# The Ambergate Chronicles - Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin



## eris404 (Sep 23, 2005)

Hello all!

Since KidCharlemagne has been so kind to do a write up of my campaign, I thought I would return the favor and do a story hour for his campaign.  The campaign takes place in Crystalmarch, KC's homebrew world. Ambergate is the name of a wizard's university in the Empire, where the story begins, and two of our characters are students at the university.

From Kid Charlemagne: "Schooling lasts 7 years, typically from age 11 to age 18. Upon entering their final year, each student is tatooed or branded with the arcane symbol of their College on the palm of their left hand. Upon graduation, each is given a signet ring indicating the Right to Practice Magic. Wizards who do not have the ring cannot legally cast any spell outside of the College. Local authorities have the right to detain and try wizards in such cases, and they often end up burned at the stake. Wizards bearing a signet ring are subject to the Wizard’s Law, and are judged by a judge and jury of Wizards. Graduates also must wear gauntlets to signify their difference from the rest of the population."


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## eris404 (Sep 23, 2005)

*Cast of (Player) Characters*

Dante of Ambergate - strange, sickly Imperial wizard, a student of necromancy; Dante was left as an infant on the steps of the Church of Alioth, the One True God, and raised as devout follower (wizard)

George Barleycorn - Mavarran youth with a tendency towards pranks, a smart lad who doesn't apply himself well; has an affinity for guns and Corvus, the trickster god (gun mage/rogue)

Ishiro Longshears - gnomish monk and gardener at Ambergate University (monk)

Jade Harkith - Elvin druid, part of the entourage of the Elvin ambassador; has an affinity with insects (druid)

Serai - young Murkraali noblewoman with a dark past (psion)

Zeina bint Shihab - a traveler, sailor and adventuress, a seeker of knowledge (akashic)


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## eris404 (Sep 23, 2005)

*Chapter One  - The Wizards' Duel*

Since you are new to Ambergate, you really must visit the campus of the magical colleges. Now, during the late summer, is the best time to visit, with the students still gone on holiday and the masters barricaded in their studies finishing the lesson plans for the next school year (or hastily completing private research). It’s lovely and quiet and green and neatly kept by automata both magical and undead. See Maxwell over there? He is Gloom Hall’s resident zombie, a doddering old butler who doesn’t seem to realize that he has passed on. However, he normally doesn’t wear a pink, frilly dress, but we’ll come back to him in a moment. Just over that way is Emrys College with its technomagical trees in its massive hall. Every fall the students make the buds that will magically become leaves in the spring, only to wither and brown with the autumn and the next school year. The building over there houses the school called Astrum Saliaris and as you can probably guess from the observatory decorated with moons, suns and stars, the wizards there study astrology and the magic of the stars.

Perhaps we should begin our tour there, among the empty marbled halls and silent classrooms. Inside is always cool and dark, as if the summer sun could never penetrate the permanent twilight here. Surprisingly, there is someone here, a woman young enough to be a student, hurrying as much as her ladylike manner will allow. Slippers whisper on the floor as she passes, as pretty, pale silk trails behind her. She is dark-skinned, a Murkraali, exotic to the paler Imperials who live in this city, and her hair is thick and long. A lovely jewel, held in place by a dainty silver chain, rests on her brow and gives her a noble air. She finds the right door, a heavy, scratched wooden thing, and pulls it open with both hands and some effort. She curtsies and bows her head slightly, deferring to the master within.

Master Lykor doesn’t seem to notice her at first. His quill scratches on the paper in slow, careful movements. She tries not to look, at least not obviously, but it is difficult not to see the large, perfect circles of the complex diagram he draws. She lowers her eyes, outwardly obedient, patient and mannerly, but her curiosity is too great. Instead, she studies his long, gaunt face with its hairless, blushed cheeks. His eyes are bright and young, but lined with crow’s feet at the corners, making his age impossible to tell. His ears are a surprise, quite long, sharply pointed and lightly furred, the same way a human’s get when he ages. Realizing her rudeness, she glances around the study instead, but finds no comfortable place to look. Nearly every surface is covered with mirrors of all shapes and sizes: small round ones, square ones, long thin ones, a large one in an ornate, gilded frame surrounded by fantastic creatures. Some are wavy and distorted, giving her large comical nose or a long horsy face. She recalls his students telling her about his mastery of mirrors; they claim he can read the mind of anyone whose image is reflected within one.

He clears his throat suddenly, which startles her back into good behavior.

With great care, he blots the ink, rolls the paper into a tight tube and seals it with wax bearing his personal mark. For the first time, he looks at the girl and acknowledges her with a nod. She curtsies again, quickly.

“You needed me, Master Lykor?” she asks.

“Serai,” he intones. “Please take this to Master Borasian at Emrys College.” She can’t be sure, but she thinks she sees the corner of his lips fighting a smile. She curtsies, takes the scroll from him and waits for her dismissal. Instead, he pauses a moment, watching her.

“Are you enjoying your stay here, Serai?” he asks. She raises her bowed head to meet his stare, only his eyes are locked at a point above her brow. She touches the jewel there, as if to assure herself it is still there.

“Yes, sir, very much. Thank you for your kindness and hospitality. I am grateful.”

He nods, but already his mind has gone on to the paper and instruments on his desk. She waits a second longer, then quiet as a silk-slippered mouse, she flees.

The day is bright and warm and Serai is grateful to be outside and to have a moment alone to enjoy it. She wonders what the campus will be like when it is filled with students, many of them away from their parents for the first time. But thoughts of parents and family lead her to unpleasant memories of her own and so she locks them away for another time, when she is ready for them at last. If she notices Maxwell in his new frock, she makes no sign of it.

She stops for a moment to admire the mechanical forest in Emrys Hall. The leaves are still green, although she can see a copper edge to some of them. She plucks a leaf from a low-lying branch to examine. The leaves are made of metal, but are as thin and light as the silk she wears. The edge is wickedly sharp. She wonders idly which student made this leaf and how. A beautiful piece of work it is. She hides it in her purse for later, curious to see if it will turn colors.

Inside Emrys Hall is cold and dark, but is filled with the echoes of gears ticking into place. The whole building seems alive, like some great clockwork beast. She follows the grand passageway until it opens into the heart of the hall, the Great Library, a circular, domed room lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. Bathed in light from the oculus in the dome far above him, an old gentleman handles orbs of different sizes, moving them about in the air where they hover. He moves them an inch this way or that and sets them in motion, a lazy orbit around a larger sphere that hangs motionless in the center.

He hears her enter in spite of her efforts to be quiet and greets her as warmly as he would an old, dear friend. “Do you have something for me, my dear?” he asks.

She hands him the scroll and watches as he breaks the seal. He examines it with a frown, then exclaims with delight. He laughs and taps his temple, the way old people do when young people are around, as if to say “Don’t mind me. I’m old and my memory isn’t what it used to be.” He turns and switches two orbs in their orbit.

Serai wants to ask Master Borasian about this curious machine, but his sharp hearing detects another being skulking about in the library. He exclaims, “Watch those books, George. Some of them bite. Come here.” The master’s tone and demeanor are different now. No longer a doddering, kindly man, he wields authority here and expects obedience.

Sulky, George ambles to the center of the library. He is a tall, gangly youth with hair so blond and short he looks bald-headed. Serai is surprised to see a student here so early, but judging by his homemade, slightly frayed clothes and tri-cornered hat, he isn’t Imperial. She judges he is from someplace in the Middle Sea islands and perhaps his island is too far away or, more likely, he is too poor to afford the fare home.

“George Barleycorn, this is Serai, our guest. I have an errand for you. I need you to take a message back to Master Lykor.”

“If she’s here,” George interrupts, “why do I have to go, too?”

