it. His bronzed tan skin was nearly grey and he shook visibly. Frost seemed to be forming along the tips of his wings and the feathers that mixed with the hair on his head.

Buttercream circled, hair bristled, around the zephari but did not dare or know how, for that matter, to remove it without touching it. _*The bird-man does not look good.*_ she chitted to Haelan when the Hilltender appeared.

Haelan rushed for the bird man and again invoked the prayer of resistance from cold. 

“G-g-get-t-it-t-t-t off...” Pyrnion said weakly.

The Braddok and Duor careful began clearing the zephari of the clumps of mold that covered much of his back. When that was finished, Alaria threw her protective cloak over him. Whether its enchantments of protection from the elements would help or the cloak itself simply lending a layer of warmth, didn’t matter. His lips were blue, he needed to be warmed.

“Set a fire, quickly.” Alaria said. Directing Jovias to the task in the bread oven where a dust and cobweb covered stack old wood was still piled...and happened to be the furthest from the mold-filled pantry.

 Haelan’s hushed tones had already produced a honey-colored glow around his hands which he was applying and seemed to be “spreading” the healing light around Pyrnion’s near-frozen form.

“It’ll be alright, Pyrnion. you’ll be ok now. Is that better?” the care-filled Hilltender asked quietly.

Braddok and Duor looked to the pantry in concern but the mold seemed unable to “reah” more than a few inches from the doorway and eventually all sign of movement ceased and the spore-tendrils receded back into the side-room. With the dwarf’s help, the Grinlian warrior moved one of the large wooden tables over to the doorway and flipped it up on end to cover the opening.

The satyr seemed quite adept and had a fire burning in a few moments. Haelan and the satyr helped the still shivering winged man over toward it. 

“This feels better.” Pyrnion admitted as the last of the chills were leaving him. “Thank you, my friends. I am ashamed for my...panic. My kind are not accustomed to being in so closed a space...I am also not accustomed to experiencing such a bitter cold. How do you people endure that?”

“We are _not_ zephari.” Duor replied with a jabbing smirk. 

“Can you continue?” Alaria said seriously. “I will not be able to use the orb again in battle. I must conserve my strength in case we need it to escape.”

Pyrnion shook his head and took the axe, handed to him gently by Haelan.

“Maybe is wasn’t a 'hobzombie'...maybe it was a 'Zomblin'?” Jovias said to no one in particular.

The rest of the party looked at the satyr minstrel with assorted faces of disapproval.

“What?!” Jovias exclaimed.


----------



## SolitonMan

So what happened next?!?


----------



## steeldragons

SolitonMan said:


> So what happened next?!?




Lol. It is positively uncanny how you have a knack for posting on the very day that I was just looking at the thread and thinking, "I really need to get back on this..." This is like the third time...Are you watching me? Where are you?

By all gods, don't STOP! lol.

But yes, summer is over. Two months of whirlwind traveling have concluded and I've returned to the mountain retreats of Andorra. It is time to return to our friends, the Stormriders, and explore the further story [and other stories] Orea has to tell.

Look for a post in the coming days.


----------



## SolitonMan

steeldragons said:


> Lol. It is positively uncanny how you have a knack for posting on the very day that I was just looking at the thread and thinking, "I really need to get back on this..." This is like the third time...Are you watching me? Where are you?




Still haven't detected my scrying sensor, eh?  Good, good, nice to know some things work as expected!  

It's really just lucky chance that that's happened but it sure is funny.  And I would LIKE to have a scrying sensor...

Oh well, I'll just keep an eye on the forums per my usual practice and enjoy what I read when I see it.  Thanks SD, keep up the good work!


----------



## steeldragons

Desaarthal placed the grey bespeckled stone bowl upon the stone ledge  at the south of the great chamber within the large hill on Dragonbone Isle. She looked at the cistern on the western wall and grinned at the large black pearl sitting upon the shelf above it.

The dragon-in-female-form stretched and twisted her neck as far as this frail form was capable. 

She wandered out of the hill’s large cave entrance and wound the pathway down to where the largest of the islet’s bubbling hot springs. With a thought and a stretch her neck rose up into the air, her legs bent and grew, a tail saked out behind her as great swathes of stretching blackness sprung from her back, like great pavillion tents. Her wings blotted out the afternoon sun as she let herself slink into the hot water.

An exhale of acidic spittle and caustic fume escaped her fang-filled reptilean snout and Desaarthal, the dragon, in all of her ancient and fearsome glory, lounged her horned head upon the soft plant covered edge of the spring. It seemed a long time since she’d worn her true form...and for a dragon to consider any amount of time “long” must have been a long time, indeed.

After a few moments of complete relaxation, Dessarthal tilted her head to the side, slightly. She traced, with a great curved gleaming black claw, a circle in the water’s surface beside her. Around and around and around the claw drew. An image formed in the water’s surface as the dragon watched. 

The fleas were in the old kitchens. Whatever could they want there? The hobgoblins didn’t even use those facilities for their own cooking. As she watched, they took up their arms again from a seeming respite and went to the decayed door that led to the cellars. 

Huh. The cellar...could they be trying to find the vault? Desaarthal thought to herself. She snorted a chuckle through her pointed reptilian snout. They couldn’t possibly find it. And even if they did...

 “Athrizzzzz!” the dragon hissed.

In a shimmer of air not far from the dragon, the sultry succubus came into sight, arms crossed. She’d manifested behind the dragon’s head, so as not to appear directly in her view. 

“Mistress?” Athrizz answered through clenched teeth. 

The demoness’ disdain for her servitude to the dragon was ever-increasing. Her missions to cause confusion and chaos were all well and good, but the seemingly endless waiting for her release from service was becoming tiresome. She relaxed her stance, however, to see the dragon in actual draconic form. A truly impressive, even slightly unnerving, form, Athrizz had to admit.

“Your true form, mighty Desaarthal? I must say, are truly an awe-inspiring visage of wickedness, Child of Zho.” Athrizz grinned alluringly.

“Save yer silvered tongue for those on whom it will sway, seductress.” Desaarthal replied, unimpressed, with a bored tone. “I have a job for you.”

“Anything to further the glorious evil that is you, o’ mighty Desaarthal.” Athrizz bowed in an appearance of loyal service.

“Return to Gorathgraard. Those damnable mortals are searching for the vault. Rouse Nishkibuul and see that a single coin of platinum does not leave my horde. Slay them and bring me the Repahl. I tire of their interference.” the dragon instructed, somewhat lazily, as it again lowered its head to rest upon the bed of decaying vegetation where she had laid her head upon the green plants moments before.

“Mistress?” Athrizz dared to question. “Is not defense of your horde something you would care to undertake yourself? These champions seem, to all appearances, they might present some... entertainment.”

“I am not interested, Athrizz. As you note, I have retaken my own form for the first time and while and I would enjoy it, unhindered, while I can.” Desaarthal replied from behind closed eyelids. “If you do think you are capable...” she began.

“Not at all, mistress. I am more than happy to carry out your desires...and then?” Athrizz pressed, hoping this trivial chore might be her final errand before being released.

“And then, what, demon? You are in my service until Sharzaak’s return or I deem otherwise. That was your bargain.” Desaarthal opened both eyes and lifted her head to peer down at the bat-winged demoness. Acid began to bubble and sizzle at the corners of her mouth. The huge scaled ridge that formed the dragon’s brow lifted up to one side. “Is another few turns of the moon beyond your capabilities?”

 With this question, Desaarthal lifted a massive clawed forelimb and placed in, heavily, on the ground beside the succubus.

Athrizz bowed low, “Not at all, mistress. I am only too happy to indulge your wishes. I’d only thought, perhaps, Nishkibuul might be sufficient for this task and I might...go...to seduce and induce the spread of evil that is more in line with my...talents...whilst we wait for the undeniable success of your endeavors, the most glorious rebirth of the ancient evil which, as you know, is our own most fervent wish...”

“Enough! Begone and see my will done.” Desaarthal hemmed with a wave of her clawed hand and sunk back into the soothing hot water even as Athrizz disappeared in a cloud of yellow sulphurous smoke.

All of these ages, Desaarthal thought lazily to herself, and _still _good minions were hard to find...even when conjured _specifically_ for such purpose.


----------



## steeldragons

Long overdue peek at an old sketch of our troupe.


----------



## steeldragons

*'Tis the season to be...oh $#!T!*

Happy New Year, fellow Orean adventurer’s! May 2014 be a boon to us all...and may the opportunity for more regular attention to updates be ours as well. 

Wishes for all good thigns in the year to come and hopes that everyone has enjoyed the holiday season [respective to whatever holiday that may be or might have been.  ]

Now, when we last left the Stormriders...where were we?

Ah! Yes.
-------------------------------

The party descended a narrow and terribly worn staircase down into Gorathgraard’s wine cellar. Time, moisture and ages-old use had worn the stone steps to a near-ice slippery smoothness. More than once one of the companions had to grab one of their fellows to steady their descent. 

Pyrnion, of course, flapped his way out into the great open space as soon as he was able, floating effortlessly to the floor below.

When the floor of the cellar was in view, Jovias similarly leapt from the hazardous steps to land with a light “clop” on his caprine haunches.

The rest of the party made their way down and then stood, in awe, at the bottom.

The stairs had been long, for a cellar, but the ceiling disappeared in shadows at heights well above where Duor asserted they should be. 

The cellar itself, extended well beyond even Duor and Pyrnion’s exceptional eyesight...in all directions.

Row and row after row of shelving, standing at least 20 feet high, extended into the darkness. Some filled with dust and cobweb-strewn bottles and casks. Some empty. Some shelves of stone, some of wood. Those, that could be seen, of wood had long decayed and collapsed in sections. Large “pool-like" spots of darkened stone dotted with broken shards of age old bottles of long lost vintages were visible from place to place. The entire area reeked of a “heady”, in fact nearly nauseating, combination of what was now vinegar combined with the sickeningly sweet smells of various indeterminable  fruits and spices used to flavor the forgotten wines and liquors. Their distillation now seeped well into the stones of the flooring and surrounding wood which remained.

“Ugh.” complained Haelan.

“You kidding?!” Jovias, argued. He took a long deep sniff. “Whew! You can get a high right of fthe air down here. And LOOK at all of the bottles still intact!?! This is any red-blooded satyr’s paradise!”

“All yours, good minstrel.” Braddok scoffed, covering his mouth with his shield arm.

“Indeed. I’m getting a headache already.” Alaria complained. She, and several of the others, wrapped their cloaks around their faces to avoid some acrid air.

“So which way to the vault?!” Duor said, excitedly.

“I can not say, Duor.” Alaria said with some annoyance. It was only for the dwarf’s greif they were there in the first place. She very much wanted to vacate the deadly mountain and regroup. “Gorathiel said only that it was hidden behind a cask.”

Haelan looked off into the darkness, extending beyond his and Alaria’s light sources...and the number of casks and bottles and uncounted rows of shelves. “You’ve got to be joking.” the Hilltender said without humor. “We could be here for the rest of our natural lives!”

“That seems a likely possibility, Hilltender.” Fen responded with a smirk, though no humor in his tone.

“Where do we even begin?” Haelan asked.

“With ye, hairfoot.” Duor said, triumphantly.

“Huh?” said more than a few of the companions.

“Ye had the spell that was s’posed to lead us to the orb. Ye can use it again to lead us to the treasure!” Duor said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“But Duor, I would need to rest and recouperate my strength before trying so advanced an entreaty again. I have no doubt we have neither the time nor the...desire...nor will we be permitted the opportunity to rest here, for long.” Haelan protested. “She is sure to return at some point.” 

“Haelan is correct, Duor.” Alaria piped in. “And both Fen and myself are at a sore loss of energy should we be forced into another encounter. I say, we retreat and return some future time.”

“We’ve DONE that! And we’re in spittin’ distance of a dragon’s hoard...Braddok, my boy, talk some sense into these whining magic-users. We can’t abandon this now!”

“Mmmm...that’s a lovely....’mell...” Jovias said, taking a deep breath of a still moist and sticky looking pool on the floor at the periphery of their light. “Mulberry...n’ tones ovvvv...cinnamon?...mmm...” 

Pyrnion watched, somewhat disinterested, until the satyr reached out with a long finger and pulled a bit of the sticky reddish substance up toward his nose and lips.

“NO!” Pyrnion cried...too late.

The satyr’s tongue touched the long spilt wine even as a “lump” formed in the middle of the area of stained, moist looking floor. Jovias’ eyes rose, his finger still attached to his tongue, to follow the growing lump turned mound turned giant “hill” as two appendages separated from its sides and a large space opened beneath what seemed to be two large corks stuck near the top of the...thing, like eyes. A gurgling dripping roar escaped the opening that must have been its “mouth.”   

”Mudman!” Pyrnion shouted even as he took wing, grasping his enchanted axe in both hands.

“WINE ELEMENTAL!!!!” Haelan shrieked.


----------



## steeldragons

“You’ve _gotta be_ kidding me.” Braddok said with exasperation. The warrior looked to Alaria, as if for some explanation.

“Don’t look at _me!_” Alaria protested. “Kill it!”

“With what, a goblet?!” Braddok half-jested in return as he dodged a swipe of a long red reeking “arm” (for lack of a better understanding). At a mental command, Kandu flared with its mystic blue flame and the warrior charged forward.

Pyrnion was the first to react, slicing through the creature’s “torso” with his axe. To the zephari’s surprise, there was resistance in the purple-red goo. Its consistency was akin to tar and the winged man needed some force to pull his weapon clear.

“Jovias, get clear!” Fen commanded.

“uh camt” the satyr replied as best he could with his finger, stuck to his tongue, and the whole of him stuck to the base of the pool forming the monstrous, obviously magic-spawned, wine-thing. 

“Great.” Duor said, deadpan, as he dove for the abundant shadows surrounding their limited space of light.

Alaria backed away. Her powers were nearly spent and she dared not use the Ihs Repahl again for anything other than their escape. She could not attempt to use her staff without getting close enough to put herself in jeopardy or, from afar, without risking Jovias and the others moving to engage in melee.

“Haelan, can you do something?” Alaria asked, with concern. She knew the daelvar cleric was similarly near the end of his magical reserves.

“Fen!” Haelan passed the proverbial buck. “It’s an elemental of some kind, right? Your order is the elemental type.”

“My dear Hilltender, the Ancient Holy Order of Mistwood deals in the elements of the natural world...not the elements of the barkeep!” Fen protested, though did grip his sacred leaftip spear with both hands, causing the leaf-shaped blade to flare with the energy of “the Green.” He moved before Alaria and the Hilltender in a defensive stance, but was inwardly unsure of his ability to effect this type of creature at all.

The creature’s other appendage flashed up and forward in an attempt to grasp or simply swat, none could say, the flying feather-winged zephari. 

Pyrnion deftly avoided the somewhat slow and clumsy attack.

Braddok’s attack at the creature’s base found its target, though Kandu’s blue energy flamed for only an instance before being extinguished by the creature’s, presumably, liquid-like body. 

It roared at the assault. The companions took that as a good sign, that the creature had somehow been “hurt”, if only a little.

“Think a moment, Fen.” Haelan encouraged from behind the grey-green cloaked druid. “What is wine? It’s plant juices...mostly water, isn’t it?” 

Alaria looked at the daelvar in surprise. that actually made a lot of sense.

“Yes. You’re right, Haelan. Yes! Fen, remember that incantation you used on Dragonbone Isle?The one you used against the water hydra?” Alaria coaxed. 