Master Borasian glares at George. “Because she is our guest, not a page. And because I want you out of my hair,” he snaps. He turns to his desk to scrawl out a message. With his master’s back to the machine, George cannot resist showing off for the pretty girl. He switches two orbs in their orbit and sends them off with a gentle push. He is pleased when Serai rewards him with a grin.

The master mutters to himself as he seals the scroll with wax and an imprint from his ring. Scowling, he hands it to George and dismisses them. As they leave, they hear the Master mutter, “That’s strange. I could swear I changed that orbit…”

Outside again in the sunlight, Serai relaxes, stretching shoulders tightened by so much by propriety. To make conversation, she asks, “Do the students really make those leaves on the trees?”

“Yes,“ George groans. “They’re a complete pain.”

“Which one is yours?”

“The one that turned black and fell off ten minutes after I put it on the tree,” he laments.

Serai laughs. It isn’t a nervous, squealing giggle that most girls do, but an honest laugh that says she is actually listening to what he says and is amused and sympathetic. It encourages George to say more, but before he can think of something witty, he sees Maxwell.

Like he does every day, Maxwell Zombie is sweeping the front stairs of Gloom Hall. Unlike any other day, he is doing so in a pink, frilly dress, the sort found on girls in Ambergate when it was fashionable two or three years ago.

Several things happen at once. George realizes this is a brilliant joke and wishes he had thought of it. He laughs, but chokes back when he sees a thin, sickly-seeming lad at the front doors. The boy sees Maxwell and his eyes widen with shock. He sees George, red-faced and looking guilty, and his eyes narrow with anger.

“You,” he seethes.

“I didn’t!’ George exclaims.

“You should be ashamed!” the boy scolds.

Like most things that spend more than a day within Gloom Hall, the lad Dante is pale and overwhelmingly gray. Whether it is because of all the dust or because the hall simply bleaches the life out of all things, color included, George couldn’t say. What he could say is that Dante has been his best friend ever since Dante was forced to tutor George to keep him from failing his classes and being expelled. George would not be here without Dante. George might tease or play small jokes on Dante now and again, but he would never, ever do anything to ruin their friendship.

I should pause here moment to explain about Dante. Dante is very smart and very driven and very narrowly focused. Dante was born to be a necromancer. As a child, he would often wander the streets alone to look for bones and animal corpses to play with. He once kept a dead raven for two months because it had “beautiful plumage.” He wrote a ten-parchment essay and open letter defending the use of dead bodies as not only practical and ingenious but also as holy, moral and just. George, like most people, misunderstands Dante’s interest in all things dead as some weird kind of affection, but the reality is that Dante is intensely unsentimental, rational and practical. Dead things are interesting not because they are dead or because they need anyone’s sympathy, but because they are useful. Or can be.

So when George saw the anger in Dante’s eyes, he thought it was out of affection for his “pet” zombie. In truth, Dante is outraged at the affront to Gloom Hall. How typical and sad for a fellow wizard to misunderstand and belittle the important work of this college!

The final piece of the puzzle falls into place when laughter explodes from a nearby bush. Malek, toadies in tow, emerges triumphant.

Dante and George are bonded once more. George hates Malek, hates his smug face and fashionable clothes and good grades. He hates his popularity and his grin that’s supposed to be charming, but comes off as lop-sided and obvious.

Dante hates no one. Hatred implies that the thing hated is worthy of one’s attention. However, a fly that bites begs to be swat. He sends Maxwell up to clean the Master Raventhorpe’s office in hopes the Master of Gloom Hall is about and will come to sort this out.

Malek’s face could barely contain his grin. “My, Dante, ol’ Maxie looks lovely today. Where are you two lovebirds going today? Somewhere special, where you can be alone?”

“You have no imagination,” Dante replies, “and less talent.”

George spits, “Har-har, you’re just hilarious, aren’t you, Malek? That took a whole lot of guts and brains to put a dress on a zombie. Picking on a defenseless corpse! Aren’t you the big, brave man!”

Malek’s grin vanishes. He ignores George and to Dante, he says, “Alright, then. Let’s see how brave you are. I’ve been wanting to see what you’re made of, Dante. How about a duel?”

George examines his friend’s face for a reaction, a clue how to proceed. If it were George he had challenged, George would have accepted without a second thought. But wizards’ duels are forbidden and are grounds for expulsion. George has been so close to being expelled so many times that it no longer frightens him. But if Dante backs down now, Malek would win and the whole school would know. Dante would be humiliated. If Dante did accept, he could be expelled, or worse, Malek could beat him and again Dante would be humiliated.

To Dante’s credit, he looks relaxed and mildly intrigued, not at all concerned. “An interesting proposition,” he notes.

Malek ups the ante, but his bravado betrays him. “Any time or place. You name it.”

“Even midnight in the graveyard by the chapel in town?” Dante inquires. “Perhaps tomorrow night?”

Malek’s breath doesn’t catch, nor does he sweat, nor does he falter, not even for a second. He agrees and tells Dante to bring a second. The toads giggle gleefully as they leave.

“Well, that was interesting,” Serai says.


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## eris404 (Sep 25, 2005)

Dante, once properly introduced, follows Serai and George towards their errand and the three of them discuss the duel in hushed voices.

“I don’t like this,” George admits.

“He gave in rather quickly,” Dante agrees. “And he doesn’t seem the least bit worried.”

“Do you think he’s planning something?”

“I can find out,” Serai offers. George and Dante mull over her proposal in silence, but both are thinking the same thing. They have a deep distrust of most students from past experiences and since they don’t know her well, she could just as easily hurt as help them. They are quiet a moment too long, so she adds, “Don’t worry, I can be subtle. They won’t know I’m spying at all. I want to help. Trust me.”

It’s not difficult to find Malek around campus. Just follow the loudest, most nasty laughter you can hear and you’ll see him, surrounded by wannabes, toadies, bootlickers, sycophants, cronies. If you think there’s no difference between any of these, you’re quite wrong. Observe them for a moment and you’ll see the pecking order. Wannabes are the lowest caste and dare not speak. They take the most abuse and laugh the loudest when they are not the object of it. Toadies are next and are distinguished by their meanness. They tend to do the heavy lifting and kicking and disposal of the bodies. Bootlickers are full of adoration and will do anything Malek asked and then some. Few graduate to sycophant, whose flattery hides a smug contempt and belief that they are just as good as, if not better than, Malek. For them, Malek is a means to an end and if a few well-chosen words keep them on his good side, so be it. In the inner circle, however, are the cronies, the chosen few who are Malek’s equals, his most trusted lieutenants. Only a year ago, Malek was a crony of Atli Crow, the one, true god of the school. After graduating, Atli passed the mantel of “Man about Campus” to Malek. The circle of life goes on.

Serai’s approach is concealed by their loud, raucous laughter. It isn’t clear what was said, but by the blush of a timid third year, it’s certain he was the butt of the joke. Malek is the first to notice her. He hadn’t been laughing and is barely smiling, as if these antics bore him. He’s wary at first, so Serai puts on her best vacuous smile.

“What you did back there,” she purrs, “was very funny.”

Malek warms. “It was too easy,” he demurs, “and they were asking for it anyway.”

She giggles in a high voice. “Are you really going to duel him?”

This offends him. “Of course! I’m not afraid of him or any ol’ graveyard! I’m not afraid those disgusting necromancers. Besides, we’ll show them.”

She tosses her hair and leans in towards him, her fingers resting lightly on his forearm. She is very close now, a fellow conspirator, her warm breath on his neck giving him goose bumps.

“What are you going to do?” she whispers.