Nah. Really? Thought Fen to himself. Well...maybe...

Another swipe of Pyrnion’s axe did dig into the creature, but the weapon became stuck and the zephari’s forearms with the “splash” it created.

“Whatever you mystics are discussing, now would be a good tiUMOOF!” Pyrnion began to say before becoming engulfed in the creature’s slowly fluid form.

“Pyrnion!” Haelan cried.

Another attack by Braddok met with a similar success. Though not engulfed, himself, his sword was thoroughly “stuck” in the creature‘s tar-like body.

Up to his waist in sticky purple-red tar, Jovias’ struggling led him to slip and fall only to find himself, now, up to shoulders thoroughly stuck. The more he struggled the more entangled and trapped he became.

“Now, Fen. NOW!” Alaria commanded.

Fen began reciting the simple incantation in his order’s sacred secret tongue. <_Druid spell: Destroy Water_> He thrust his open hand forward on the final syllable. The utterly cryptic sound assaulted Alaria and Haelan’s ears. 

Both felt somewhat dizzy, though whether it was from the druidic speech or the olfactory assault of the magic wine-turned-vinegar-turned-angry-elemental-being they did now know.

As the magic force left the half-elf’s body, a large section (nearly half, in fact) of the creature’s body seemed to evaporate away. The creature roared once more, in obvious defeat, as its hulking form sank back into the sticky fluid pool on the floor.

As it “receded”, Braddok and a coughing drowning Pyrnion were released. With some effort, they released the zephari and satyr from the creature.

Duor appeared from the shadows as Fen and Haelan were straining to pull the satyr free.

“Well, if that ain’t taught ye not t’go ‘round lickin’ at weird things, I dunno what will.” the dwarf said in chastisement of his henchman.

The dwarf received hateful glares from everyone except the satyr.

“What?! It’s true!” Duor protested innocently.


----------



## steeldragons

“...so I can only surmise...and this is pure conjecture, mind...that the combination of the liquid and the magical nature of this place, over the countless ages we know Gorathgraard has been here, led to the creature’s creation. I suspect it was entirely mindless. Very similar to the creation of mudmen, as Pyrnion initially proposed.” Alaria concluded her lengthy explanation of how a pool of spilled wines might become a giant tar-like killer monster.

“So it wasn’t a wine elemental?" Haelan asked innocently.

“Not as such...though very similar, Haelan." Alaria responded kindly. The magess had found, in times when she was nearly spent, being kind to Haelan was easier than when she was tightly wound with energies.

The party had traveled for over an hour in the sprawling wine cellar beneath the ancient keep. Passing row after row. Peering down to a limited distance and continuing along the perimeter. Gorathiel’s instructions had said there was a gate “in the wall" behind some old casks of wine. So they were hugging the walls, in hope.

Barring that, it was their fervent hope to find some chamber or alcove in which they might safely “camp” for a time, if not a full night. If they came along some casks, then great.

In the wake of the “wine elemental’s” attack, the companions had debated their course and it was decided that ‘in for a penny, in for a pound,’ as it were. All, except Alaria, believed leaving now might surely be missing their only chance at the dragon’s treasure vault. 

At nearly two hours after their encounter with the wine-thing, they saw a light glowing from the wall ahead of them.

Against all objections, Duor raced forward with Jovias close in tow. The light was coming from behind an elaborately fashioned golden gate. Images of swans and humanoid figures seemed to swim and fly up and down the bars of gold.

Beyond the gates, a vast chamber, deep and high vaulted, was filled with mounds of gold and silver coins, jewels and gems, goblets and platters of shining metals, all lit and glittering from the shining golden light of an equally elaborately crafted chandelier hanging from the ceiling in  the center of the chamber.  

“By Feorn’s beard.” Duor said, breathless.

“I will write such a song as has never been heard.” Jovias said, wide-eyed in wonder at the wealth and riches strewn just before him, just beyond these gates.

The rest of the company arrived and were similarly awestruck.

“Will you look at that." Braddok said, almost as breathless as Duor.

“Manat’s star." Alaria breathed.

Through his amazement, Haelan mentioned offhandedly, “But...didn’t the stone face say that the gate was behind some casks?”

“Who cares what it said?!” Duor burst. “He’s been trapped upstairs for who knows how long. The casks prolly disintegrated years ago. LOOK AT THIS!” Duor argued.

“Makes sense." Pyrnion said and looked around at the floor and walls. Another wine-creature was not on his list of things to encounter again soon. The walls showed no signs of having anything before them. The floor also. No pool of goo.

“That’s good.” the zephari thought to himself.

No shards of wood, either...or the rusted metal of ages old bands that would have bound barrels of wine. In fact, even the all-pervading sickly-sweet smell didn’t seem to exist here.  

The dwarf sniffed and rubbed an eye with a gloved hand. “This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Now...stand back! Give a dwarf some room. I’ll get us in here.” Duor commanded and even shoved Jovias back from the gates as he pulled his slender wrap of licks and oddly shaped tools from his belt. He began examining the obvious huge padlock.

“Take care, Duor. Gorathiel did say there would be traps.” Alaria cautioned.

“Yeah, yeah.” Duor grumbled under his beard as he fiddled with the lock.

Pyrnion stepped back and examined the walls and floor some more. No signs for scraping on the floor. No movement on the dust covered floors other than their own, that he could discern. He turned his gaze above them. Shadows...darkness...very complete. 

The zepahrim were renowned for their distance vision, but in darkness it was little better than humans or daelvar. Was that movement or just his mind playing tricks in the shadows?

“Alaria, perhaps you should...” Haelan began to suggest. 

“Yes, Haelan. _Arkani._..” Alaria began to intone. _<the beginnings of the Detect Magic cantrip>_

Movement! Pyrnion’s mind cried even before he could voice it.

Pyrnion wrapped an arm around the nearby magess and half-grabbed half-threw and half-leapt with the magess in his muscled forearm, wrapping them both in his golden wings.

What happened next was a blur, depending on whose point of view you had.

Duor was knelt before the golden shining gate and lock. He went from fiddling with a lock to feeling nothing at the end of his lockpicks and seeing nothing. Blackness filled his eyes and, indeed, mind. A thunderous jolt shook him, literally, off the ground to land heavily in the complete darkness.

Braddok and Jovias, the nearest behind Duor, were similarly ensconced in darkness. A force, like the hammer of Dunric the god-smith, slammed into them both.

Haelan, standing beside Alaria and slightly behind the satyr, was thrown several feet from the shockwave of the impact of the darkness.

Fen had begun to wander down the aisle between the rows of shelves behind them, to ensure nothing was “sneaking up on them." He flinched and instinctively sunk to his knee, wrapping himself in the sacred cloak as the shockwave of force shook the entire are they were in. He turned to see a towering globe of darkness give way to an abomination.

Alaria, hastily grabbed about the waist and carried/thrown by the zephari, found herself in the muscled embrace of the winged man. She looked in surprise and concern at the zephari’s face. His feathery eyebrows above tightly closed amber eagle-eyes. The shudder of the forceful slam...somewhere they had just a breath before been standing, shook her innards.

“What?!” she began to say, even as her mind knew 'we’re under attack!’

Turning, Pyrnion moved his wing, even as he looked at the magess and said “Are you unharmed?”

“I am...” Alaria began to reply even as the cloud of darkness before them dissipated, “o...” In the place of the darkness stood a creature, “...k?”...Evil in bestial form. 

A torso and great powerful arms and claws, akin to a bear, a face not unlike a gorilla...except for the tusks of a boar...jaws and teeth like a lion...the legs and hooves of a goat, not unlike Jovias’ own.

And strewn about those hooves...the unconscious forms of Jovias, Duor and Braddok.     

_*“Rejoice, mortals! For you find your end in the esteemed presence of Nishkibuul, the Ever-damned and Ever-damning!”*_  the creature said without saying. The presence of its voice in their minds was like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Abomination!” Fen cried and, spear tip flaring in green light, raced forward. 

Pyrnion grabbed Fen about the waist as he tried to charge passed his and Alaria’s position. In the other large muscled arm, he hooked Alaria and with a lunge of his large thighs, launched the three of them into the air, turning invisible as he did so.

“BRADDOK! Haelan?!” Alaria cried in Pyrnion‘s ear, more question than command.

_*“Yesshh. Fly little bird-man. FLY! Heh...hehhehhehhehhehhahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAWHAW
HAWHAWHUHUHUHUH!!!! *_” the creature’s inhuman voice echoed behind yet all around them.


----------



## steeldragons

There was little time for thought, yet worry consumed the three companions winging along. Pyrnion took them high up into the chamber and darted to the side, over a few rows of shelving to give them a momentary space from the massive demon.

“We have to go back, Pyrnion!” Alaria protested. “Haelan and Braddok need us.”

**Yesshh, Shtormridersh. Do come back. Your little Hilltender needsh you.** the demon’s voice again surrounded them in the darkness. The “sound” filled them with dread and seemed to pervade the entire cellar in a palpable evil.

“Aaagh!” Haelan’s cry of agony echoed through the chamber.

Fen and Alaria and Pyrnion looked to each other in concern. 

“There is nothing to do but retreat, Magess.” Pyrnion said in earnest. “If the others still live at all, they shant for long.”

“I will not abandon them, Pyrnion.” Alaria said, angered at the mere suggestion. “But retreat we shall.” She pulled the Ihs Repahl from its pouch. “But we need a distraction. I must be closer to them to save us all. You will have to wing yourself, Pyrnion. The rest of us will use the orb to escape. 

“As Braddok suggested, our best chance is the teleportal platform in the throne room. After I’ve made the transmutation, we will make our way there and remove ourselves immediately for as far from here as we can." Alaria hastily explained.

Fen and Pyrnion gave the magess a grim nod.

“Ready? Let’s go.” Alaria said before revealing herself from the aisle in which they had cowered for a moment.

A hundred or so feet away, along the wall, stood the demon. The only light coming from a fiery glow that surrounded it. Braddok, Duor and Haelan hung ten or so feet off the floor, against the wall that showed no sign of any gate or treasure room. The crumpled form of Jovias still laid on the floor as well as a small lump of fur...Buttercream!?

Alaria charged forward, the Staff of Azanna blazing with its silver sparks. Fen, charging beside her, his leaftip spear flaring with green energy. Pyrnion winged his way above them, short bow nocking and releasing as quickly as he could.

A half dozen arrows whizzed directly at the large creature. Its massive girth made it difficult to miss, yet all but one of Pyrnion’s arrows rebounded, harmlessly, of Nishkibuul’s otherworldly hide.
*
*HAWHAWHAWHAW...come lil’ advenshurer’sh. You will make shuch delishioush treatsh when I return you to my fortresshh and feasht on your shoulsh.**

“Ye really should do somethin’ 'bout that speech thing, buddy.” Duor said, weakly, from his hanging telekinesed place along the wall. 

Nishkibuul turned and glared at the dwarf. A moment of orange light filled the demon’s beady eyes. Duor immediately cried out in pain and slumped back into unconsciousness.

Fen twirled the spear above his head and slammed the butt into the stone floor. The green lightning struck forward along the floor and roots and vines burst through the stonework to encircle the demon.

The enchanted vegetation existed only a moment before blackening and withering about the creature. The natural magic unable to pierce the demon’s absorbing abyssal energies.

_**Heh heh. You think you will defeat me with weeds, nature priest?**_

The demon bent down and picked up the pulverized body of Jovias, still dripping innards and blood. He gave it a lick with an inhumanly long forked tongue nd threw it at the would be saviors.

Pyrnion swooped down and scooped up Alaria again, taking her out of the way. Fen dodged the poor satyr’s corpse which landed with a loud cracking *splat* and bounced/rolled somewhere into the darkness behind him.

“Take me to them, Pyrnion." Alaria said silently before letting loose with a lightning bolt from the staff. The demon raised his arms before him and the lightning bolt struck them only to reveal no damage when the bolt had ended.
_*
*My turn**_ the monster replied. This fear and withering effect of the demon’s mind-speech was much more intense this close. 

It raised a clawed hand into the air and pointed toward Alaria and the zephari, who were just nearing the floating/hanging daelvar. 

A streak of lightning flew up from the demon’s fingers and arced down upon the two would-be rescuers.

Both Alaria and Pyrnion crashed to the ground. The winged man was sorely burned and smoldering but clung to consciousness. Alaria had her protective cloak to thank for keep her marginally away from death.

The demon laughed at them again, its otherworldly guffaws shaking the whole area as the magess and zephari struggled, visibly, to regain their feet.

“Alaria, your lightning again!” Fen called and immediately began the incantation of Unmaking that he had prepared that day. The half-elf shouted the spell at the top of his lungs, hoping that the archaic language of the druids might effect the demon, if only to stagger him for a moment.  

The spell that disrupted magic surged from the druid, visible ripples in the air flew at the demon and did seem to “strike" him physically. Fen found himself surprised that a spell to undo spells would be accompanied with such a rush of power.

Alaria spoke the command once more and was instantly filled with the “feel” of the last of the staff’s energies leaving it. This was the final time, until again recharged, it would evoke such energies.

Following in the wake of Fen’s Dispel Magic, the lightning bolt pierced Nishkibuul’s resistance and did considerable damage to the creature. The demon roared out in surprise and pain.

“Now Pyrnion!” Alaria cried, even as the smoldering zehari snatched her up and launched her  toward their held fellows.

The magess hooked an arm around Braddok, and held out the orb in her other arm, invoking its most potent charm. An instant later, she, Braddok, Haelan and Duor were transformed into cloudy images of themselves and, directed by Alaria’s mind, the four sot off back for the staircase, far behind them in the darkness. Thankfully, since following the wall, it was only moments before they reached it.

After hurling Alaria, Pyrnion turned and lunged back toward the druid. Fen held up his arm and the two clasped forearms. With a single tug, the zephari pulling the half-elf up and onto his back. The winged man beat his wings ferociously to attain as much speed as possible even as the infuriated roar of the demon pursued them.

Another lightning bolt blasted down, just beside the two retreating heroes. Shortly therafter, multiple shrieks were heard behind them. They recalled the raptor-like cries of the vulture-demon they had fought in Miralosta. There was no need ot take a look back or worry about pursuit.

The two found the stairs up and soared through. Unfortunately, the kitchen was a bit too confining and Pyrnion was forced to land. The druid and ranger raced for the doorway and rose up to the great throne hall. 

A veritable tornado of cloudy forms was swirling over the teleportal dais. Alaria was unwilling to bring them back into physical form before their final two companions arrived. Pyrnion gripped Fen around the waist and in a single gliding lunge, brought the two to the dais. 

Alaria brought herself into physical form at the control-pedestal. The cloudy near-invisible forms of Duor, Braddok and Haelan, similarly sank to the dais and re-solidified at Alaria’s command. 

A shriek of pure terror ripped through the throne room as two vulture-demons burst through the doorway that led down to the kitchens.  

Alaria gave them not a moment of notice, engaging the teleportal device to send all of them to the farthest place she could imagine where they would be, at least temporarily, safe. 

A flash of silver and blue sparkles surrounded them as Nishkibuul appeared in a roaring torrent of shadow interspersed with beams of rainbow colored lights. 

*******
There was a cry of alarm when six bodies appeared in a shower of blue sparkles beside the dolphin and merfolk sculpted fountain.

 Several acolytes ran back to the gates ensconced by giant sea-lion statues. Some others, in robes or wraps of blue and green fabrics, raced toward the arriving obviously wounded, beaten and battered companions.