He smiles and replies, “Let’s just say that there’s lots of fragile things in around that graveyard. Things that could very easily get broken. I’m thinking the priest would be awfully angry at whoever violated the chapel grounds in such a callous manner. Don’t you think?”

A slow smile spreads across Serai’s face. “I should think so.” She sighs and points to the scroll in her belt as an apology. “I have to run. I’m on an errand for Master Lykor and he doesn’t like it when I’m late. Good Luck!”

“See you around,” Malek calls after her, his voice full of hope.

---
Dante chooses to explain his plan over pints in the city later that day. If you want to hear more, take the road that leads out of the walls of the quiet campus and into the noise of the city. Turn right and head towards the markets where fat women haggle over bread and hogs’ heads. You can find some decent hard cheese there and the first apples of the harvest if you’re hungry. The apples might be a little green yet, so watch your stomach. That bar over there is Ragi Longcoat’s favorite place to play and, by extension, George’s favorite bar. She makes a good deal of coin there singing her ballads and telling her stories. He tells Serai all about Ragi, about her long, wavy hair, about the way her eyes widen when she’s engrossed in a story, about her beautiful voice and about her fierce, defiant nature. He is pleased that Serai is such a willing and patient listener, especially since Dante tends to roll his eyes every time Ragi’s name is mentioned. Maybe it’s because Dante can see plainly what his friend cannot. Ragi is a free-spirited, graceful, mature woman, and George is an awkward boy not even through with his studies. Whenever George is around her, Dante expects her to pat him on the head like a puppy. It’s undignified.

Dante changes the subject. “My plan is simple. We’re going to humiliate Malek.”

He pauses to let his words take affect. Serai and George exchange puzzled frowns, but nod for him to go on.

“The idea is to get him in trouble before he gets us in trouble. If he wants to play dress up, we’ll give him some dolls to play with. I have a crypt I can get into.”

“Dante, you have crypt? Why do you have a crypt?” George worries for a moment that Dante will actually answer the question, but Dante ignores the bait.

Instead, Dante continues, “George, I need you to get some old dresses. They don’t have to be fancy, just go to a rag seller and buy some.”

“How about if I steal them? I’m sure there’s girls around campus somewhere.” George is notorious for two things: his sense of humor and his utter lack of money. Parting with even two coppers is enough to make him weep.

“Don’t steal them, George, and stop interrupting! We dress up the corpses and prop them up in…suggestive poses. We lure Malek into the crypt and trap him inside. Serai will get the town guard, tell them vandals broke into the graveyard. Malek will get caught and with any luck, be expelled. What do you think?”

“It’s a great plan,” Serai says.

“I love it!” George beams.


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## eris404 (Sep 25, 2005)

The Church of Alioth, the Prophet, maintains a small chapel and cemetery in the town of Ambergate. There is also a chapel attached to the campus, but it is mostly for show, a symbol of the goodwill that supposedly exists between the mages and the Church. Few students attend services there, and the faithful servant who keeps this chapel of the One True Religion rarely interferes with the daily workings of the colleges. This isn’t to say the Church isn’t interested in the colleges, just that it is the concern of those with more power and prestige in the Church’s hierarchy, not the local parish priest. Dante could have chosen this church, but its proximity to the school (and of course, the masters), made it a bad choice for a duel. But Dante is as well acquainted with the town’s cemetery as he is with the one on campus and can navigate its tombstones and crypts in his sleep, let alone in the darkness. He is still at an advantage.

The town church is small and tidy and crowned with hideous gargoyles at odds with its otherwise plain exterior. A small suite of living quarters is attached to one side, almost as an afterthought. The priest maintains a garden in chapel yard, which is separated by an eight-foot wall from the cemetery. The late summer flowers are still blooming, though their perfume is turning sickly, much like over-ripe fruit. The priest retires early after prayers and sleeps as soundly as the dead.

Unfortunately, you’ll have to climb the gate if you want to see what happens. Be careful of the metal spikes on top.

With a little difficulty, George and Dante scale the wall. Neither is particularly athletic and although George has good aim and quick reflexes, neither will help him this night. Serai is positioned outside, waiting for the signal to send for the guard.

Dante leads George through rows of headstones to the unlocked crypt. The corpses within are light and dry, mummified by age. George isn’t much help. He holds the dresses, but Dante must actually clothe and carefully pose the fragile bodies. Later, Dante positions himself in the bell tower of the church, a good vantage point to see the entire cemetery, while George stays on the ground as bait. They leave a candle lit in the crypt as a beacon for Malek. George hopes that Malek will see it on his own and investigate, giving George an easy way to shut him inside. If not, he will have to lead Malek there and improvise.

There is nothing to do now but wait. George lingers out the line of sight of the gate and watches for sign of Malek and his second, a dark-haired crony with a hooknose and sour face. Malek takes his time getting over the wall and exploring the graveyard. He doesn’t see the candle or chooses to ignore it as he searches for Dante. George sighs, realizing he will need to lead Malek there. He leaves his hiding place, announcing himself to Malek.

“He’s back there,” George points towards the light. Malek says nothing, but leads the way.

George watches Malek closely. He’s ready and waiting to see what he will do, but has no idea how he himself will react. Because of this, Malek surprises him.

He mutters something that sounds like curse. He points his index finger at George’s eyes and there is a bright flash that blinds him. A second later, George is still rubbing eyes, seeing spots and afterimages.

It has all gone horribly awry. Malek is no fool and doesn’t plan on being taken easily. He and his second are running at top speed and have a good lead on George. He swears. He knows no spells, not even the simple cantrips that Dante knows so well, that could stop Malek. Feeling helpless, he races after them.

Malek reaches the chapel wall at an alarming speed and leaps over the eight-foot wall in one bound. This surprises George so much that he nearly stumbles over a half-hidden stone. Desperate, he screams for the guards he hopes are coming, shouting bloody murder, vandals, thieves! He does reach the wall, but can’t get a good handhold to pull himself up. He panics. The guards will be here any minute. Where can he hide? Then he remembers the crypt.

Meanwhile, Dante sees Malek and his toady clear the garden wall. In the darkness, he makes out Serai on the outside wall, climbing it as if her hands were glued to it. In the garden below, a third form, cloaked and shadowy, has joined fray. At first, Dante thinks it could be priest or another of Malek’s buddies come to help vandalize the chapel. Hooknose withdraws a rolled paper from the case on his belt. Malek reaches out, asking for the scroll. Dante’s heart sinks.

But then Dante hears words intoned in a strange, lilting language he’s never heard before. The grass, the flowers and even the vines on the garden wall grow and writhe like serpents. The hooded stranger commands them with a movement from his hand. By his will, they wrap around feet, climb legs and grasp at arms. Malek dodges and pulls free of the mobile, vicious plants, only to be ensnared again. He moves slowly, like a man wading in the ocean and being pulled down by the undertow.

Serai calls out to Dante in a hoarse whisper. She holds out her hand, mimics climbing the wall and points to him. He nods. She closes her eyes a moment in concentration, and he sees a subtle, oily sheen envelope her body. He feels his hands and feet become thick and sticky and his arms and legs thicken. A quick test reveals the secretions on his hands and feet, combined with the extra strength in his arms and legs, allow him to stick to the wall. Slowly, he descends, face first, determined not to let Malek get away.

Hooknose is startled by something moving in the grass and loses his grip on the rolled parchment. The cloaked man snatches it away. Malek cries out in frustration and retreats to the garden gate. The plants impede him, snatching at his clothes, his hair, his arms and legs, but they can’t stop him. Hooknose realizes Malek is abandoning him and panics. He pulls at the plants with the strength of one truly terrified and breaks free. In a few seconds, he is behind Malek and out the gate and in only a moment more they are gone from the cemetery.

The hooded figure squats among the grasping plants and lifts what looks to Dante like a still-writhing vine from the ground – a snake or viper of some kind, but the darkness does not allow him a good look. This creature the stranger places into a bag at his side. His hood falls back and Dante can at last see his face – gaunt and narrow, ageless, with sharply pointed ears outlined in the moonlight.

Back in the crypt, George swears the corpses moved. With the candlelight gone, he realizes immediately his mistake. His stomach clenches with fear as the dry, papery corpses leer at him from their lascivious poses. He watches one, only to see movement out of the corner of eye from the other. He cowers in a corner and makes himself as small as possible.

When the door creaks open, he thinks his heart will fly right out of his mouth, but it is only Dante, looking for his friend. Dante smiles, but it is not cruel or teasing. He rights the corpses and doesn’t ask George to help this time. He never mentions this to George, or anyone else for that matter, ever again.

I think they all could stand a drink. If we follow them, we could get a few beers at Ragi’s Favorite Tavern. I doubt Dante will give George any grief about it this time.

Yes, there they are, and George is making a fool of himself as usual. They look worn out, don’t they? I know, you’re wondering who the mysterious elf is, aren’t you? His name is Jade (or loosely translates as Jade from the Elvin language) and he is an acquaintance of Serai’s and also a druid and assistant to the Elvin ambassador here. They met on an Elvin ship, and since Serai is human and Murkraali, you get the feeling that there’s more to that story that she isn’t telling. Never mind that, she will tell her own story in her own time.

So Jade has given George an Elvin spice to put in his drink and now he is quite sincerely drunk. Thankfully, Ragi isn’t here to see him like this, a depressed, lovesick mess. The elf seems interested in the effects the spice is having on George. He asks questions and seems fascinated by the answers. One gets the impression of a child watching a spider trapped inside an overturned glass. The child doesn’t mean to be cruel, but its curiosity has made it callous. Alioth, in his Infinite Mercy and Wisdom, lets George finally pass out. The common folk say St. Brune loves drunkards most of all, for no man has more courage, strength or passion, nor is any man in more need of the blessed saint’s protection, than one who is too far into his cups.

It is closing time now, and they have woken George. Even half-drunk, he’s a stealthy one and can sneak back into the dormitory with the professionalism of a cat burglar. They say good night outside, in the warm night that still smells green like summer, under a glaring moon and sprinkle of stars.

The story doesn’t end here, but only begins. The morning shines on Dante and George and with it comes a summons to Raventhorpe, the Master of Gloom Hall. Dante is composed, but George’s head is ringing like a bell and the master’s hard face, as impassive as a stone golem, has always made George nervous. Today he stares in disapproval down his nose at George and folds his arms tightly against his chest like armor.

“Can you tell me why I found Maxwell roaming the halls while wearing a pink dress?” he asks. His voice is eerily calm.

Dante nods and adds, “Yes, sir, some students decided to play a prank. Some words were exchanged, but nothing came of it. I thought it prudent to send him to you.”

“Yes, I’m sure the ‘vandals’ will be caught and get their punishment,” Raventhorpe replies dryly. He locks his gaze with Dante’s for a moment, then adds, “I think students with too much free time tend to get into mischief. Don’t you agree? I have an errand for you and Mr. Barleycorn.”

From a desk drawer, he pulls a parchment in formal script with a wax seal and signature at the bottom.

“This is a bill of sale for a new bell we have commissioned for the church. Take this to Lucius Krekett in Bellhold and bring back the bell. In one piece, gentlemen, please. You’ll have a wagon and team, of course. Worthen will be accompanying you. Leave here today and come straight back. Do I make myself clear?”

The lads say yes, sir, we understand, though neither looks too pleased about the errand, as it sounds too much like punishment.

Later, the boys find Serai and Jade near the stables. Neither student is surprised to see Serai is carrying a small, ladylike pack and is dressed for travel. She is pleased at the chance to travel, even if it is just to the next town, and although she isn’t officially a student here, none of the masters seem to mind that she comes along. The elf is just as anxious to explore this strange land and seems more than a little protective of Serai.

Worthen is the cheerful handyman who does odd jobs around the campus. He would be slight in build without that round potbelly, and the points to his ears suggest Elvin heritage or perhaps even an Elvin parent. The druid asks him about this, but Worthen’s answers are vague, whether from ignorance or shame none of them can tell. Worthen does travel outside the campus, into Ambergatetown and elsewhere, and so he has a wealth of stories. Bellhold, it seems, is an interesting small town indeed.


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## djrdjmsqrd (Sep 27, 2005)

*gotta....*

...keep my eye on this story hour...


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## Lela (Sep 27, 2005)

djrdjmsqrd said:
			
		

> ...keep my eye on this story hour...



 Ditto.


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## Kid Charlemagne (Sep 27, 2005)

I just wanted to thank eris404 for sharing this - I'm the DM of this particular campaign (I'm happy to answer any questions), and it's been a really fun experience.  The characters for this game are just too cool for words...  I get a huge kick out of the Dante/George dynamic especially.


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## eris404 (Sep 27, 2005)

Thanks, guys! I feel all blushy now.   

Just FYI, I play George and the gun mage class is a hoot for anyone who has a secret desire to be a gunslinger/a cowboy/Chow Yun-Fat. Yes, sometimes girls want to shoot things.   Also, although Zeina, the akashic character, doesn't come into the story until much later, I also think the akashic class is very cool - lots of flavor and neat abilities (the class takes all the good parts of being a rogue and/or a bard).

This next adventure I'm going to start posting is actually _Of Sound Mind_. Any discrepancies from the original adventure is entirely my fault (specifically, my faulty memory).


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## eris404 (Sep 27, 2005)

*Chapter Two - Nightmares*

Our students have left Ambergate. If you follow this road, not much more than a wide, dusty path from years of wagon traffic, you can catch up with them in no time. Worthen’s wagon is driven by two strong, thick-bodied horses. Worthen sits on the bench in front while Dante, Serai and George ride in the hay-filled cart. Jade has his own horse, a sleek animal with a dark mane and white spot between its eyes, and rides beside the wagon. It’s an Elvin breed, with a proud bearing and a sure, light step.

Worthen begins, “You know, there was a dragon in Bellhold about fifty years ago. Copperdeath was its name and it lived in the copper mines near the town. It enslaved the entire town, every last man, woman and child, to mine the copper for it.”

“What did it do with the copper?” Dante asks.

Worthen shrugs. “Who knows what’s in a dragon’s mind? No one was certainly going to ask it. Anyway, some ‘adventurers’ came into town and killed Copperdeath. The townsfolk were so happy that they treated these heroes like the emperor himself. The adventurers decided they liked the town well enough and so they stayed. Their children live there to this day. It’s a nice little town, though I’ve heard rumors lately about a plague. Not like any sickness I’ve ever heard of, though. People say they get nightmares and can’t sleep most of the night. Some think the water’s been poisoned. Others think the dragon is back and is avenging itself.”

“The masters wouldn’t send us there if they thought it was truly dangerous, would they?”

Worthen smiles. “Of course not! Sometimes simple folk get superstitious and turn small things into disasters. I hear they worship Dagoth there. I’m surprised missionaries from the Church haven’t put an end to that.”

Dante’s eyes widen at that name: Dagoth, the God of Nightmares, a mysterious deity of unknown origins.

“What do you know of Dagoth?” Serai asks, a certain tension in her voice.

Worthen shrugs. “You’re the student, you should tell me about Dagoth. He causes bad dreams. What else do you need to know?”