Alaria looked, exhausted, and saw a blurry dark-haired green-blue figure running toward them.

“Bring the Tidemaster! HURRY!” the figure cried out.

I know that voice, Alaria's mind said before consciousness slipped away.


----------



## steeldragons

Braddok bolted upright as darkness gave way to light before his eyes.

“DEMON!” the Grinlian swordsman shouted and instinctively reached for his blade...which wasn’t there.

He looked down at his hip in surprise. Only then he noticed he wasn’t on a cold stone floor in a shadow filled cellar. He had no armor nor weapons. He was...naked?...on a cot?...Only a soft white linen sheet edged in a pattern of blue embroidered cresting waves covered him from the waist down. He was in a softly lit room with several other cots...with bodies on them! There was Duor and Haelan and...Alaria!

He went to rouse himself from the bed. A shooting pain in his leg stopped him before feeling a soft hand on his bare shoulder. He turned in surprise to see Fen, hooded and draped in his druid’s cloak which had taken on a decidedly bluish sheen to the grey-green it usually was.

The half-elf smiled gently at him with kind green eyes. “Be still, my friend. You have much mending to do yet.” the druid said softly.

“Fen? What happened?! Where are...” he now saw, beyond the half-elf, the attending healers looking at him strangely. The warrior relaxed back into his cot to see they wore the robes that began with a deep blue at the shoulder, fading and changing about midway to shades of green of the order of Tyris, the sea goddess. “We’re...Shoal? How...”

“Yes, Braddok. We are in the temple of Tyris in Shoal. Rest now.” Fen said, again with gentle softness the swordsman had rarely heard.

“But Alaria...” he began to protest. Gods his leg did ache and his mind was heavy with exhaustion.

“She is fine, champion. Well, fine for _her._” Fen said. He looked to Alaria’s cot with a bit of concern.

“What does that mean?!” Braddok said, somewhat disheartened by the comment.

“We believe she is again in the spell-sleep.” Fen said. He again smiled at the warrior with a tested believability. “The healers have done what they can. Now we must wait, as before. She will rouse when her mind and body are ready.”

"Before...?" I don't understand.

"Ah...right. I will explain later. Now, rest." the druid answered.

Braddok settled back into his pillow. “What about the others?”

“Duor and Haelan shall recover. They live, by the merciful graces of the sea goddess of Men, and rest comfortably...as you must.” the druid explained.

“And Pyrnion? Jovias?” Braddok asked though fatigue was certainly creepign up on him again.

“Pyrnion is out. He was tended and recovered the best. You know he is not content in confined spaces. But he is around...familiarizing himself with the area and keeping watch for any strange goings on or pursuit from Gorathgraard.” Fen answered him softly.

“Pursuit...?” Braddok prodded.

“We fled with three demons on ours heels. One was of a magnitude of dark power I had not known existed.

“I have little doubt they search, even now, for our whereabouts. I believe we have some time. Our cunning magess brought us here instead of returning us to Daenfrii, I believe, for just such a reason...to throw off any pursuit. Buy us a bit of time.”  

Braddok nodded and exhaled. “And brought us within striking distance of Dragonbone Isle.”

“Just so.” Fen replied.

”What of...where are...” Braddok asked, looking at the beds confused. Shouldn’t there be more of them?

“The satyr and...I am sorry to say, Buttercream are dead.” the druid answered matter-of-factly. He knew that a warrior of Braddok’s experience had no need of honey-coated words to speak about fallen comrades. 

“Oh gods. Haelan will be devastated.” Braddok said.

“He was. He rose a few hours ago and sobbed himself back into sleep. He is strong for a daelvar, Braddok. He will survive.” Fen said, again with a detached matter-of-fact-ness with which he sometimes spoke.

The acceptance of death of the druid sometimes alarmed Braddok. Part of the whole “balance” or “cycle of life” or some such, the warrior knew. But it still came off chilly when expressed. There was definitely a quality...not “uncaring”, certainly, but a coolness to Fen since Erevan’s death, the swordsman thought. Now they had visited the lair of the dragon again...and again had come away with losses.

“So how do we proceed?” the swordsman asked, even as his head sunk back into the pillow.

“You proceed by resting and healing, my friend. Nothing else matters at the moment. We need you, Braddok. And we will need you at full strength...she will need you thus, as well.” he grinned.

“Yes. Of course. You are wise, my friend. I am glad that we are both still of this world.”

“And I, Braddok. Rest, now.” the druid managed to reply before the dark-haired Grinlian slumped back into sleep.


----------



## SolitonMan

Thanks for more great updates SD!  

I can't seem to get enough story hour-y goodness.  Since your last story post in October, I've re-read Lazybones' Doomed Bastards and Travels Through the Wild West, and picked my way through a few others in bits and pieces.  Not time to re-read Sagiro again just yet...need a few more entries before the big finish.

I have to say it's really fun to be able to indulge in these little escapes.  I appreciate all the work done by each of you who takes the no doubt considerable time to create them.  Thank you!


----------



## steeldragons

In honor of today’s [un- or semi-official?] “40th Anniversary of Dungeons & Dragons"...have an update! Hope everyone gets a chance to play, even if it’s not a full “game session” or at least roll a few dice and muse fantastic.

...and, as always, above all, HAVE FUN WITH  IT! 

Cheers and happy birthday, D&D!
-SD
--------------------------------

Nearly two weeks passed and everyone but Alaria had recovered fully, by the attentions of the Tyrisian healers. Braddok, Haelan, Fen, Duor and Pyrnion had been reunited with the sea-priestess,Trihna. She was overjoyed to see them and then horrified as Haelan (with certain additions and amendments by Duor) recounted their adventures since they were last in Shoal. She offered sincere condolences on the death of Erevan. The tale of Braddok’s death and subsequent resurrection especially awed the Waverider, as the raising of the dead was a power beyond the followers of Tyris.

At the end of the first week, following their initial recovery, they were presented to Tidemaster Jocuque <_author/s note: “Joe-SOOK”_>. 

Jocuque was an aging man, though lacked both the apparent age and some of the vitality of the former head of the temple in Shoal. His hair and beard, kept growing long in the style of the Tyris’ clerics, but his receding greying chestnut hair barely passed his shoulders and his beard came no further down his chest than Duor’s own. Hardly the waist-length cascades of snowy white Kama had possessed. He has fit enough, as the priests and priestesses of the goddess of water were want to be (spending much time swimming). But there was a slight bend to his posture and he walked with a noticeable limp, leaning at times on a cane of bleached driftwood.

He also lacked Kama’s easy-going and hospitable attitude. He was much more taciturn than the party expected, shrouded in an air of formality almost as physical as his white and sea-green vestments. The intensity of his grey-blue-eyed gaze assured any observer that there was little the Tidemaster missed. If there was concern or disbelief about the party’s tales, some of which he already knew from Kama’s journals, he showed none.

After their initial meeting, they saw the Tidemaster only one other time, when they were instructed that Trihna would be their liason. They were invited to share no meals with the high priest, eating instead with the other temple residents and, on occasion, going to the village itself for a simple meal among the Shoal fisher-folk.

According to Trihna, after Kama had gone missing, she sent word to the nearest enclave of Tyris’ priests, some leagues south of Hawkview. He was, apparently, of the appropriate age and power to assume leadership of a temple. As far as Trihna could pull out of the new Tidemaster, Jocuque was more of a mystic and cloistered scholar than an “active” priest in that temple’s significantly larger community. While he was somewhat stoic compared to their beloved Kama, Trihna had no questions of the man’s devotion to Tyris and administrative know-how. 

Trihna had essentially been designated “acting Tidemaster” when it came to dealings with the villagers and directing many of the temple’s acolyte training. 

He had, Trihna explained with approval, taken quite an interest in the twins’, Dihm and Suhm, apparent mystical potential. He had personally taken up their training, meeting with them often, and the three spent much time in meditations and practicing rites that would lead the sun-bleach blond youths onto a path of oracular tradition. The first of the Shoal temple’s devoted to exhibit that particular blessing from Tyris’ “depths”, to Trihna’s knowledge.

The party was heartened to hear that the sacred black pearl of the temple was, indeed, still here and it was training with the relic in the temple’s sanctum that Jocuque, Dihm and Suhm spent much time.

The party was saddened to hear of Tidemaster Kama’s disappearance nearly two months prior to the party’s arrival. The high priest of Tyris had gone out for his daily afternoon “communion” in the sea. After some time, he returned to shore only to say that the Shoal Spirit was in dire need  and he would return when he could. 

Trihna waited for three weeks, attempting several divinations on Kama that proved unfruitful. With a heavy heart, she sent word to their neighbor temple to explain the situation. Jocuque had arrived by ship about two weeks prior to the party’s arrival.

Braddok, not surprisingly, spent much time at Alaria’s bedside. Waiting. Hoping. Praying. The magess’ condition was indeed stable, but showed no indications of improving. Haelan was also often there, adding his limited healing talents and sharing what he’d learned from the Daughters of Gilea in Bridgetower to tend and nourish the inert body.

After the first week, the healers began to express concern about their ability to maintain Alaria’s physical form, they simply didn’t possess all of the needed materials to create a fully effective nourishment potion. The head healer, another Waverider named Harran, suggested sending word to Hawkview to summon a Daughter of Gilea or Desri’s Shaalir. Either of whom, the middling aged Tyrisian priestess admitted without any hint of envy, might possess more advanced healing arts for this peculiar ailment of the mind.

With little debate, the party agreed and Pyrnion volunteered to fly to the port city to enlist what aid he could. He took a message explaining and outlining the situation and their needs. The scroll was stamped with the formal seal of Tyris, the standard cresting waves, holy symbol of the goddess, surrounded with specific runes and sigils by which the temples of Orea’s various gods knew the veracity of each other’s official documents. It had been three days since the zephari’s departure. 

Duor, though taking longer to recover than the others, had been up and about for a full week and was beginning to go a bit stir crazy in the holy halls of the sea goddess. He tried to keep out of the temple’s courtyards, with their strange “under the sea” painted walls that even now made him feel a bit seasick if he looked at them too long. The temple’s library was of no interest whatsoever, though he did pass an afternoon reading up on various mythical relics and treasures that had been attributed to Tyris and her clerics over the ages. There was nothing indicating actual current locations of these treasures and the only one that interested him even a little was a helm that was alleged to allow its wearer to breathe underwater...and he already knew he could get potions for that, easily enough from the temple stores.

Fen, uncharacteristically, ventured from the temple infrequently and then only to instruct the local fauna and receive reports of any mysterious goings-on in the area. The druid was sure that the demons from whom they’d fled, would find them eventually. His inquiries to the temple clerics and research in the archives yielded no information about any demon named Nishkibuul, though a few “sea-demons” were mentioned in a single ancient manuscript, written in the second age of Men by one “Tidemaster Telehm.” One referred to repeatedly, called “the Sahuagin”, seems to have been a fairly regular threat in that Tidemaster’s time. The archaic speech of that era was unclear, to Fen, as to whether this was an individual or a specific type of the demonic legions.

When Pyrnion left on his mission to Hawkview, Fen, regrettably, informed the party that he required a meeting with his order to, hopefully, gleen some useful information. The half-elf did not expect to be away for more than two days. On the third day since Pyrnion’s departure, the druid had not returned. 

 Haelan, after his initial upset at Buttercream’s passing, was kept busy with tending and caring and fretting over Alaria’s “spell-slept” body. He did, after some persistence, enlist Jocuque to send word to the Lady Rhea, seeking to summon the Emerald Tear initiate to Shoal in hope her mental talents might bring Alaria “back.” The following day, an acolyte delivered a response.

He read it to Braddok and Duor at Alaria’s bedside. It said, “Unable to come. Tyrilith rising. Will attempt what I can from here. Be alert and wary. Gods keep us all.” 

While not the immediate aid Haelan was hoping for, he was confident that Rhea would do what she could to help them.  

Braddok, visibly disheartened, grasped Alaria’s hand and looked at her closed eyes. “Wherever  are you, Alaria, come back to me.”

Haelan, and even Duor, looked on the warrior with pity and sympathy.


----------



## steeldragons

*The Stormrider's Valentine's Day Special*

In the grand tradition of Charlie Brown and...ya know...all of those other famous Valentine's specials 

I thought I'd post up a quickie, completely non sequitur!!!, special Stormrider's Update.

Happy Valentine's Day all! 
--SD

----------------------------------

The Stormriders wandered through the snow-covered woods. It was pristine and clear, mild even for the day. More than once snow dropping from the high branches of the enchanting wood landed with a soft fluffy “phlump” near one of the companions.

Their mission into the allegedly magical wood was at the behest of nearby townsfolk. Several of the small town’s young people had been disappearing (or getting lost) in the woods over the past week or so, always in pairs. The townsfolk claim a despicable enchanter was luring their younger residents into the wood and...then the gods know what. Were they being enslaved? Eaten? Sacrificed to some dark master? One rumor claimed they were being transformed into the animals of the wood. 

So, the Stormriders were, of course, willing to help.

They broke from the treeline at the edge of a broad snow swept clearing in the midst of which a small mound rose. 

“Well that’s...unusual." Fen voiced as all of the company stared at the mound. 

The low hill was devoid of snow, sporting instead a plethora of brightly colored springtime flowers, though spring was still at least two months away.

“Magic?” Braddok asked softly.

“Durr. Yeh think?" Duor scoffed.

Alaria simply nodded. She didn’t require her magical sight to feel the energies filling the clearing. She’d known the wood was, undoubtedly, enchanted since shortly after they’d entered it. The tingling sensation of arcane energy prickling up the back of her neck had increased steadily as they’d neared the clearing.

Fen began to skirt the edge of the clearing, his druid’s cloak shrouding him from time to time, seeming to appear and disappear periodically against the natural backdrop. His movements seemed not to disturb a single flake of the fluffy snow.

Pyrnion was somewhere, high above, circling invisibly before bringing himself to land on a high overhanging bough. Clumps of snow fell from the branch and elsewhere on the tree, the only indication the zephari was present.

”So, what now?” Haelan asked quietly. “Should we, ya know...announce ourselves or something?”

Not coming up with a better alternative, Braddok strode boldly forward a few paces into the clearing.

“Show yourself, enchanter! We are here to return the youths of Targsbury to their people.” t swordsman pronounced toward the mound. 

His voice echoed through the crisp afternoon air.

Nothing stirred.

“Reveal yourself, release the captives and we promise you a fair trial for your transgressions.” Braddok called out again.

Again, nothing.

Braddok turned back to look at the others still hugging the clearing’s edge. He was at a loss as to what else to do.

“There!” called Duor as he took a step back, further into the woods to cloak himself in the dappling shadows of the undergrowth.

A shimmer in the air above the top of the mound gave way to the appearance of a male youth of obvious beauty, a cherubic face with blond locks flowing in some faye breeze. He was swathed only in a wrap of white cloth about his pelvis. It too flowed in the unfelt breeze. Two great feathered wings of white, pale gold and a slightly pink tinge to the pinions sprouted from his back, though he appeared to remain aloft, effortlessly, without any flapping necessary. A leather strap, beautifully detailed with golden scrolling, split his torso diagonally, holding an obvious quiver to his back. A pure white bow was curved in a most unusual but delicately beautiful, manner rested in his right hand at his side.

“There are no captives here, good heroes.” the winged youth answered. “Be at peace. All who come here, come in love and stay of their own will.”