At this point, the conversation finds a desert and dries up. The dull fog of boredom settles over our little party once the novelty and excitement of travel expires. It is unpleasant to be so confined for so long in such an uncomfortable vehicle, with nothing but the slowly passing landscape (mostly farms on low hills with copses of wood, seldom changing) and the monotonous creak of wagon wheels for company. Dante occupies himself by reading a large tome he borrowed from the school’s library. Serai and George chat with Worthen about the trees, the trail and whatever ordinary details about the town ahead he wishes to part with, but they soon tire of the effort. Jade, inscrutable as ever, watches the land as if expecting an ambush. His viper lays coiled about his neck and warms itself between his cloak and body heat.

George asks the elf, “Does your snake have a name?”

“Vor,” Jade replies.

“Vor?” George repeats. He isn’t sure he heard that properly.

The elf thinks for a moment, then adds, “Martha.”

Not wanting to seem dense, George refrains from asking him more. Instead, he whispers to Serai, “Which is it, Vor or Martha?” She shrugs and shakes her head.

Now, George is bored, and he would like for the conversation to continue, but he can’t think of anything to talk about. He doesn’t want to consider the coming school year, for example, let alone speak of it. He knows nothing more of Bellhold to add and Ambergate seems suddenly dull when considering the exotic places Serai has lived and visited. The landscape of farmland is achingly same and if it wasn’t for the punctuations of milestones, and the rough jostling of the wagon’s wheels in the ruts of the roads, he might believe they were standing perfectly still. This trip has become tedious, George is disappointed to discover, and he fears the worst, that it will be a waste of several precious days of freedom before the new school year starts.

So our little group drowses in the warm autumn afternoon and even the horses plod along half-asleep, until sharp-eared Jade hisses and announces the approach of another traveler, coming from the direction of Bellhold, with a curt “Look!”

You’ll see the traveler in a few moments: a plain-looking man in homely-woven clothes and a straw hat to keep the sun off his bearded face. An old, stubborn ox drives his cart, which is crammed full of sacks, barrels, boxes, crates and odd bits of furniture. It takes him a little while to get within earshot of Worthen’s wagon, but the students are already perked with interest and Worthen waves his friendliest greeting. The man slows his beast with a few tugs on the reins and appraises Worthen with a suspicious eye.

“You’re coming from Bellhold?” Worthen asks.

The man spits to ward off bad luck, a peasant superstition, before he speaks. “Lived there all my life and leaving now. I’d do the same if I were you.”

Dante’s breath catches and he asks quickly, “Why? What’s the matter? We’ve heard all manner of strange rumors.”

The man grunts, “All of it true, no doubt. Awful bad dreams, a plague of them, if you ask me. Town’s cursed and the very water is poison. Don’t go there, I say. Turn back and leave it to the Nightmare God.”

Dante and George exchange glances before Dante continues, “I’m afraid we have business to conduct there. Surely it isn’t as bad as you say?”

“It’s worse,” the man snaps. “Not a precious moment of sleep none of us have had. The folk snarl and snap like starving dogs at each other.” He shakes his head. “Even my poor ol’ dog here growls and nips and twitches in his sleep.” He pats the old, sad-eyed hound lying by his side. “I had to leave my whole life back there. But it’s better to flee and lose your livelihood than lose your life.” He points an accusing finger at Worthen. “If you be so foolish to go to Bellhold and take these whelps with you, the Nightmare God can have you. Me, I can’t leave fast enough.” He clicks his tongue and snaps the reigns. The heavy ox stirs and plods on, slow but obliging.

“What do you think that was all about?” George exclaims after the man has moved on. But no one answers him. Dante is already jotting notes in the margins of his book, while Worthen and Jade scan the landscape as if the very trees might attack. Serai has pulled her knees up to her chest and hugs them as if to seal and protect herself.

The air of foreboding and wariness finally infects George as well and he takes from his bag a special leather case. If you notice, he has a matching leather holster on his belt. Actually, you can’t miss it, since it holds a heavy pistol with a long barrel decorated with curlicues and other abstract, and arcane, designs. The case holds small jars and oilcans, soft cloths and brushes. He smiles at the familiar smell of grease and metal and absorbs himself with the homey task of cleaning his pistol.

Serai had noticed the pistol before, but until now has been too polite or distracted to ask about it. So George is surprised, but glad, when Serai unfolds herself and crawls over the straw to inspect the pistol.

“Is it a magical pistol?” she asks.

“No, it’s just an old military pistol. Unna gave it to me for passing my examinations last year.” He sees her brow furrow slightly, so he explains, “Unna is a smith at Emrys College. She’s been my mentor since I first came to Ambergate. Sort of like a mother, actually. I’m not the best student and I’ve been close to failing so many times that I’ve lost count. I know she’d keep me on as her apprentice, but she doesn’t think that’s good enough. She wants me to graduate and become a real mage, make my family proud.” He hesitates. “I’m not a very good mage. I can manage a few cantrips, but not much else. I can’t seem to get the hang of the memorization, though I could mimic the effect if someone showed it to me first.” George flushes, embarrassed. He shoots a steely look at Worthen and Jade, as if to daring them to laugh, but neither seems interested in this conversation. Scowling, he steals a look at Dante, but the pale, thin lad is hiding behind his book. By the redness in his ears, George judges Dante is embarrassed, too.

“So why the gun?” Serai asks. If she notices George’s discomfort, she has the grace not to mention it.

George shrugs. “I just liked it. I was always asking to borrow it anyway and I was a decent enough shot. And I like mechanical things, I’m pretty good at fixing them. She thought maybe I’d make a good alchemist and she could teach me how to make gunpowder and whatnot. Then one day I was watching the mage blades spar in the courtyard and I realized what they were doing, that they were channeling magic through their swords. And I wondered if I could do that, too.”

“Channel magic?”

He nods. “Through the pistol. Using it as a focus instead of the special ingredients the wizards use. Only I can’t find anyone to teach me how to do it properly, so I’m having to figure it out on my own.”

Absently, Serai touches the crystal where it rests on her brow. She frowns a moment in thought, then replies, “I don’t think some things can be taught, George. I think some people are just born with a talent. Someone can help you refine it, but if it isn’t there to begin with…” She pauses, letting the thought go unfinished. “You recognize something in it you can’t describe, like a sense of kinship, a shared soul.”

George turns to Dante, who has been listening to and staring at them all along, the book open but forgotten on his lap.

“That’s an interesting observation,” Dante notes. “I think the same could be said of quite a few people.”

“Some of who may be in this very wagon,” she replies with a smirk.

“Look,” Jade interrupts, his voice blade sharp. Quick hoof beats and shouts erupt from up ahead. Jade spurs his sleek, red-brown horse to a gallop and George, expecting trouble, loads his pistol with charge and shot. They see men in rough, work-stained clothes chasing a horse, which whinnies and gallops at a merry pace. Jade reaches the renegade first, his horse matching it stride for stride, and with a gentle hand calms the beast to a walk. The men are all laughs and grins now, shaking hands with the dismounted elf and slapping him on the shoulder. The students climb out of the wagon, eager for an excuse to stand and stretch. They yawn. Most of the day is gone and the sun is sinking into the trees on the horizon.

One of the men, a kindly-faced fatherly type with silver hair, introduces himself as Othic, the owner of the local farm from which this horse escaped. His house is nearby and would they like to join him for dinner and a night of rest? The weary travelers are happy to accept his invitation and are treated to a hot stew of vegetables and rabbit meat in a thick, savory sauce. Dante thinks to ask if Othic has been troubled by bad dreams, and though he has heard the townsfolk complain of such, his sleep is untroubled, though he does admit his water comes from a well, not the river that flows near town. The students drink deeply the water from his well and fall into sound and pleasant sleep. They look peaceful, don’t they?

In Bellhold, a loud copper bell rings in its tower at sunset. You can see a faint glimmer of the last sunlight play across its tarnished curves. The night comes.