His voice was soothing. Calming. Dripping with sweetness and honey to all of the companion’s ears. Braddok and Haelan immediately lowered their weapons. Alaria, too, felt her entire body relax at the simple innocent, even inviting, words.

The beautiful figure hovering above the mound pulled an arrow from his quiver and raised his bow. He nocked the arrow and took aim at Alaria. A playful grin on his shining face.

Haelan blinked. The daelvar shook his head to clear it. He quickly looked about at his fellows. They stood, staring at the winged one, a serene peace completely devoid of thought was glazed across their faces.

“My friends, _enchantment!”_ the Hilltender shouted before raising his arms and voice in the powerful clerical abjuration, akin to Alaria’s spell of “Unmaking.” On the final syllable, he slammed the butt of his pinecone headed mace into the snow around his hair-covered feet.    

Waves of divine power spread out from him in all directions and the companions all blinked, momentarily confused.

“No! What...?” the angelic man said confused.

“Weapon!” Pyrnion’s voice was heard through the clearing.

A moment later, an arrow whizzed at the winged enchanter, knocking the nocked arrow from the his hand.

He looked up in the split second to see Pyrnion diving at him, before the zephari tackled him in the air. The two fell and rolled down the mound, a ball of flailing feathers, into the snow beneath it.

“What are you doing?! I’m...” the enchanter began to say before Pyrnion launched himself back into the air as a flash lit up the snow surrounding him in a soft green glow from underneath.

Vines and grasses tore up burst up, sending up a cloud of fluffy snow, as they entwined around one of the enchanter’s arms and wrapping his torso to pin his wings to his back. He heard the woman’s voice begin to incant arcane syllables.

“Stop it! I’m just trying to...AAGH!” the winged figure began to protest before four blue-violet energy shards slammed into his bound form.

The devious charmer looked in surprise across the clearing as the last “fumes” of blue energy dissipated from the magess’ outstretched hand. The warrior was charging toward him, a great sword bathed in blue light slashing through the crisp winter air.

As Braddok was closing the serene beautiful face twisted into a scowl and, without a sound or movement, a cloud of pink and white sparkles surrounded the figure, hiding him from view.

Braddok got a face full of the magical “dust.” It smelled sickly sweet and vaguely fruity, like a nose full of fresh strawberries and blooming flowers. The swordsman was halted in a fit of sneezing and coughing, waving his blade and shield in an attempt to dissipate the sweet cloud.

The sparkles cleared in a moment to reveal the winged figure was no longer entangled in Fen’s enchanted vegetation.

The companions look about wildly, expecting the creature was still in the area. 

“There!” Fen cried out and pointed back above the mound. Having left the treeline, the others could clearly see the druid moving toward the hill.

The winged enchanter drew another arrow and let fly. It struck into the ground ahead of approaching half-elf. Either a lousy shot or...

Fen was suddenly entangled himself, in a bramble of branches and thorns that quickly turned green with leaves and then burst into a ball of rich red rose blooms. The druid cried out as the magical thorns bit into him from all sides.

Pyrnion, again diving form the winged foe, slashed with his hand axe, but the creature would not be caught unaware again and easily dodged the blow. Whereas Pyrnion had to wing his way about, the enchanter seemed to simply float as he willed, making him much more agile in aerial combat.

“Pyrnion, get clear!” Alaria called, not wishing to use her more powerful magics or begin wielding the Ihs Repahl while the zephari might be caught in the winds.

A small dart caught the floating man in the arm as he was drawing another arrow. He turned, pain and anger evident on his face, to see the dwarven rogue reloading his hand crossbow.

“You insolent blind hateful...” the enchanter now growled.

Again, he was unable to finish his thought as a glowing pine bough, full of cones, slammed him over the head, sending him reeling, again, to the top of the mound. His bow fell just out of reach.

“Feel the wrath of the Hill Mother, deceiver. Hilltender Haelan shall never again fall to wicked enchantment!” Haelan shouted in defiance as he mentally had the spiritual weapon slam down on the winged one several more times, to keep him from rising. After three such strikes, the weapon missed and the agile creature again began to take to the air.

He made it about 5 feet above the ground before Alaria’s lightning bolt, sizzling passed the racing Braddok, slammed into the enchanter. The air was filled with the scent of burning flesh and feathers left the creature smoldering and dazed. 

Braddok was crested the small hill and with a single swipe of his basttard sword, removed one of the burnt and smoking wings from the enchanter’s back.

He cried out in obvious pain and shock, falling with the force of the blow, back to the ground.

“You...can’t...” he said weakly, holding up a hand in a feeble attempt to block Braddok’s next strike.

The blow cleaved into the wounded creature who, summarily, “exploded” outward in a shockwave of pink, red and white sparkles.

Braddok was knocked back, flying off the mound to land heavily at its base. Pyrnion sent reeling through the air to right himself high above them. As the shockwave washed over the trapped Fen, the rose bush seemed to “wash” away in the sparkles, leaving the druid free. Alaria, Haelan and Duor, still near the edge of the clearing, simply felt a soft breeze and were washed over with the feint aroma of sweet fruits and flowers.

The spring-touched mound seemed to collapse in on itself. Disappearing as it did so to reveal a dozen dazed young couples, in various positions and states of...amour.

“What...happened?” the first young man to regain his senses said to no one in particular. He looked in disbelief at the rising warrior and the other adventurers around them.

“It’s alright.” Braddok said calmly.

The youth blinked. Clearly not comprehending.

“You’re free now. We’ve destroyed the enchanter.” the swordsman said proudly.

“Free?” the maiden slowly freeing herself from the arms of the first youth. 

“Destroyed?” the young man questioned.

“Yes. We have broken the creature’s wicked charms.” Haelan said soothingly as the companions all gathered around the confused young people.

“Free...destroyed...broken?!” the maiden said to the Hilltender, aghast.

“Well, yes.” Haelan smiled cheerily at the lovely girl.

“You...destroyed.._.love_?” another of the young men asked.

“Wait...we what now?” Haelan, now confused, said.

“You’ve 'broken’ the ‘wicked charms’...of love!” the first youth said, apparent sorrow beginning to cross his face.

Haelan gasped audibly. “We...killed..._love_?!" Abject horror plastered on his face.

“Ohhhhhho ho hoooh! Well done, one and all!” Duor laughed.

“Shut up, Duor.” Alaria glared.


----------



## steeldragons

*Countdown: Part I*

Fen had returned in the night. The sea-priests more than a bit disconcerted by the druid’s appearance within the temple when noone acknowledged having actually opened in the gates in the night to allow him entry. The half-elf merely shrugged and grinned at the acolytes’ queries, claiming simply, “I didn’t want to bother anyone. It was the middle of the night.”

He happly reported that there were no reports of any demons in the area and that a small enclave of Miralostae elves (significantly more militant in their make up than the previously butchered community) had re-populated the Silver Falls outpost. They conveyed heartfelt greetings and offers for assistance as the Stormriders required.

Later that afternoon, a full six days now since his departure, Pyrnion returned from Hawkview. He lamented that he had been unable to sway either the Gilean or Desriite temples to send aid, possessing no means of transport that they felt would avail the waning magess.

As the evening sky turned from blue to streaked clouds of bright pink and orange and the shadows began to lengthen, Tidemaster Jocuque summoned the company to his office. He suggested a plan for bringing Alaria out of her malady. Their only option, the party readily agreed.

The rite would take place that night, when Arinane reached her zenith. The great silver moon was full that night and it was due to this fact, according to the dry scholarly high-priest, that there was even a possibility of success. The party was instructed to leave the magess’ bedside as the rite was an ancient one, of deep mystery.

Braddok insisted on being present, as did Haelan. Jocuque, eventually, acquiesced seeing that the warrior and hill-priest were adamant. Braddok, he reasoned, could serve in the rite as a beacon for Alaria’s spirit, “If your feelings are true and shared by the magess.” Haelan, it was reasoned, was already a member of an order and so at least aware in the ways of mysteries (however divergent) that all clerics of the gods were learned if not fully or truly versed.

Given that, Jocuque extended the invitation to the “heathen” druid. Fen, politely, declined feeling that the bedside was already hosting an adequate audience.

“Tonight then. At the half-ten bell. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Jocuque said stoically as way of a dismissal.

“I miss Kama." Haelan said longingly after the company had left the Tidemaster’s office.

“As do I, my friend. But Jocuque seems to be our only option. We can but hope.” Fen replied. “we can not stay here indefinitely.”

“Why do you say that?" Braddok asked with some concern. The warrior’s face was heavy with worry and lack of sleep. 

“A simple feeling...and obvious fact." the druid shrugged. “While my woodland friends have not found any indications of pursuit, we can not assume that Desaarthal, Nishkibuul or others of her minions are not, in fact searching for us. Nor can we presume that the dragon has waylaid her own plans simply because we are around.”

“True.” Pyrnion said matter-of-factly. Braddok simply nodded a tired agreement.

“The Overseer told Alaria that the resurrection of Sharzaak would take place on the Spring Equinox.” the winged zephari continued. A scowl furrowed his feathery brows. “We have little more than a week and a half.” 

“Twelve days, to be exact.” Fen said. His voice had a tone of cold stone.

The half-elf sank into deep thought, having heard himself actually say the time. They could very well be looking at the end of the world. He’d been keeping mental track of the calendar. For initiates of the Ancient Order it was second nature, a sixth sense almost, to track the cycle of the Balance around the year. But something about hearing it out loud for the first time that put a heavy note of urgency and added a bit of horror, even, to the unrelenting march of time toward their most feared outcome.

All irritated by the Tidemaster's demeanor, but hopeful that the ritual might return Alaria to them, the party members went to the dining hall to share the evening meal in their collective near-silent hope.


----------



## steeldragons

Alaria rested her head against the soft snowy white back of the giant owl. The cooling breezes as they soared through the ether was comforting. She felt more at peace than she had for months. A blissful relaxation consumed her as the avian moved through what some part of her understod as the spirit world. 

*_Hoo-oot_.* the giant owl cooed.

“I don’t have to right now.” she answered her mount casually.

An ethereal “Hoot” echoed all around her.

“I don’t know...Wherever we were, I suppose.” Alaria replied, rolling lazily onto her back. 

Where was that? She had only a glimmer of a memory. She had been in a place of darkness and pain, sorrow and loss. Here, it was calm, cool, her mind soared even as the owl pitched and dropped, flapped and rose in the “air.” But rose away from what or where, she had no conception. There was no “ground” that she could see, yet a feeling of “down” and “up” and moving around was apparent.

“Where were we, anyway?” Alaria asked the owl before catching herself. “We”? She kept thinking in the plural...Why?

*_Hoot._* the owl’s response again echoed about her.

“Shoal?” Alaria answered in surprise. Why Shoal? Shoal was...a coastal town...there was a temple there...a temple to...the sea? She didn’t need to go to the sea...she had to get...

“The dragon!” Alaria cried aloud.

*_Hoot Hooooo._* the owl’s voice said simply. It’s tone and meaning clear to Alaria’s mind.

 There was a flash somewhere in the distance before her. A green light, merely a glimmer, far off and then it was gone. She knew the green light...there was something about it...some...one...

The calming grey peace that surrounded her immediately darkened menacingly. Soon, the pale grey ether was plunged into a complete blackness. 

The owl pitched and dove, letting out a cry of alarm as it did so. Alaria gripped large handfuls of feathers to avoid sliding from the spirit-creature’s back. The sudden jolt spared something in her mind.

“I’m in the spell-sleep!” Alaria gasped.

“Hoot!” the owl replied, again with a tone of fear.

Two large red slits of eyes appeared before them. They loomed huge in the “air” before them. 

The owl made to turn about as Alaria saw the tiny beacon of green light appear again, twinkle for a moment and disappear. It appeared, as best she determine, somewhere “behind” the eyes.

“No! No! Keep going! We have to go back!_ I_ have to go back!” Alaria commanded.

Without a sound, the owl resumed its course toward the large glowing red eyes.

A maw of black teeth opened beneath them, discerned only by the glowing red within the “mouth.” An ear-shattering roar of defiance and malice filled her perceptions. A burning heat and force of wind jolted the owl from its flight and the creature, with Alaria still clinging to it, was “knocked” by some unseen force. They were falling toward the mouth.

As they fell, she saw apparitions fly passed here. Erevan. Festus. There was Haelan sobbing over the smashed body of Buttercream. The satyr Jovias skipping along, oblivious to her, strumming on his lyre. The elf-priest Cyrillean being consumed in flames. There was Montor! 

“Montor! Help me!" Alaria called out even as she and her owl fell beyond him. He looked down at her. A pained expression filled his face before he turned and faded away in a flourish of his midnight blue cloak. A flock of elvin knight hawk-riders raced passed her, flying “upward”.

Suddenly she was assaulted by the scents of sulfur and burning wood, pillars of smoke surrounded them. Beneath her, they now fell toward Ablidon...the Flaming City consumed in a blanket of  flames and billowing smoke...Then falling toward a field of corpses, armies of elves and men spread out as far as she could perceive into the darkness...then it was Bridgetower...in ruins...standing in the midst of the rubble of the courtyard behind the great tower stood a lone figure...Braddok!

Alaria tugged with all of her might on the owl’s back to right the spirit-mount. It came out of its plummet and soared away from the red-glowing maw. She circled back around to where, she perceived, Braddok had been.

The warrior’s form appeared again, faintly, translucent. He stood, eyes closed. His hands clasped before him in a posture resembling some kind of prayer or...like one would position a corpse in reverence.

“Braddok!” the magess called out. There was no indication the ghost-image heard her but two sets of glowing white eyes, one set to either side of the swordsman, appeared. They were small twinkling spots of light.

“I must go back!” she cried out again, whether to the owl or Braddok or these white lights, even she could not say.

She noticed, quite jolting, that the darkness through which they now flew was now reaching at her and the owl. Dragging on them. The perceived speed of their flight noticeably slowed, like trying to sludge through a mire.

*_HOOT!_* the owl cried out. Whether to her or to their circumstance, Alaria wasn’t sure.

A cacophony of *_Hoooooooooo_* erupted all around them. It wasn’t her owl’s sound. Definitely multiple different voices. 

From the shining eyes to either of Braddok’s form, tendrils of silvery light ripped forward, forming as they came, into great clawed draconic hands. Alaria felt complete fear for a moment before noticing that the silvery claws were ripping away at the darkness around her.

The glowing red maw now opened in the blackness “behind” Braddok and the silvery eyes. A thunderous roar shook the whole of the unearthly realm as the maw neared the back of the trio before her, threatening to dive down over them, consuming them all.

“NO!” Alaria cried out and felt the rush of arcane power, which she knew so well yet had completely forgotten she’d possessed. Without archaic phrases or finger-tangling gesture, even before she could throw her hand out toward Braddok, a silvery globe surrounded the warrior and his attending “spirit-eye-things.”

The maw seemed halted where it was. Not touching the globe, but unable to continue its apparent assault.

Then, the white glowing eyes took on a decidedly blue tint and grew in size, as forms surrounded the pinpoints of light. Draconic forms. Growing massive as Alaria watched and the owl, continued to fly toward them, though without ever, it seemed, getting any more close.

Their outlines, like silvery thread laid on a canvas of black, grew long necks and powerful claws, massive wings stretched out from their backs until they formed a wall of silvery wing between Braddok and Alaria and the giant red-glowing face that threatened them.

A duo of high-pitched piercing roars filled the area, though without the shaking force of the black draconic face. They filled Alaria with an obscure calm and security that gave way to a pulsing strength and...direction...purpose...clarity.