At the inn, men speak in subdued voices over warm, bitter beer. Look in the window: even with the merry fire in the grille, it is a dark and cheerless place. The men have sunken eyes burning with weariness, and yet none are in any hurry to get home to bed. One slumps on the table only to wake himself with a start a moment later. Several reflect on the objects hung on the wall: a pitted sword, a dwarven battleaxe, a badly dented round shield and a talon far too large for any normal animal. Mostly, it’s the talon that holds their attention, but what they think of it they share with no one. Outside a man is screaming, warning them of the apocalypse and their impeding doom. The men in the tavern groan.

“Shut him up” someone snarls, to no one in particular. But the barkeep is listening and finds the poor soul outside. He brings a dish of warm food and a mug of beer with him, a peace offering. The raving man spits and smashes the mug to the ground.

“Poison!” he screams.

“Cobble, please.” The barkeep pleads. “You’re annoying my customers. Please, go home, try to get some sleep.”

“Sleep!” Cobble shrieks. “No, not sleep! The dragon awaits in sleep! We are abandoned to Dagoth! Expect no mercy, you poisoner, you filth eater!” He snatches the bowl away and tosses the food at the innkeeper. Down his apron, brown gravy and lumps of meat run in warm, thick rivers.

“What did you call me?” the bartender snaps. “Get away! GET OUT!”

Cobble dances away, frightened but still shrieking nonsense and bloody spittle. Irritable, sleepy faces poke out from windows and doors from nearby cottages. A few people shout for quiet – sweet, merciful Alioth, be quiet! But Cobble is already gone, leaving the innkeeper shaking with rage in the street. With a vicious snarl, he kicks everyone out of the bar for the night and throws a pail of water on the fire – he cannot bear to look at the flames any longer. He is so very tired, but instead of going to his bed, he sits on a bench and stares into the darkness until he can no longer tell if his eyes are opened or closed.


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## eris404 (Sep 28, 2005)

But morning comes as it is wont to do, and with the rising sun, our little band of friends also rise and shine. Othic makes them a good breakfast of fresh eggs and some hard sausages he has fried in an iron skillet on the hearth. The hired hands have already eaten and are long into their chores by the time students sit down to eat at the rough country table. Serai eats daintily and uses one of her lace handkerchiefs as a napkin. Jade seems to neither enjoy nor dislike the simple food, but thanks the farmer for his kindness. George and Worthen have two helpings each as well as a loaf of hot bread and George eats whatever is left on Dante’s plate for good measure. Dante has never had a healthy appetite and he can barely choke down more than a few bites. George’s enthusiasm for food puzzles and fascinates him.

“So, about these dreams,” George asks with his mouth full.

“Well, as I said, I can’t tell you much about that,” Othic says after drawing on his pipe. He blows out fragrant puffs of smoke, then continues, “I can tell you there’s been some bad things afoot. People in town are angry and tense. And then those children went missing.”

George lays his fork aside, no longer interested in food. He shares a glance with Dante, who picks up the thread of questioning.

“Children are missing?” he prods. “What happened?”

“About a week ago, three local kids went into the woods and never came back. The townsfolk organized searches for days and we even searched up here. Two boys and a girl, not older than eight years.”

“They stopped searching?” Dante presses.

“Not so much. They hired some folks who style themselves as ‘adventurers’ to go find them. They think they might be in that old copper mine.”

“Some people from the town think that the water is poisoned. Do you think that could be true?”

Othic scratches his stubbly chin in thought, then answers, “Could be. I do get my water from a well, but the town gets most of its water from a stream that runs down from the mountain.”

“You mean, near Copperdeath’s mine.” Worthen says.

Othic nods thoughtfully.

“You remember Copperdeath, don’t you,” Dante asks gently.

“That I do, though I wish I didn’t. Those were bad times, boys. Have you ever been in a mine? It’s cold and damp and dark. Sometimes you could feel the weight of the mountain pressing in on you until you felt like you were suffocating. You worked in filth, covered in sweat, with little to eat or drink. You were made to work until your body gave out. I saw people, friends and family, collapse beside me and we just left them there to die of cold or exhaustion or sickness. But the worst was that He made you feel happy to do it. He made you feel like it was a privilege.”

No one can speak for a long time. Serai catches Dante’s eye and shakes her head: no more questions. The students quietly thank him for his trouble and help wash up from breakfast. Othic seems more cheerful now, as if he has shaken off his earlier troubled mood. He talks about his horses, his farm, even his late wife, with fondness. He looks forward to winter and a well-earned rest.

Our students are impatient to continue on into Bellholdtown, so they decide not to linger too long after breakfast. Dante thinks of one last question to ask old Othic: does the town have a priest, an elder, someone who might know more?

“Sure thing!” Othic exclaims. “That would be Utresh, our wise woman. She has a cottage on the edge of town. You come back and see me on your way home.”

The students wave goodbye from the wagon until Othic is out of sight. Back on the road to Bellhold, Serai asks, “You weren’t thinking of trying to find those kids, are you?”

“Of course!” Dante replies.

“Good!” is her response. George grins, delighted. Jade rides ahead so that no one can see the smile playing on his lips.

Bellholdtown is smaller than Ambergate, but today is market day and all the townsfolk are out, making it seem much larger and busier than it actually is. Our travelers soak in the sights. The townsfolk argue and haggle over their goods, but no one smiles or laughs. Over there is our friend Cobble again. He has found a crate on which to stand and a small, murmuring crowd has gathered about him.

“The dragon arrises! From the Abyss, He and his minions will rise and swallow this damned town! He will damn us all straight to the mines! Our dreams are Hell! Alioth has forsaken us! Do not pray to the false and fickle god! Bow down to the master!”

“What is that all about?” Serai exclaims.


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Sep 28, 2005)

Wow! Great story so far eris.

I came over here after reading KidC's storyhour of your "Victorian" campaign - and I'm very glad I did.

The writing style stands out clearly, with a unique "voice". I'm looking forward to more.

...

So get writing and posting!!


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## eris404 (Sep 29, 2005)

Since you asked, here's the next installment.


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## eris404 (Sep 29, 2005)

“Never mind him,” Worthen says with a shake of his head. “The foundry is over there. We should get the bell and go straight back.”

“It can’t hurt to have a look around at least, can it?” asks a crestfallen George.

“I’m having second thoughts, Master Barleycorn,” the handyman tells him. “I don’t like the looks of this place. Not sure it’s a good place for students to be wondering about.”

Worthen moves the team slowly and carefully towards the foundry building. Through its open doors, you can see the wooden outline of bell, a template the craftsmen have made, resting forgotten against a wall. Several large, clay bells sit in the center of foundry while workmen go about their tasks. Worthen frowns and hails one of them. He motions Dante to follow.

“We’ve a bill of sale for a bell,” Worthen tells him, nudging Dante to show him the paper.

“Aye, and there it is,” the workman says, pointing to one of the clay bells.

“I don’t know anything about bell-making,” Dante says, “but that bell seems to be made of clay.”

The workman laughs. “It’s because it ain’t finished yet. Still need to make the cope and mold. We’re behind yet. All these bells,” he gestures at the other clay bells, “were ordered first and so’s they’ll need to be finished first.”

“We were told it was to be done by now.” Worthen takes the bill from Dante and thrusts it to the workman. He raises his hands and backs away, as if the bill is a venomous snake.

“I don’t know much of the business part. You’ll need to take that up with Lucius Krekket. What I do know is that you need bell metal to make bells.”

“But, he owns the copper mine!” Worthen protests.