The two silvery dragons swirled together, weaving back and forth with each other, nose to tail, forming a silvery horizontal figure “8.“ Alaria immediately recognized it as the ancient magical sigil of infinity.

As this draconic infinity swirled before her, Alaria distinctly felt herself moving again “forward.” Braddok was getting closer. For a few beats of the owl’s wings, they were making a measurable, though slight, headway.

Then, in a moment, it was as though they were being “pulled”, sucked, toward the warrior and dragons, uncontrollably. In a split second, the owl and Alaria became a blur, distorted, stretched, accompanied with the sensation of moving at a breakneck speed and her perceptions was filled with silver light that flashed through eyes even as she shut them in fear. Thunder again filled in her ears.

Blackness. Ringing. A droning buzz that took on a definite tone and pitch...multiple notes...then a different harmony. The scent of...sea salt? What was that fishy odor? Was that humming? 

“Hooooooohhhhhhmmmmm. Toooooooohhhhhmmmm. Bless-ed be Her dehhhh-epths." the unseen voices intoned.

Alaria’s eyes cracked open. A golden light blinded her before a moment before blurred forms began to take shape.

“She’s waking up!” she heard Haelan squeal, as if from a distance.

Alaria opened her eyes fully and lifted her head and shoulders from the pillow of the cot. “Where...” she tried to say.

Braddok stood at the foot of the bed. Relief and joy filled his face as his eyebrows rose in question.

To either side of him stood the bleach blond, heavily tanned and toned forms of the Shoal twins, Dihm and Suhm. They were bare to the waist save for a stole of sea-green, each with trim and serpentine shapes embroidery in silver thread. Their faces, like the stoic masks she remembered, betrayed no apparent emotion.

Alaria though she noted the slightest glimmer of silver light fade from Suhm’s eye...or was that Dihm?         

“Oh Alaria!” Haelan’s voice came again as the Hilltender slammed into the bedridden magess with a daelvar-sized bear hug. “Praise Faerantha you’ve come back. Oh..ehm..and Tyris, too, of course.” the halfling added.

It was then that Alaria noticed the rest of the room was filled, nearly to capacity, with attending priests and priestesses in assorted wraps and robes of blue and green. Several held incense burners giving off a faintly bluish smoke. Many others held candles of white and pale green. A stern looking bent middle-aged man was beside her bed.

He simply nodded and said, rather dispassionately, “I suppose I must welcome you back to Shoal, Magess Alaria.”


----------



## steeldragons

The reunion was bittersweet as Alaria discovered that she had been unconscious for over two weeks.

Her alarm was doubled with the realization that they had a mere twelve days...”Eleven, now, actually.” Fen corrected...before the horrifying prospect that Desaarthal would attempt to revive the elder wyrm, Sharzaak.

She thanked the twins and the somewhat off-putting Tidemaster for their intervention and assistance.

The following morning,the team began to weigh options and possibilities, taking into account the magess’ visions from her spell-sleep. How much were portents, precognition and/or simple images from her own mind and fears could not be discerned. 

Their time was quickly becoming more limited. Aid from Hawkview was out of the question. Even though Pyrnion could make the flight in a little more than two days, any forces to be rallied and reach Shoal or the coast near Dragonbone Isle would require far more time than they had. 

Similarly, treks on foot to reach Bridgetower and Daenfrii would need almost as much time, though the sorcery of the Dragonmage could guarantee a faster response time.

It was decided that Fen would send avian messengers to the elves at Silver Falls, the guild-tower in Hawkview, and Bridgetower. The elves at the Falls had at least one Hawk-rider to carry on their news to Evandrial. Bridgetower could easily contact the Dragonmage’s keep. Of course, three sea-eagles were sent to the druidhold of Moonglade and the two other nearest druid “Keepers.” 

The Tidemaster reluctantly agreed to use his Sending magic to contact other associates at various temples in Hawkview, Daenfrii and to Tyrisian temples farther afield to spread the word of a potential assault or, at the least, to be aware of the possibility that an ancient evil might be returning to Orea.

Alaria, herself, directly contacted Rhea through the emerald teardrop talisman she still carried and that might save them some time. She also requested, at Pyrnion’s urging, that Rhea contact the zephari’s liege, the Wind Wizard Car’Tyr, and apprise him of the situation.

Finally, in response to her visions, a messenger would be sent directly to the court of the magelord in Ablidon. What, if anything, might come of it the companions could not say, but they were secure in the belief that the message would reach its intended recipient.

At her request, Fen would also send a messenger to Alaria’s family to warn them to be prepared to protect themselves and flee, if necessary. Haelan, similarly asked for word sent to Hillmother Saran in the Free Hollows.        

The essence of these messages was, “We have ten days to thwart this plot or Sharzaak will rise. The Stormriders will do what is necessary, but we can not guarantee success. If we fail, the security of your realms, indeed for all Orea, will rest with you. All assistance will be appreciated.”

It was two more days until all of the messengers and magic messages were relayed. 

There was immediate response from the Lady of the Emerald Tear saying that the court of Daenfrii had been visited by a very angry Witch-queen of Dunsmoor. Her staff, which <the companions knew from the Overeer> held the _Fehs Repahl,_ had been stolen from her possession.

On hearing of the dragon/wizard, Tresahd/Desaarthal’s involvement, the witch-queen Selara had disappeared in a ball of fiery rage. It is assumed, she has gone to reclaim what is hers.

This was “good” news, the companions assumed. They hoped the legendary wizardess might live up to her reputation, as told them by the Lord Gorathial. At the very least she would slow the dragon’s plans, if not deprive her of the fire-based Repahlentim (thus thwarting her plan), or best-case scenario, slay the dragon herself.

Then the companions had to decide on their own course of action. Exhausted from the days of conference and planning and message preparing and sending, the companions adjourned for the night and met again at first light...with seven days, one week, until the vernal equinox.

“My friends, we have seven days. What can we do?” Braddok stoically began.

He was seated a large circular table in the temple’s main dining hall. The companions surrounded the table, and looked to each other uneasily. Each unsure how to begin or respond.

Waverider Trihna joined them, as she had the passed two days, in Jocuque’s stead. She was the first to stand and speak.

“The isle is only a little over a day’s sail. We could, and I would pose 'should’, go there now and try to stop this thing before it starts.” Trihna suggested.

“But how do we do that?” Haelan asked. “Desaarthal’s power is easily beyond us. She has shown that at least three times now.”

“We are not the same adventurers who met ‘Tresahd’ on the road to Deanfrii all those months ago, friend Hilltender.” Fen pointed out. “I am confident we can rely on assistance from Moonglade.

“I would not be surprised if my _kiri_ <_translation from Elvish: “those-nearly-family”, alternately or more simply translated as “cousins.” All elves -and more liberally, those with elvish blood- of Miralostae are considered to be close enough to be considered “kin” in some way_> in Evandrial will not also rise in support. Though I wouldn’t expect confirmation of this for a few days yet.”

“Are you suggesting we wait for that confirmation?” Braddok asked calmly.

Fen thought for a moment. “No. As I can not say that, for sure, that aid will come... and by then it might be too late. I recommend we take the offensive.”

Braddok grinned at this.

“You have been noticeably silent these passed days, Duor. What do you think?” Pyrnion urged the dwarf rogue.

The dwarf sat, arms crossed and sullen. He had, in fact, been rather silent through their entire stay in the Tyrisian temple. Perhaps more alarming, he’d noticeably not caused or gotten into trouble.

“No treasure in it. What’s it matter to me?” Duor grumbled with a shrug.

“Are you serious! The whole flippin’ world is at risk and you’re still sulking because you didn’t get the dragon treasure in Gorathgraard!?! Have you_ no _shame?!” Haelan burst.

“Are you saying you won’t come with us?” Alaria said, similarly horrified.

“Oh, I’ll go with yehs. If there’s treasure to be had, and I’d wager there’s gotta be sumthin’ there, I’ll go along. Better yet, if we slay the_ first _dragon, then I need to be there to claim my share of th’treasure that’s still in that mountain in the swamp.”

“Well, there’s a ringing endorsement for trust, friendship and solidarity.” Haelan scoffed. Now the Hilltender folded his arms and scowled at the dwarf.

“‘Trust, friendship and solidarity’ have n’er a coffer filled, hairfoot.” Duor replied blandly.

The others looked at the dwarf strangely.

“Ole dwarvish proverb.” Duor said plainly.

“You’re making that up.” Fen stated but couldn’t contain a smirk at the dwarf’s apparent attempt at a “hoodwink.”

“Think of it this way, Duor. If we fail the Dusk gets what you think is coming to them. There won’t even be a Hawkview to claim, let alone pilfer.” Braddok said, half tongue-in-cheek, to offset the tension.

“Or, how about this way...if we fail, there won’t be treasure anywhere for you to claim because the whole damned world will fall to darkness and the super-dragon will take *all* treasure for itself.” Haelan said, lacking any tone of humor.

At this, Duor’s bushy eyebrows rose. This was an outcome he hadn’t considered. The dwarf rose to his feet and pounded a gloved fist on the table top.

“What’re we waitin’ fer!? Y’heard the druid n’ the wave-priest. We gotta go _now_!” the dwarven rogue exclaimed.

“We can assume the demons we’ve encountered will be there, assisting at their mistress’ bidding.” Fen added, turning the conversation back to the idea of a direct assault on Dragonbone Isle.

“Is there anything we can do...or find out to help us against them?” Haelan asked, obviously  nervous at the prospect of again encountering abyssal horrors.

“For that matter, is there anything about the ritual itself that we know? Something we can do to stop it without, perhaps, taking on Desaarthal directly?” Pyrnion added.

All turned to Alaria. The magess, sadly, was lacking any more knowledge than they already possessed. She knew only the elements the dragon knew to conduct the ritual...all of which, save the Ihs Repahl, it was assumed she now had.

As to the demons, Alaria knew there existed certain magical inscriptions and circles that could be used to trap or deter demonic creatures. This filled the companions with a momentary hope until Alaria continued.

“However, I am certain we do not have the time for me to properly learn them. I wouldn’t even know where to begin researching.” the magess admitted. Seeing her friends’ disappointment, she added most sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

“If that is the case should we, perhaps, move you, Alaria?” Trihna suggested.

This brought questioning looks to all of the companions.

“If the dragon needs your wind-orb to conduct the ritual, should we not do everything we can to deprive her of it?” the Waverider stated, as if it were obvious.

Several of the companions found themselves feeling particularly stupid at that moment.

“Perhaps we can find a way to magic you to the other side of the continent? Or hide you in some unknown enclave. If Daenfrii is truly as secure as I’ve heard the Hilltender tell, could you not just return there? We need only wait until after the vernal equinox, do we not?”

This warranted some thought. Alaria was somewhat annoyed with herself and her hubris. In her single-mindedness to “stop Desaarthal”, the idea to simply deprive the dragon of what she needed had not entered the magess’ mind. 

“Can we?...hide from the dragon, I mean.” Haelan asked tentatively. “It seems she knows where we go all of the time.”

“She doesn’t know we’re here.” Pyrnion said with more than a little ascending enthusiasm that the idea had merit. The looks on several other party members’ faces took on a similar hopeful light. Braddok’s did not.

“As far as we know.” Braddok amended.

Crests visibly fell and shoulders slumped all around the table.

“True.” Alaria admitted. It would be a very simple matter for the dragon to get from Dragonbone Isle to the temple and back again on the very day of the ritual if she wanted to.

“Well, you said Dihm and Suhm protected you in the spell-sleep. Couldn’t they, maybe, mask you somehow if you stayed here?” the Hilltender asked with typical innocence.

Twelve hopeful eyes shot to Trihna.

Somewhat taken aback, the Waverider answered as honestly as she could.

“I couldn’t say. We would have to consult the Tidemaster and see if he feels the twins are up to, or at all capable of, such an thing. I am inclined to say no. They are very young, after all. The training in their mystical abilities, and I will grant I do not fully understand what those are, has only been a few weeks now. Since Jocuque’s arrival. Tidemaster Kama had inklings for the twins potential, but he had not yet begun to explore it.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.” Haelan insisted.

Trihna nodded and excused herself to go consult with the Tidemaster.

“Let’s assume for the time being they can not,” Braddok continued as Trihna left. “What can we do?”

“That arcanist in Bridgetower hid us from ‘Tressie’ before. Couldn’t he do it again?” Duor off-handedly offered.  

Alaria shook her head in the negative. “That was a relatively minor masking enchantment. Short term. I doubt it could thwart her and all of her demonic minions is she put them to the task of finding us.” 

“You don’t believe she has already done just that?” Fen said, in some disbelief.

“She hasn’t found us yet.” Haelan piped in.

“...That we know of.” Braddok again amended.

The party mused silently for a few moments.

“What do you think, Braddok?” Alaria asked. “You are the warrior. If we are to make a direct assault on the island, how would you suggest we succeed? None of us have ever had to fight an actual dragon.”

Braddok thought for a moment. His mind raced with years of training, military histories, and legendary tales of heroes defeating dragons.

“I say we just go in and slit the damned thing’s throat. Works on jus‘bout everythin'.” Duor mumbled, now bored with the council. He took to flipping his ethereal dagger into the air, catching it effortlessly by the pommel every time.

The companions looked at the dwarf with some annoyance. Braddok’s eyes focused on the ethereal green flame circling through the air with each of the dwarf’s tosses. The magical energy blurring into circles as it rose and fell, seeming to be located in multiple places at once.

“That!” Braddok said aloud. “That’s it. Multiple places at once!”

The rest of the companions looked at the swordsman in obvious confusion.

“Most successful battles and military campaigns, throughout Orea’s history, have been the result of a multi-pronged assault.” Braddok explained. Poorly, it seemed, as the questioning looks did not change.

“Are you saying we should... _split the party?_... to _assault _a _dragon_'s lair?!” Pyrnion said, unsure.  

“Yes!” Braddok exclaimed, pleased with the plan that was forming in his head.

“We do as Trihna suggested. Keep the Ihs Repahl, and Alaria, away from Dragonbone Isle. While most of us go there to disrupt the ritual. We’ll need a decoy. Desaarthal will know we are coming to her, and if she believes Alaria is with us, she’ll let us come.”

“Devious, my boy. I approve. I volunteer to remain here and guard the magess.” Duor smiled broadly.

“Then how will you claim your share of any treasure to be had, my roguish friend?” Pyrnion jibed.

“Eh! I’ll be doin’ my part!” Duor defended.

“Stealth will be paramount, Duor. I am afraid you do not get to stay behind.” Braddok said.

“She’ll blow us outta the blasted water before we ever get near her! Stealth won’t be an option.” Duor replied deadpan. “I’ll be dipped in goblin guts...again...before I’d go along with that!”

“As much as I dislike agreeing with Duor, beloved, I am not comfortable with sending you there alone as a decoy for a dragon.” Alaria chimed in. “Without substantial magic on our side, it’s a suicide mission.”

“Prolly a suicide mission anywho.” Duor grumbled under his beard.

“Not helping!" Haelan scowled at the dwarf before taking on a worried countenance. The daelvar inwardly acknowledged the dwarf was very possibly correct.


----------



## steeldragons

Desaarthal stood, in her feminine human form, before the cistern in the great rounded chamber deep within Dragonbone isle. She’d never bothered to re-conjure the water wyrd to protect the aquatic “battery” she now possessed. She peered, with glee, at the image in the water before her. Only three days remained until the appointed time.

The succubus, Althrizz, stood beside and slightly behind her, looking with her mistress into the brackish water.

A small single-masted fishing boat was nearly to the isle. The adventurers crowded in its frail shape. The dullard warrior at the til, the daelvar, the winged one and the magess, hooded, used her staff to steady herself on the increasingly choppy waters that surrounded the overgrown remains of the mother dragon.

“Where are the others?” Althriz posed cautiously.

“No doubt,” Desaarthal replied without concern, “the druid has retreated to his order, as the feeble tree-wizards so often do when defeat threatens the realms. The cowards.

“The dwarf has decided that the potential gains do not outweigh risk to his neck, as he has displayed so many times in the past” the dragon-lady said, unable to pass up the chance to flaunt her superior observations, “obviously.” 

Letting the slight pass, Althriz answered, again cautiously, “Then, Great One, would it not be prudent to go collect them now? Stop them on the water, where they are most vulnerable? Perhaps Nishkibuul...”

“No." Desaarthal said plainly. “My command of Nishkibuul does not extend beyond Gorathgraard....as you well know." she turned to the succubus with an arched ebony brow. 

Althrizz met the gaze, with all the innocence she could muster.

Returning her gaze to the scene in the waters for a few moments more, the dragon continued.

“No. Let them come. Let them believe they stand a chance...until all hope is so inexorably lost before their eyes.” the black-robed lady of raven hair replied.

“The crushing of the paltry delusions of mortals’ heroic deeds is just too 'delicious’ to pass up. Don’t you think?” she added.

Desaarthal took in a long breath, conveying near ecstasy in her obvious enjoyment. She exhaled with a satisfied slowness and turned toward the succubus with a decidedly evil smile. Her gaze then went, slowly, to the silvery-blue-skinned captive, bound in stone by wrists, ankles and neck, above the cistern.

Althriz couldn’t help herself but to smirk a wicked grin. For everything else she thought of her mistress, Desaarthal did have a knack for cruelty and evil that demanded appreciation, as potent as any demon. 

“Indeed, mistress.” the succubus grinned a reply. The demoness’ own gaze rose to the shapely thigh, small waist, buxom chest, to the lovely unconscious face and elegantly tapered ears poking out from beneath teal-colored cascading curls. The succubus' forked tongue licked the edges of the razor-sharp teeth that filled her lovely-lipped mouth.

“Indeed.”


----------



## SolitonMan

Two posts in one day!  AWESOME!


----------



## steeldragons

The companions landed and disembarked in a cove, north of the rocky protrusion where the harpies had laired, much closer to the cave mouth they knew led deep into the oddly curved mountains of the island.

Pyrnion immediately took wing and did a quick reconnaissance. “Nothing evident in view.” the zephari reported as he alit on the rocky beach. 

Braddok, Haelan, Pyrnion and Trihna (hooded in Alaria’s protective cloak and carrying the Staff of Azanna) set out from the beach, weapons at the ready and clear in their objective.  

It was nearing nightfall as they came to the bubbling pools where they’d first encountered Mister Meesh <"That’s Meeessh!”>. They knew it was only a short jaunt up the rocky path to the “side door” to the mountain’s strange halls and chambers.

“She must know we’re here by now.” Haelan said, worried. “Where is she?”

“Undoubtedly unconcerned with our arrival, my friend.” Pyrnion said.

The explanation did nothing to alleviate Haelan’s jittery nerves.

“But we’re not s’pposed to go inside!” Haelan answered. “If she doesn’t come out...what’re we gonna...”

“Be still!” Braddok hissed. “We have no way of knowing if we are watched or not.” the swordsman said as he casually took off his pack and began setting to make a campfire.

The dark-haired, blue-eyed Grinlian warrior looked sidelong at the disguised Trihna.

The sea-priestess nodded and took out her own crystalline orb, half filled with water. A near-silent incantation later, the orb clearly glowed with more vibrance pointed toward the mountain.

“She’s still inside. Though, from here, I can not say where.” Trihna whispered to Braddok.

“Demons?” Pyrnion asked quietly.

Trihna concentrated a moment more...there was something..."Behind us?!” Trihna exclaimed.

She and all of the company turned, weapons at the ready to look behind them.

“Nice trick, magess” the sultry voice came from nowhere before Althrizz’s form shimmered into view at the edge of the companions’ campsite.

“Demon!” Haelan blurted in his panic, though the voluptuous woman’s large bat wings, pointed tail and delicate horns protruding from her forehead left little doubt to any with sight.

“Be at ease, champions.” Althrizz soothed with her honeyed tongue. “I bare a simple message.” 

The companions did not relax their battle-readied stances.

“Just give my mistress the Ihs Repahl.” Althrizz explained. She looked, casually, at her talon like fingernails. “You can even just leave it here, if you like. No need to even go inside.

“That’s all she wants. Doesn’t have to kill your magess...or any of you, for that matter.

“Just give up the orb and you might...could?...well, _possibly_ survive the devastation that will herald the coming age.” Althrizz now looked up from her manicured hands at Pyrnion, then, Haelan, then Braddok. She shrugged. “That’s all.”

“If that’s all she wants...” Pyrnion began to say.

“Pyrnion! Focus! She’s trying to charm us.” Haelan shouted.

 Braddok shook his helmed head and blinked twice.

“No dice, demon. Be gone and tell your mistress that we will thwart her wicked endeavor!” Haelan blurted. He inwardly shook at his own assertiveness and silently thanked Faerantha for the fortitude which the Hilltender always attributed to Her blessing.

Althrizz shrugged again. “Have it your way, hairfoot. She will have the orb one way or the other. As I said, I am merely the messenger...and your last offer or hope of getting out of here in one piece.”

She smiled at the assembled companions for one moment more and then shimmered, as if surrounded by waves of heat, out of view.

Haelan immediately dropped into a channeling trance and looked around, in every direction he could see in the dimming twilight. What the empowered vision showed him, much to Haelan’s relief, was the demon had in fact gone. There was no discernible, singular, trace of evil in view. But...<_quote noted from in game: "Why’s there always gotta be a ‘but’?!?”_> the whole of the isle pulsed with a low-grade ‘radiation’ of Evil.

Haelan shook his head to dismiss the troubling pulse from his consciousness and end his entranced sight.

“She’s gone. But evil is everywhere. I fear we may be too late after all.” the daelvar sulked.

“We have three days until the equinox.” Braddok asserted. “We can succeed.”

----
A slight green lizard, no larger than a man’s hand, scurried its way along the rocks toward the gaping cave mouth that, he knew from their first foray on Dragonbone Isle, was the primary entrance to the corridors and caverns beneath the island...the long decayed, calcified, covered and grown over remains of the internals of the mother-wyrm, Sharzaak.

It effortlessly climbed up onto a wall and sped into the darkness. It rounded corners and licked at the air with its reptilian tongue. Once it ducked into some shadows as a patrol of goblin guards wandered by. 

Coming to the end of a long corridor, the lizard was surprised to find many goblins, with some hobgoblins which appeared to be their overseers or captains, shouting commands in goblinese as the smaller humanoids scurried about, loading and packing sacks and chests and crates of wood with all manner of riches and treasures. Coins, gems, bolts of rich fabric and barrels of wine and/or spices. All booty, undoubtedly taken from the surrounding waters’ heavily trafficked trade-routes of the Whitegull Bay between Hawkview and across the bay to the edges of the Mage-lands of R’Hath...possibly even beyond.

Sets of goblinoids packed and moved the containers back toward the entrance. It seemed the mistress had demanded they clear out before the equinox and a ship was arriving that evening to be loaded at the closest beach, just at the foot of the cave-mouth.

*_Duor will be very interested in this, I should think._* Fen thought to himself. But this was not what he was looking for. The lizard scurried, unseen along the edges of the cavern, through the only other corridor leading from the chamber.

At his size, the druid easily noticed the edges of a series of pit-traps along this corridor. Not surprising considering the wealth located at the end. 

He rounded a corner and was struck by a wall of scent. Most off-putting. Guano. The odor flooded down the corridor from the darkness beyond. Carefully check the vicinity, the lizard curled up, then stretched, then began to ungulate and give off a soft green glow. 

A moment later, where the lizard had been, a bat took to the air, hugging the ceiling of the corridor. Some bats were known to feed on small lizards. Better safe than sorry, Fen thought.

The source of the guano scent was a large, high roofed cavern at the end of the corridor. By the size and amount of guano coating the floor, a very large bat colony must have resided here. But only until recently, Fen reasoned as he grasped a crag of rock in the cavern’s ceiling with his feet. There were no other bats to be found in the cavern. His echo-location revealed nothing else moving. Odd.

The lack of vermin of any kind, throughout the caverns, was becoming a source of concern. Surely, at least rats, bats and other reptiles or insects would have found their way to reside here over the centuries since Sharaak’s demise. There had been plenty of time for ample vegetation. Where were the other lifeforms that would be common to such a habitat?

Fen took wing again and flitted his way out of the bat-cavern through a crevice in one of the walls revealed by his unusual senses. It soon dove, nearly straight down, and the air began to become very warm.      

He came through a similar crevice near the ceiling of another cavern, aglow in golden light. The floor of the cavern was dotted with pools of bubbling, glowing magma. A few large shards of blackened rock and relatively flat “pathways” of stone veined the chamber in black among the flowing lava. Two corridors exited with cavern. Fen took the more northerly of the two, banking on a guess from his last visit to these caves.

Sure enough, the corridor twisted and turned a long slow curve before coming out to the cavern all of the Stormriders remembered from their earliest adventure here. He found a place to grasp the ceiling once more and took in the cavern. 

There were four small jutting stones in the walls of the large domed cavern, each above a cistern- like half-wall of stone. On one, a bowl. On another, a staff topped with a large jewel. The third was empty. The fourth held a captive. Small, slight, obviously female and elvish in features. Who was that unfortunate, Fen wondered...and how did she figure into the dragon’s plan?

Two figures were within the chamber. The one with large bat-like wings jutting from her back, small horns on her head and a long barbed tail. Fen recognized Althrizz immediately. The other draped in a flowing robes was obviously the humanoid form of Desaarthal.   

“They refused, as you said they would.” Althrizz said.

“Fine. They are here. My victory is nearly assured. Release the hounds after them when the sun sets. They will be ours by morning. See that as few are slain as possible.” Desaarthal replied. “How goes the evacuation?”

 “Goblins are inefficient.” the demoness said, more as a statement of fact than a reply. “But the hogomors seem to have them well in line. They say the ship will arrive at moonrise. The treasure should be loaded before morning.” Althrizz reported plainly.

“Good. Mother will be pleased to begin her new reign with at least a small hoard.” Desaarthal replied, distracted by the unconscious figure above the cistern of water where they had battled the water-hydra to reclaim the Shoal temple’s sacred pearl.

“What of the others, mistress? Is it wise to leave them here?” Altrizz asked.

“The rising will be difficult and will require as much..._sustenance _as possible.” Desaarthal answered. “Their power should greatly help Her return...and a few of the adventurers can only help, however paltry their existence.”

“And when the rising is achieved and you no longer require...” Althrizz began to prod gently.

“Yes, yes, Althrizz. You may have their souls. I only have need of their lifeforce and material forms.” the dragon-woman snapped back.

“Now, I will go rest. The rising will require a great deal of strength. Do not disturb me unless absolutely vital.” Desaarthal said, turning to the demoness.

Desaarthal began to leave and stopped, mid-exit. She looked around the cavern. Her gaze did not find or rest on the lone grey bat hidden among the shadowy crags in the ceiling.

“Do not disappoint me, Althrizz. There is nothing here beyond your capacity to handle.”

The demoness gave a low bow. “Certainly not, mistress.”

As the dragon-in-human-form left the chamber, the demoness turned her head, still bowed, and hissed a nearly imperceptible, “Rest well.”

When Desaarthal was gone, the succubus batted her wings and effortlessly flew away, disappearing down the corridor that led to the lava pits.

Fen took wing again and flitted down toward the figure on the cistern. She was elvish to be sure, but smaller than the elves he knew. Her figure was certainly not that of a child and her bare hands and feet revealed webbing between them.

A Karolostae?! <_literally translated from elvish: “Those who Watch [or ‘Follow’] the Deep”_>. An elf of the Orean seas. Unusual to say the least. But the druid was at a loss what even so unusual a being could do for Desaarthal’s plan.

The sea elves were nearly legend. But nothing Fen had heard or learned in his teachings indicated they would have a magical power to rival that of the Tyrisian’s holy pearl relic.

The half-elf was torn with pity for the woman. But his mission was reconnaissance. Not to interfere with anything, at this moment, that might tip their hand.  He had to finish scouting and return to the party before nightfall. He had to warn the others of the impending attack. 

*_By the Balance and the Blood of the Stars, I will be back for you. I swear it._* Fen thought to himself.

With that silent farewell, the bat exited down the third passage that left the chamber.


----------



## steeldragons

Althrizz “flew”, effortlessly moving along the grey mists of the ethereal plane through the early night. The two horse-sized black shadows of the hellhounds raced through the corridors and out into the surrounding night. The flames of their tongues spewing about their snouts as burning spittle sprayed onto the rocks and plants to either side, leaving a path of sizzling and smoking as they went.

The galloping magical beasts thundered down the rocky path toward the party’s location. Between that and their incessant baying, their approach would be no surprise.

The succubus had used her clairvoyance to find the camp site. The group had moved, slightly, into the a clearing in the woods. A bit away from the hot springs. Must have been the swordsman’s idea to offer them more maneuverability.

She debated, only a moment, the idea of appearing before them and offering them surrender. But where’s the fun in that. Let the hounds have some exercise and she could still claim a couple alive, as her mistress wanted. At the least, the fire-based beasts could soften them up a bit first...and if any died, she could claim them for herself.

The hellhounds bounded into the clearing. 

The heroes were at the ready. The swordsman and daelvar forming a 'perimeter before the hooded magess. The winged one took to the air as soon as the dogs appeared.

Arrows rained down on them, but most snapped harmlessly off of the hellhounds iron-like pitch black fur. Then, all of the heroes weapons glowed with the accursed golden glow of the Hilltender’s blessings. After that, two arrows sunk into one of the hounds’ shoulders.

The painful distraction was enough to cause one of the dogs to leap and snap up at the winged archer. This left it open to a long slash from the sapphire-hilted blade of the Grinlian. Flames spewed forth from the wound and glowing red blood, flowed down the black fur like lava. The confused and sorely wounded beast swiped a clawed paw at the warrior, but missed.

Haelan shouted a prayer to his Hill-goddess to protect his friends from the fires of the wicked. 

He completed his entreaty none too soon as the second beast breathed a cone of fire at the Hilltender. The diminutive cleric closed p into a ball no larger than a foot and a half around, behind his magical shield. When the flames had passed, the ball of cleric was coated in a soft reddish glow. He seemed no the worse for wear.

Now, the magess was busy casting something as well. But something about the motions and tone was strange, to Althrizz.

Still, as she threw up her arms on the final syllable, the warrior and cleric backed away from their attackers and the zephari easily lifted and twisted himself into the air as a maelstrom of ice and snow burst into being and fell upon the two hellhounds.

Intriguing, thought Althrizz. The magess was expanding her repertoire to include other forms of weather magic besides always throwing lightning around.

The party regrouped at the far end of the clearing as the beast were battered and frozen by the torrent of cold. The spell seemed to only last a moment, but when it cleared, one of the hounds (who had already sustained wounds from Pyrnion and Braddok) lay coated in ice.