“Bell’s only part copper,” the workman explains. “Copper we’ve got. It’s tin we need. Look, if the tin comes in today, we can have the bell made in less than a week. Take rooms at the Bell and Clapper – it’s a nice little place, clean and even has a little museum. It has a dragon claw in it – you’d like to see that, wouldn’t you, son?” He tries to smile at Dante, but seeing the wan, sulky, teenaged face, thinks better of it. “Come back in a couple of days and check in on us. We’ll know more then, and it might even be ready.”

They do hire rooms and as promised, they are clean, if a little threadbare. Dante and George share a room, leaving the elf with Worthen. Serai, as the sole girl, gets her own room. Once settled, they admire the weapons, the sad, dented shield and the giant talon taken from the dragon’s body. The bargirl is nice to look at, even with the dark, puffy circles under her eyes, and does her best to be cheerful. Even Tokket, the keeper of this inn, makes pleasant chitchat with the newcomers in between yawns.

But our young friends are impatient to explore the town and soon leave Worthen to his ale and conversations about the weather with the locals. It isn’t hard to find directions to the cottage of Utresh, the wise woman. Everyone has gone to her at some point for a cure, a love potion or to have his fortune told. It’s that little cottage there just on the outskirts of town. There is no wall or gate to this town, so it easy enough to leave the bustle of the town and enter the quiet, empty pastures that surround it.

Her cottage is surrounded by trees, though there is clearing enough to keep a couple of clucking hens busy scratching in the dirt. Crows shriek from the trees. A black cat lies on the porch and watches with disinterest the students approach. His tail flicks nonchalantly. A white cat licks her leg, but scuttles away as if startled. Several kittens wrestle in the grass and take playful swipes at the travelers’ ankles. A tabby pounces at the hens, which launch their fat little bodies into the air with a flurry of feathers.

The cottage, though, is quiet, except for the play of wind chimes on a warm breeze. When they get closer, the students can see that the gray house has been decorated with arcane swirls and symbols. Dante smiles.

“They’re fake,” he whispers to his friends. “They are mostly gibberish, though she may have found a couple of real ones in a book. That one is a real draconic rune, but it means ‘bread.’ It’s all for show. I don’t think we’re going to learn much from her.”

“Should we still talk to her?” George asks.

“I don’t think it would hurt,” Serai notes. “She talks to everyone in the town, knows their gossip and secrets. If anyone knows if something is going on in Bellhold, she would.”

The boards of the porch creak under foot. Dante knocks on her door. When there is no immediate answer, he tries again and again. He calls to her by name, asks if anyone is home, but still the door remains shut, no footsteps inside, no answering call.

“Maybe we should try around back,” George suggests. They do so, talking loudly so as not to startle her, should she be hard of hearing or overly occupied. George sees movement in the trees, a flutter of skirt, someone hiding, but not doing it well.

“Hello!” He calls out. “Don’t be frightened. Please come out and talk to us.”

She peeks from behind a thorny bush. She is small and her dark eyes are wide with fear. Her long hair is still quite dark, with a few strands of silver near her face. Her shawl is drooping from her shoulders as struggles to keep both it and her bag clutched to her chest.

George holds out his hand. “Please come in and talk to us. We want to help.”

“I have to go,” she tells him. “It isn’t safe here anymore. You should go, too.”

“Please, just talk to us first, then we’ll help you go.” George smiles. He realizes that he using the same tone of voice he used as a child to try to coax crows and squirrels out of trees. It is useless on animals, but on the frightened, grandmotherly woman, it is soothing and reassuring. She trusts him and takes his hand.

Inside, she offers the young people chairs, though regrets that she will not make them tea, because of her concerns about the water from the river. The cottage is small and tidy. There is a large hearth, but no fire, a sturdy old table and several chairs, more than a woman living alone might normally have. She sits in a rocking chair and puts her bag protectively on her lap.

Dante is drawn to the jars on the shelves, both of which are plentiful. The clay jars are unmarked and stoppered with cork. He takes one down and pulls out the cork. He is no herbalist, but he can recognize the scent of the dried basil. Another contains a minty herb, the next bark covered in moss. Small stones, feathers, animal bones are placed in between each jar. He finds a wooden box in which a deck of cards, wrapped in silk, have been placed. Over the mantle of the fireplace, a lovely crystal, shaped into a perfect ball, rests on a wooden stand.

“The tools of my trade,” she remarks.

“And these,” Dante says, lifting a small skull, “give you power?”

“Power?” she half-laughs, half-snorts and shakes her head. “I can tell you’re students from Ambergate. You stick out like thorns around these parts. So, I can’t lie to you. I can make a poultice and set bones. I can make teas for fevers or women’s troubles and I can read fortunes in the cards. But power, like you have power? No, not me, I’m afraid.”

“So, why were you trying to sneak away?” Dante asks.

She rubs her tired eyes while thinking.

“I didn’t want to see anyone,” she says at last. “I heard you coming up the road and I got deathly afraid. I was afraid that…”

“Afraid of what?”

She sighs. “I had a vision. I’m sure you’re used to such things, but I’ve never had them before. The other day, Mrs. Krekket came to me for a reading. She is a steady customer, comes once a week, usually asking about her husband’s business. Sometimes she asks for a wealth charm or a cure for some minor ailment, stomach problems usually, too much rich food. Anyway, I put out the first card, the ten of cups. It’s such a happy little card, with a carefree couple dancing on it and a peaceful little village in the background. The village looks just like Bellhold, I thought, and suddenly it was like I was dreaming with my eyes open. I was walking through town and I could see everyone moving about, but their eyes were vacant, soulless. And I realized somehow that they couldn’t dream, not a single one of them. And for some reason, it made me deathly afraid and I had to run away before they got me, too. It was just like, like the old days.” She pauses, swallowing. “I’ve been having such awful nightmares since then and these horrible headaches the next day. I thought it was happening, that you were coming for me. Something is coming. I don’t know what it is, but I know I have to leave, before it gets here. I don’t want to find out.”

“You can’t leave!” Dante exclaims, horrified. “You have to warn the townspeople. How could you think of just leaving them without least warning them?”

She shakes her head, tears rolling down her face.

George says, “Dante, it’s alright. We can warn them. Let her go.”

“No, it’s not alright, George,” Dante insists. “They won’t believe us.”

“I can’t go into town.” Utresh breaks into sobs. “What if it’s happened already?”

“It hasn’t,” Dante tell her gently. “We just came from there and everyone is just fine. Look, can you at least go to the Mayor? I know he’d believe you. Please?”

She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands like child and nods. “I’ll try. It’s just that the nightmares are so terrible. I just want them to stop.”

“What do you dream about?” Serai asks, handing her one of her lacy handkerchiefs.

“I dream about my death. I mean, I dream about Death.” She takes the deck from its wooden box and unwraps it. Searching through the cards, she pulls out a card called Death. It is an image familiar to the students: a skeleton in armor upon a pale horse before which women, children and even kings kneel.

“You were here when Copperdeath was alive?” Dante asks.

She nods. “I was just a little girl, but I was put to work making things like chess sets, coins, mirrors. Most of it has been melted down to make bells, of course. You know, the bell in the center of town was made during Copperdeath’s rein. They call it Wyrmcall. It’s still rung at sunrise, noon and sunset. The sound of it still makes my stomach churn.”

Dante has a sudden idea. “Ma’am, do you know Othic, the farmer who lives on the other side of town? He’s a widower and I think he’d been glad to have some company –not that I’m suggesting anything improper.”

She laughs. “At my age, I take that as a compliment. I know of Othic, but only to nod to on Market Day.”

“Well, we visited him before we got into Bellhold. Neither he nor his farm hands have had any headaches or bad dreams.”

“He has a well,” George adds helpfully.

“And as George says, he does get his water from a well. We could ask him for you if you like.”