The second beast paced cautiously around the edge of the clearing. Its instincts were to circle its prey, but with no other pack-member to aid it, there was no trap to press his foes into. The creature’s wicked intelligence was enough to have it continue to circle, looking to line up the land-bound heroes for another blast of its fiery breath.    

The zephari was setting to pelt  the remaining creature with arrows.

With a sigh, Althriz exited the ethereal plan beside the winged man and grabbed at him.

“Wuthuh???” Pyrnion uttered before he felt the warming caress of the demoness. 

“Am I not lovely?” Althriz’s face was painted with a visage of innocence and hopeful longing. Her wings appeared feathered and flowing golden hair was perfectly accented with silvery plummage. Her eagle-like eyes and the feathery brows above them were the softest blue of the most perfect brightest spring sky. She was the most lovely zephari woman he had ever seen.

“You!...you...are.” Pyrnion said calmly. Had he ever seen such a beauty? Of either gender. This woman before him, she could be his mate. His mate above all others.

Among his own kind, males and females only came together for their ritual matings, every 4 years. The rest of the time, the zepharim preferred to keep to their own genders for companionship and other familiar bounds. Male fledgings were taken after their second year, when they were capable of flight, to be raised by and with the males, likewise for zepharim women. But this...this female...he could nest with her the remainder of his days.

*CLANNNNNG* reverberated between the two flying figres as a small round shield bounced off of the woman’s head.

“AHHH!” she cried and turned to look at the Hilltender’s outreaching arm as the magic shield flew back to it.

“You dare!?” she said at first. “Beloved, you must stop him. He means me harm!” Althriz pleaded in her most weak and helpless voice.

A snarl formed on Pyrnion’s face. Not even the daelvar could harm his beloved. He set his bow in his quiver and drew his magic hand axe.

“You like throwing things at helpless women, beast! Catch this!” Pyrnion shouted at the tiny daelvar as he let loose with his axe. The golden weapon flew in a tight circle and landed, firmly, in the cleric’s shoulder.

“Pyrnion STOP! The demon has fooled you. LOOK! Look at her!” Trihna cried at the zephari while Braddok was desperately trying to keep the remaining hellhound’s attention on him. 

“I have seen her, deceiver! She is the most lovely thaAAGHHZZZZ!!!” Pyrnion began to retort before a lightning bolt flew from the sky to strike both him and the shapeshifted demoness.

Althrizz shrieked as well, though maintained her flight. She sneered in disgust at the zephari’s weakness as he plummeted to the ground, streaming smoke. She should not have felt such pain from magical lightning...how had the magess...she looked to the sky. 

A funnel of dark clouds circled above her. How had she...the druid! He was here somewhere.

Althrizz scanned the clearing. Sure enough, the half-elf was at the clearing’s edge, having moments before appeared as nothing but part of the treeline.

“You!” she shouted and teleported before another streak of lightning flew through the air where she had just been.

She reappeared immediately before the Fen and swiped at him with her taloned fingers, having fully reverted to her demonic shape. The attack struck the druid by surprise, but not before he had summoned another bolt down, directly on his location.

Althriz shrieked again, her form ravaged by the natural magic of the Ancient Order. She teleported again, immediately, back to the opening of the mountain’s “side door”, well away from the melee.

Braddok dispatched the hellhound while Haelan healed himself, then Pyrnion. He trotted on blond-topped feet to the smoldering form of the cloaked druid knelt.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Haelan reprimanded before calling on Faerantha’s grace to heal his friend.”They weren’t supposed to know you were here.” he continued after the druid’s wounds were healed.

“I will survive, Hilltender. A calculated risk. My cloak’s enchantments softened the blow a bit. Didn’t know that incantation packed such a wallop.” the carrot-topped druid admitted as he stood.

“Maybe you’ll think twice before using it on a friend, then, in the future.” Pyrnion glared, rubbing the back of his neck as he rose.  

“Haelan is correct.” Braddok also frowned. “You’ve given away one of our cards.”

“I apologize, warrior, but the daelvar was in jeopardy and, plan or no plan, I could not simply permit the abomination to persist.” Fen half apologized without sounding at all apologetic.

Braddok nodded. He understood the nature-priest’s tenets to an extent. He silently acknowledged that keeping the druid inactive among demons and supernatural creatures, like the hellhounds, was going likely to end just like this. Another calculated risk.

Either way, they were victorious. It could only be hoped that this victory would not rouse the dragon from her needed rest.

“What now?" Trihna asked, concerned that their gambit might prove exposed.

“We will press the attack. We’ll venture into the mountain and hope that we can achieve our goals without...or before...Desaarthal will become involved.” Braddok said grimly. “The succubus is obviously wounded. If we can end her now, our position is all the stronger.”

“But what about Al...ahhhh...Duor?” Haelan asked, nearly slipping.    

“We will still be in the position we need to.” Braddok said plainly. He tightened the straps of his shield and adjusted his grip on Kandu. “Let’s go.”

The hellhounds smoldered and eventually caught fire and burned, consumed by their own blood, through the night. By the morning, nothing but horse-sized scorch marks were left in the clearing.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Well, after a long hiatus I've been reading this storyhour again and enjoying it no end ....

... well, actually, with an end, because now I've caught up and am going to have to wait for updates. 

Great stuff, Steel Dragon - I particularly love the personality you've added to many of the monster.

Hope there's more soon ...


----------



## SolitonMan

Hi SD, how's your summer going?  Good I hope.  Any chance you might be able to do an update soon?


----------



## Lwaxy

I just caught up and must say this cliffhanger needs to be resolved soon


----------



## steeldragons

Fair enough and thanks very much to all for your patience.

[also, sorry for any false alarm this post may cause for some of you as this is more apology than continuing story.  ]

The first half of the summer is has been packing up and moving from Andorra back to the states.

The last...month of so has been getting things settled here including (but not limited to): getting a car, arranging for storage for the things being shipped back; getting the shipping itself squared away as that was kinda floating in limbo for a few weeks (I can expect it "end of Aug./beginning of Sept."...I kid you not); helping my partner get ready for a year working abroad (in a...shall we say rather "restrictive" country that doesn't require naming, including running around for METRIC TONS of paperwork, tests and signed this and that); finding a permanent domicile for myself (which I have yet to do)...Why is it 1 bedroom places/single people are apparently not allowed to do their laundry INSIDE the house/apartment/condo where they live? 2 bedroom? Sure, we have washer/dryer. 1 bedroom...get out! go blocks down the street...or the next town over...it's "very close!" EFFYUH! I'm not a college student anymore [nothing against college students, of course!]. But one hits a certain age/point in life where you're just not willing to "make do"/give up certain amenities. Where _convenience_ becomes oooo, _really_ important. Dishwasher, washer, dryer...preferably NOT an hour [minimum] from everyone I know! Why is this so hard?

ANYwho, you guys have been great and my partner actually leaves this coming Monday (1 week). Sooooo, be looking for an actual real [action-packed ;P ] update to come...next week some time...after Monday.

I promise.

Hope everyone else is getting to ENJOY their summers. I, for one, am REALLY ready for some calm and quiet autumn after 3-4 months of utter chaos.

--SD


----------



## Lwaxy

The great mystery of house hunting. It is either no washer/dryer in one bedrooms here, or you have to pay extra water damage insurance. As if the water could make any more damage in one room than in two. 

Anyway, I hope you can update soon (says the one behind in like 10 SHs)


----------



## steeldragons

Braddok, Haelan, Fen and Trihna races up the curving path to the "side" entrance to the dragon's mountain. Pyrnion, having winged his way ahead, alit when he saw them nearing. 

"We need to find her." Braddok said.

The sea-priestess Trihna, in the guise  of Alaria, pulled her locator orb from the pouch and with a brief command, the grey-green water within the crystal began to churn and swirl with a soft glow.

The companions raced through the stone corridors. They passed through the small cavern where the large iron chains that had once held the hellhounds lay discarded. They entered the cavern where they (minus Pyrnion) had first fought the water-hydra and reclaimed the Shoal temple's sacred pearl.

Unbelievable, Haelan thought to himself, that was still less than a year ago.

"What is that?" Pyrnion said with some disbelieve at the unconscious aquatic elf now occupying the space above the filled cistern.

"Karolostae." Trihna said in an awe-inspired whisper. The clerics of Tyris were schooled all manner of oceanic flora and fauna, including many "peoples", of whom the average land-dwelling races were unaware.

"A Watcher of the Deep. A branch of elfkind that lives beneath the seas." Fen explained for those who didn't know.

"That poor woman. We have to free her." Haelan said trotting over to the sea elf.

"Pyrnion, get that." Braddok said pointing toward the fire-gem topped staff, even as he raced toward the shelf on which Haelan's food-producing bowl sat.

Fen, racing for the Karolosta woman, noticed too late that the warriors were going to gather the treasures. "No wait!" he shouted seeing Pyrnion flap his way across the chamber and nearing the staff.

*BFFZZZAP!*

Magical energy sparked and flared with a yellow light as the zephari bounced off the mystical barrier.

Pyrnion growled as he stood from his knees. "I hate that! That's twice I've been electrocuted in the past twenty minutes."

Braddok stopped in his tracks and slowly retracted the arm that had begun to reach for the bowl.

"Can any of you cancel the barriers?" Braddok said softly toward the three spellcasters who were trying to determine how to free the sea elf.

Fen placed a hand against the stone wall of the cavern, as close to the edge of the cistern as he dared and murmured the incantation for shaping stone. 

The rings of rock that bound the Karolosta's wrists and ankles began to ripple and melt away. The unconscious elf slumped down and nearly fell into the cistern. She was so light and small, that Trihna was able to catch her and slowly lower her into the water.


The elf's large eyes flitted open. All of the companions (who were near enough to see) were amazed by the large silvery-green irises that took a moment to focus on the faces before her. Questioning fear filled her face.

_"Be at ease. We are elf-friends. We will get you out of here."_ Fen said in elvish.

She looked with a slightly crooked head at the half-elf.

"Maybe she doesn't understand, you?" Haelan muttered from the side of his mouth, though hardly quiet enough to keep everyone from hearing him.

"Pyrnion, can you mind-talk to her, maybe?" Haelan suggested to the zephari.

The winged man shook his feathered head. "It's only for communication with others of my kind...or others who already have the ability."

"Huh." Haelan mused. "Do succubi have telepathy?"

"Focus, Haelan." Fen repremanded gently.

But this gave Braddok and idea! The swordsman motioned for Pyrnion aside and quietly instructed the zephari to try to see if he could mentally find the demoness.

"I've never tried anything like that before. I don't know if it will work." Pyrnion's feathery eyebrows rose on his forehead at the warrior's suggestion.

The sea elf looked all of the companions up and down. Her gaze lingered on Braddok and Pyrnion the longest before going back to Trihna and noting the amulet displaying the holy symbol of Tyris. It glinted from beneath Alaria's cloak. She grabbed the medallion and pointed to it.

"_Wear [something something] Waves! Waves [something] the Mother!"_ she said in elvish, though it was thickly accented to those with ears that understood and used certain sounds...that may have been words...that were completely different than land-elvish.

"Yes." Trihna said softly, intuiting something of what the elf was trying to convey. "I worship Tyris, blessed be Her depths." Trihna smiled gently.

"Tyris! Yes! Kama!" the sea elf said, very anxious.

All of the heroes eyes opened wide.

"You know Tidemaster Kama?!" Braddok said...in his language, forgetting himself.

The sea elf shook her head in agreement. "_{something that sounded like an affirmative]_ 'Tidemaster'...Kama!_ Where he is? Find him?"_ she sounded very concerned for the elder priest.

"_We don't know where the Tidemaster is, I'm afraid. He has been lost._" Fen tried to explain in the sea elf.

Again she grabbed the amulet and pointed to the eteched waves. "Kama!" Then she pointed to one of the other passageways that led from the room. _"Evil. [something] Dark. Come...[something something]..._Kama!"

"Is she saying that Kama is here?!" Haelan said, unsure if he was getting the translation correct.

"I...think she is." Fen said, also unsure and a bit surprised.

"Shoulda known." Pyrnion grumbled.

"Where is he?!" Trihna said full of concern.

"_Can you show us? Kama? Tell us where he is and we will get him._" Fen asked gently.

"_Evil [something] dark._" she said, pointing again to one of the other passages. Then she held up her hands like one pantomiming something with claws and did her best to make a growling snarling sound and bare teeth.

"Oh boy." Braddok and Fen simultaneously said.

"What?" Haelan looked at the two quizzically.

"Well, my elvish isn't up to snuff, but I'm pretty sure she just told us that the dragon has Kama." Braddok said.

"I must concur." Fen added.

"Oh not to worry, heroes. My mistress has more than that wrinkled old wave-priest." Althrizz's sultry voice came from all around them, echoing throughout the chamber.

The companions all whirled around in time to see the succubus materialize in the air, her wings spread nearly across the whole passageway as she hovered above a force of goblinoids. The goblins were a motley-looking bunch. Many wore sailor or pirate-esque garb. Behind these miscreants were two sets of heavily armored hobgoblins. 

"Looks like it worked." Pyrnion said under his breath to Braddok as the two warriors gripped their weapons more tightly.

Braddok scowled. He counted about 15 goblins and half dozen of the larger red and black armored hogomors, as far as he could see.

"And soon she will have five more than that. Take them!" she commanded.

The goblinoids charged.


----------



## steeldragons

> An excerpt from Jerub the Bold's prolific work, "Of the Adventuring Ways"...
> 
> "Of the many myriad of wondrous things that all who follow the path of adventure must be aware, there are three which must never be forgotten, nor neglected, nor ignored, lest they that do wish to face sheer defeat and utter misery.
> 
> In the first, one following the adventurer's path must be aware that if one comes acrossed that which appears to be jelly, or of jam or of pudding of any like sort of confection or tasaty delicacy, do NOT touch it! Do not caress nor poke nor grab nor stumble into nor lick nor imbibe. For those that do shall surely endure the slowest and most painful of deaths.
> 
> In the second, one must never drink nor sip nor taste nor apply to the skin nor imbibe in any fashion those liquids of fascinating scent and wondrous color, lest they have afore encountered such liquid or been otherwise identifyed as to its purpose and demeanor. Not the one found in crystal vial nor tattered skin nor sealed flask nor lovely fountain nor gilded chalice nor flagon nor any container of any sort. For those that do shall surely endure the ruinous and most unexpected of events to poisonous death or hateful transformation.
> 
> In the third, in no circumstance nor event nor cause nor feat nor jest nor joke nor trick nor temptation of any sort is it wise for one who follows the path of adventure to wake a sleeping dragon."
> 
> Jerub the Bold, Lord Blackleaf, Viscount of Karlith
> The Year of Our Good King Elibon, 142





Braddok charged forward, unsure of the current group's chances of defeating such a force, even if the succubus kept her distance, which the swordsman was sure Fen simply would not allow. He shouted orders as he went.

"Pyrnion, pepper the goblins. Leave the demon to Fen. Tri-aaaahhhhlaria watch the elf. Haelan...do what you do."

The team did, mostly, as instructed. Pyrnion's flawless aim with his short bow took down several goblin-pirates before they could clear half the cavern. His aerial agility easily keeping him safe from the few poor shots from some rear goblin crossbows.

Haelan invoked his goddess, taking little more than a thought at this point, to cause all of his allies' weapons to take on the amber glow of the Hill Mother's blessing...in case anyone needed to attack the demon directly.

Braddok's enchanted sword blazed with sapphire blue light and sliced through the vanguard of the charging goblins. Wielding the bastard sword as easily in his single hand, he managed to fell two before any of the goblins could even take a swing.

A hobgoblin charged the swordsman, utterly fearless in its fury, brandishing a wickedly serrated sword. The two traded minor blows, before the hobgoblin ripped his blade across Braddok's chest followed by a spray of blood. The wound was not severe, but bloodier than it looked from the sword's serrated edge. This was returned by Braddok, threefold and the hobgoblin's deeply cut body was a corpse before it hit the dirt. 

Haelan bashed one goblin with his pinecone-headed mace. A second was knocked out with a fling of his returning shield. He took a jab from lucky strike from a dagger by another pirate-looking  goblin, eye-patch and all.

The eye-patch goblin's face turned into a mask of surprise as one of Pyrnion's arrows sunk deeply into his back. 

Another of the hobgoblin's had already fallen to other true shots from the zephari.

The few goblinoids remaining hesitated their assault. They looked, somewhat nervously, across the chamber at the nearly untouched adventurers. 

"Stop them, fools!" Athrizz shouted with vicious determination. "The mistress will have your hides!" 

Trihna, trying to make the sea elf understand she should stay behind her was shocked when the elf pulled away rose above her on/in a pillar of water from the cistern. 


"[_something] evil [SOMEthing] female whale!_" the Karlostae shouted in obvious anger, without a hint of fear, toward the demoness.

The sea elf through her arms forward and water from the pillar shot out of the pillar of water beneath her. The blobs of water solidified into dagger-sized shards of ice as they flew at the succubus.

"She...can't be." Trihna marveled.

Athrizz snarled as three of the five ice-shards struck her. They melted and steamed away almost instantaneously. But the magical cold was still unpleasant for the wounded demon.

"Fish-blooded bitch!" the succubus hissed in retort. She couldn't respond to the attack. The mistress needed the stupid sea-nymph alive. She opted, instead, to disappear in a shimmer of heat.

Fen had taken his first moment to hurl a ball of flames into the goblin ranks. One had died from the burns while a second ran about in circles, screaming at the top of his green-lungs trying to bat out the flames that were consuming the red and white-striped bandana wrapped around his head. A third was chasing after him, trying to bat out the flames with his small mace. He succeeded, crushing the skull of his compatriot in the process.

The druid again whirled his sacred leaftip spear above his head. Ablaze with the green enchantments of his order, it became a blurring circle of blue flames at the end before Fen cut a swathe, hurling an arc of blue flames up at the space of air where Athrizz was fading from view.

The outline of blue faerie fire about the invisible succubus was only momentary before the demon's magical resistance brushed it aside. But it gave everyone a solid outline to work with for just a moment more.

A lightning bolt went streaking across the room, followed by a loud crack and low rumble of thunder...from the Staff of Azanna!? 

In her weakened state, Athrizz felt the arcane onslaught of the electricity tear through her supernatural defenses. The membranes of her wings sizzled away like tissue in a flame. Her skin was scorched and smoldering. She cried out in agony as the icy fires of her native plane stabbed her through the ether to be wrenched, forcibly, out of the Orean plane of existence. She discorporated in a spectacular explosion of fire and brimstone smoke. 

The heroes turned to look at Trihna with varying amounts of shock and appreciation.

Trihna's face was a mask of utter shock to see a hand grasping the staff along with hers, before an arm appeared that gave way to the rest of Alaria's form came into solid form and view next to her.

"Who's the bitch now?" Alaria said calmly.

The companions cheers were almost immediately silenced by another calm deep, yet feminine, voice.

"Who...indeed?"

The assembled goblinoids parted and bowed their heads. Some began to sneer and snarl in what sounded akin to laughter.

From behind them, strode their black-robed raven-haired mistress. Desaarthal stepped evenly into the chamber, her robes streaming out behind her like flowing waves of ink.

The company gripped weapons and steeled nerves even more tightly.

"You woke...me up." she said with a disapproving glower.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Thanks for the update SD.

Things don't look good ... hope you don't keep us hanging on too long this time. 

And I hope you can get all your RL troubles sorted.


----------



## Teflonknight

*Great Story*

I am still 3 years behind the current post, but I just wanted to let you know that I am enjoying the story.
I also found it amusing that you have an elf that is looking old. It the game that I run I had something similar a few months back. In the world of my campaign the aging is a result of an elf that has lived far longer than is normal for an elf. Mine was a 100+ years older than the maximum eleven life span. 
Thank you for tha great story and I look forward to catching up.


----------



## steeldragons

Thanks for the kind words all. It is most gratifying to know you are enjoying it.

---------------------
Duor stuck his, still wet, dagger back into its sheathe. The goblin he’d just yanked into the underbrush with him lay at his feet. Its black blood oozed out into the island ground. The small lidless box the creature had been taking down to the rowboat at the beach, to be transported to the larger ship waiting out some distance from the coast, glittered with gold coins and a few gemstones. 


Gods, how I do love gemstones. Duor thought to himself.


It had been an easy enough assassination. There was some commotion up at the cave entrance. Most of the hobgoblins had rushed back into the mountain while the treasure laden goblins hurried their carrying and dragging of the dragon’s riches to its evacuation point. This poor feelow simply happened to be the last and slowest, while there was noone around to notice the grey-cloaked dwarf pounce from the bushes beside the trail and pull the goblin in. His throat was slit before they were out of sight and hit the ground with a dull thud securely behind the great fern fronds and other twining vegetation.


More rallying cries in the hogomor’s gutteral goblinese tongue were shouted from the cave. 


“Hurry! Hurry...intruders...for the mistress!” was all Duor was able to piece together. But “intruders” was pretty much all he needed to hear.


“So much for the plan, sounds like, eh pally?” Duor said quietly to the dead goblin at his feet. He tucked the box of treasure under a nearby fern. “Keep an eye on that fer me, will yeh?" He kicked the goblin corpse in the head before he began making his way, carefully through the underbrush and deepening shadows, up to the cave entrance. 


Meanwhile...back in the domed chamber within the mountain...


“Shall we take this outside?” Desaarthal suggested calmly.


“We’ll take this no where, monster. You and your scheme end here and now.” Braddok shouted back and charged the black-robed dragon-in-sorceress-form.


Pyrnion, following Braddok’s lead, took wing and zoomed, close to the ground, toward the woman.


Fen was already finishing his cryptic syllables and slamming the butt of his sacred leaftip spear into the ground. Green lightning struck out across the floor of the chamber.

Desaarthal rose up and curved into the air, whether it was her lengthy robes trailing out behind or by some wicked spell, she seemed to rise and ride ahead of a great pillar or wave of inky blackness. But she wasn’t heading for the warriors. She was bending to the left, heading for the cistern in which the Fire Staff of Nator sat behind its shield of force.


“Don’t let her get the staff!” Alaria called out in horror at the realization of what [she thought] the dragon was up to.


With a thought, a lightning bolt streaked from the Staff of Azanna. The fast moving dragon was well ahead of where Alaria fired and the bolt crashed into the stone wall some distance behind her, on the other side of the chamber. Rocks flew and a couple of hobgoblins, not yet knowing what to do or how to proceed without their mistress’ instruction, fell beneath a large chunk of stone that crashed to the ground. 


The Karolstae sorceress and Waverider Trihna both began shouting out spells (or in the aquatic elf’s case, what Alaria presumed to be a spell, not understanding anything the small silvery-blue-green woman was saying). The sea elf’s magic seemed especially quick as a whip-like tendrils of water shot out from the churning pillar of water upon which she “floated.”


The “water whips” missed the shadow streaking dragoness, passing harmlessly through the inky blackness that trailed behind her as they twirled and waved about, as grasping tentacles, in what appeared to be an effort to grab the dark one.  


Fen’s attempt to Entangle the dragoness where she’d stood sent vines and roots flailing and grabbing a couple of unfortunate hobgoblins within the spell’s area of effect. 

Haelan began invoking a powerful prayer for enhanced protection and added blessing to himself and his companions. 


Desaarthal passed by the cistern in which the Staff of Nator stood on its pedestal. As she passed by, the staff was no longer there. In a great arc of blackness, she curved toward where the three magical women were preparing their spells. With a wave of her hand, both Trihna was physical pushed away by an unseen force, away from the sea elf and Alaria.


The wave of inky blackness passed over Alaria and the Karolosta. Alaria’s vision was entirely blackened before she was struck with a terrific pain and brutal strength knocking her back and forth, yanking at her. She fell to her knees, feeling badly beaten.


As the blackness passed over her, the Karolosta elf was gone and the blackness following Desaarthal was curving its way for the final pedestal. Alaria, on hands and knees, noted the blood pooling beneath her. Before the rush of air as the winged Pyrnion swept by attempting to get close enough to the dragon for a strike.


In desperation, the zephari flung his enchanted hand axe with all of his might. Haelan did likewise with his shield. The shield missed, clanging off the stone wall and then the floor before its returning enchantments flew it back to Haelan’s waiting hand. 


The axe, however, disappeared into the blackness and, judging by the alteration to the dragon’s trajectory, hit something within it. The axe clanged to the floor near the short stone wall.Desaarthal, however, continued on her way around the huge chamber and, passing by the cistern over which Haelan’s “food bowl” sat, looped back around to the opposite side of the chamber.


Pyrnion alit to collect it. He looked at the small stone shelf above the brackish water. The bowl no longer where it had been.


Desaarthal came to stand, again, near the passageway that led further and deeper into the mountain. Toward where the chamber of lava had been. The smoke-like inky blackness trailing to a halt around and behind her, settling again to the floor, into normal appearing black robes. Of the items of power or the sea elf, there was no sign. 


“I wish I could say it’s been fun, heroes. But I am at the end of my patience. No small thing for a dragon, I assure you. You can be proud of that in your final moments. I have not plotted and planned and bided my time and power for four centuries to be foiled by a ragtag band of mortals. 


“Die well, Alaria Stormrider.” the dragon-woman proclaimed across the chamber, holding aloft the Ihs Repahl, a sneer spreading across her face as she did so.


“Kill them.” she said simply and with a flowing flourish of her trailing robes, disappeared into the passageway that led to the lava chamber.


The hobgoblins, given the order they most enjoyed to follow, charged forward.


----------



## steeldragons

The recovered Trihna was already healing Alaria.

Fen cursed some elvish word under his breath and then began another incantation.

Braddok, Haelan and Pyrnion prepared for the hobgoblins' charge only to be surprise when the front rank of four hobgoblins were consumed in an inferno as Fen’s _Wall of Fire_ erupted across the chamber. The remaining goblinoids quickly stopped their charge and could only watch in concern as their vanguard writhed and fell within the blue and red flames. 

The wall extended most of the length of the chamber, but the clever half-elf druid had placed in such a way to allow access to the passage they needed, from the companion’s side.

“Come on!” Fen shouted and made for the passage through which Dessarthal had made her exit. 

The rest of the stunned adventurers followed suit. Braddok remained behind a moment until Alaria stood and caught the warrior’s eye.

“I’m alright. Go! We have to stop her.” she nodded and with Trihna, the two women began running across the chamber.

“What is she going to do?” Trihna said. “The equinox isn’t until tomorrow.”

“There is only a little more than a day until the day of the equinox will begin, at midnight. It is possible, albeit ahead of her presumed schedule, that she could conduct the raising ritual when the day begins instead of the night. If she can elude us long enough, it is conceivable she may succeed.” Alaria replied.

The companions, all in the passage that led down into the fiery heart of the mountain, presumably the whole island. Fen stood near the passage entrance, his outstretched arm maintaining the wall of magical fire, holding the hobgoblins at bay.

“So what’s the plan, now?” Fen said. Beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead.

“We have to get Duor." Haelan said. “We can’t just leave him out there with all of the goblins!"

Braddok had counted a rough dozen hobgoblin soldiers. It was conceivable they could fight their way out, though everything in his being wanted to pursue the dragon.

“It may be our best option to do as Dessarthal suggested." Alaria said.

The questioning looks from her companions demanded an explanation. “Maybe we should ‘take it outside.' We can regroup with Duor, find somewhere to replenish our strength and attack again at our greatest power hours before she would be able to conduct the ritual."

The would-be heroes debated this for a moment.

“Whichever it is, decide quickly. I can’t maintain this indefinitely.” Fen piped up as his second arm was now raised to continue maintaining their fiery barrier. 

With masks of stony resolve, the heroes made themselves ready. Haelan and Trihna began to invoke their respective goddesses, the chanting of Old Selurian creating an oddly resonating melody between the halfling and female human voices.

Braddok nodded to Fen and the druid dropped his arms. The fires almost immediately subsided, leaving nothing but a trail of blacked earth and a few flickering flames where it has been. 

Braddok shouted out a war cry and charged forward. His sword, Kandu, bursting into sapphire blue flames as he did so.

Two arrows from Pyrnion sped to one of the front soldiers and lodged themselves in the hobgoblin’s neck and left breast.

A golden bough topped with a large pinecone and a glowing blue white-capped burst of water flew into the room knocking into the hobgoblin ranks from opposite directions. Haelan’s Spiritual Weapon struck three. Trihna’s washed over four, pummeling them with the strength of a large wave. The whole area seemed to fluctuate from an aroma of pine to salty sea air and back again, alternating summer breezes and the low rumbles of breaking waves, as the mystical weapons rose and dove, back and through the ranks, to rise and strike again. 

Alaria let fly four shards of violet-blue energy, firing two each into two separate hobgoblins.

Braddok’s attacks were as exacting as they were furious, nearly taking down one hobgoblin with each swing. 

Pyrnion sent arrows into two different magically wounded soldiers, sending them to whatever treacherous hell surely awaited the vile creatures....assuming they even had souls.

The spiritual weapons again flew about the assembled hobgoblins, and two more dropped the collective assault.

With only half of the creatures still standing and half of their number wounded, the hobgoblins broke ranks and fled back down the passage through which they’d arrived.

Braddok and Pyrnion were not about the allow their escape and rounded a bend in the passage to find one hobgoblin on its back, a small dart sticking out from between two of its eyes. A second fell in a flash of green fiery energy. 

“‘Bout time, boyo!" Duor’s ever-pleasant voice sounded through the corridor as soon as the dwarf caught a glimpse of the blue tunic and black flacon of his warrior friend.

Pyrnion‘s arrows took out one and a swipe of Braddok‘s sword across the back of the last left the four remaining hobgoblins.

Duor tumbled around two others, deftly avoiding a wild swipe of a broad sword and a stabbing spear.

“You too, bird brain.” Duor said without a hint of thanks in his tone over his shoulder, obviously to Pyrnion. His return swipe with his ethereal dagger missed, but kept the hobgoblins backed off with its eerie magical smoky energy.

Two remaining hobgoblins blocked the passage, engaged in a fighting retreat as their companions simply made for the main cave entrance.

One of Pyrnion’s arrow volleys, shot from the air over the heads of the fighting defenders,  managed to take out one of the fleeing before it rounded a corner.

Braddok took down the other two, Duor supplying an adequately threatening distraction, though not wanting to get in the way of the Grinlian swordsman and his great madly swinging blade.

The fighters stopped for a breath and a beat to make sure there would be no additional wve of reinforcements. Duor took the moment to inquire, casually.

“Sooo...? How’d the plan work out?”


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## SolitonMan

Happy new year SD!  

Soooo...been a bit since an update I can't help but notice.  Not to be pushy or anything, but just wanted you to know people are still lurking and looking.


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