“I would like that,” she tells him. “Thank you.”

On their way back to town, George is thoughtful and a little worried. So are Dante and Serai, too, if he judges their expressions correctly. Jade’s face, however, is calm, unreadable. George has had no real experience with elves, except for Master Lykor, who, with his mirrors that could see every secret inside your mind, was always more than a little intimidating. George wonders idly what makes elves different from humans. They have a humanoid shape and from a distance they look enough like humans. True, Jade was shorter than George, but then again, many human men were shorter than George, too. But George knew, height or no, that Jade was by far stronger than he. Were all elves stronger than humans? Dante would know . It’s probably written somewhere in a book.

“Are you going to stare like that at me all day or you going to ask me to dance?” Jade says.

“Excuse me?” George asks, flushing and flustered.

“You’re excused,” the elf mutters dryly. Sensing George is embarrassed into silence, Jade asks, “Besides my devastating good looks, was there a reason why you were staring at me?”

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about elves,” George admits.

“Thinking about elves,” Jade repeats. “This should be an interesting rumination coming from the star pupil. Pray, Master Barleycorn, what were you thinking about elves?”

“I was wondering what makes them different from humans.”

Jade stops George with an upraised palm. “What makes us different from humans? I will tell you a secret, Master Barleycorn. What makes elves different from humans is that we don’t worry about the future. Do you know why that is? Because we leave things better than when we found them. Chew on that for a bit and maybe, just maybe, you might live longer than fifty years, too.”


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## KnidVermicious (Sep 29, 2005)

Great story hour. For some visuals check out some pictures I did for KidC here . The first set is pictures of the wizard's college. Further on in the thread are pictures of a tower that doesn't come in to the campaign until later.

Wizards College

Creepy Tower of Overwhelming Nasty Evil


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Sep 30, 2005)

eris404 said:
			
		

> Since you asked, here's the next installment.




Don't suppose it will work a second time? I'll even ask nicely this time!   

And, KnidV, cool pics!


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## eris404 (Sep 30, 2005)

Why, yes. Yes it does.


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## eris404 (Sep 30, 2005)

Ishiro Longshears, or Ishii for short, has just arrived this morning in Bellhold after hitching a ride in a farmer’s wagon. The farmer is well aware of the rumors about Bellhold, but he also has twelve children and can’t afford to miss a market day. He has told the little gnome as much, though solemn-faced Ishii has little to say in reply.

---

A Short Note about Gnomes

Gnomes are race of tiny people said to be the descendants of dwarves who fell in love with faeries. Gnomes are much smaller than dwarves, perhaps only three feet in height at most, though they have the sturdy, compact bodies of that race. Perhaps it is their mixed blood that causes their seemingly dual nature. On the one hand, much like their dwarven ancestors, they are shrewd merchants and clever craftsmen who create complex technomagical devices and alchemical substances of power: indeed, the explosive blackpowder is of their design and a secret they guard carefully. Yet, they also resemble their faerie ancestors in that they have strong ties to the natural world and are able to coax the most obstinate flower into blooming and can even speak with small burrowing animals if they desire.

Some gnomes reject one aspect for another. There are fleets of gnomish sailing vessels, made and maintained in collaboration with human shipmakers and sailors, and in these swift ships, they follow the winds to carry goods and gnomish technology to all parts of the world. And there are gnomes who live simple lives in monasteries where they live in harmony with the land and perfect themselves through hard labor, meditation, philosophy and martial arts. Each gnomish clan has its own school and style of martial art. The Colleges of Ambergate employ the school of the Fire Ant clan, who in peaceful times act as the colleges’ gardeners and groundskeepers. When needed, the monks of the Fire Ant clan can act as warriors to defend the school (for wizards, especially young ones, tend towards being a sickly lot due to spending too much time indoors at a desk while reading by insufficient light; a wizard who isn’t squinting by the age of twenty simply hasn’t studied enough.) and have adapted their style to include the use of common garden implements as weapons. The wizards and the Fire Ant gnomes have enjoyed this symbiotic existence for more than a century.

Between the various gnome clans rivalries exist, but hostilities are decided through sport, usually in competitions of strength, magic or fighting ability. Probably the most famous rivalry is between the Fire Ant Clan and the Iron Mule Clan, whose relationship can be traced back centuries to the legendary brothers, Hapfel and Kiran. They were twins who were the last descendants of the Dust Storm Guardians clan and they were challenged by the champion of another clan. Sources differ as to which clan and for the reason of the challenge: each clan likes to boast it was their own and the reasons vary from rivalry over a beautiful girl to some imagined slight. The brothers argued, each believing he was the better fighter to accept the challenge, and grew so hostile that they fought several duels. Because they were well-matched, neither brother was victorious for long. They gathered allies from different clans and ambushed each other, escalating the conflict each time and causing much bloodshed and death. Too stubborn and proud to make amends, the brothers forsook their family clan and each began his own clan. The clans were named after the Fire Ant and the Iron Mule, both animals known for their tenacious unwillingness to yield even to their own detriment. Elder gnomes tell this legend as a warning to young gnomes not only about the danger of pride, but the danger of internal conflicts within one’s family, one’s clan and gnomish society in general. If gnomes are to survive amongst the bigger folk, they will do so only through unity.

---

Young Ishii is a gardener at the colleges and is dressed in humble, rough-spun clothes stained a slight gray at the knees from the earth. A small bag slung over his shoulder contains some dried meat and nuts that he particularly likes; another set of clothes indistinguishable from the ones he wears now; a few coins from old Master Basil; a letter of introduction from Master Basil; a list of seeds the master wishes to purchase for the campus; a water-tight, kidney-shaped bag that holds clean water; a small rock that he kept because it has pleasing white and brown stripes. A weapon called a bola, no more than a cord with steel weights attached to each end, hangs from a secure knot around the piece of rope he uses as a belt.

Normally, the farmer wouldn’t have stopped for a gnome (being partly fey, they aren’t to be trusted), but he is startled by Ishii’s honest, piquant face with its large brown eyes, big, round nose and sunburnt cheeks. The gnome’s long dark hair tied back in a knot reminds the farmer of his own children and his heart softens enough to stop and ask if he needed a ride to the next town. The farmer almost regrets the decision when the gnome jumps too nimbly into the seat beside him, too much like a cat for his comfort. Cats live only partly in the world of men, hence the reason why witches and wizards keep them close and superstitious folk think they can see ghosts and faeries. One can never trust a cat for long, for they tend to switch loyalties between mortals and fey at a whim.

But along the way, the farmer warms to the gardener. He talks about the weather, his family or his crops while the gnome listens in cheerful, friendly silence. From time to time, Ishii offers a comment about plants and gardens, and the farmer nods in agreement at the wisdom of it.

Upon reaching Bellhold, the farmer tells Ishii, “Son, you know it isn’t safe in this town. We hear all sorts of wild tales. I plan to leave afore sunset, so if you need a ride out, you come see me at the market.”

“Thank you, but I have to stay. My master made a bet.”

“A bet? What kind of bet?”

“With a wizard. I have to stay two days. If I don’t go insane, my master wins.”

The farmer blinks at the simplicity of his statement and replies, “Son, are you…touched? A little slow, maybe?” He touches his temples to illustrate his meaning, then embarrassed by rudeness adds, “No offense, there.”

“I’m not offended,” the gnome replies with a gentle smile.

The farmer shakes his head. “Well, no one makes a bet with a wizard, son. At least not one he could expect to win. Please, come find me afore sunset, you hear?”

The gnome smiles again and waves farewell and the farmer knows he won’t be seeing him again. But someone from the market calls his name, so he pushes his concern for the gardener from his mind and gets to business.

Ishii wanders from stall to stall, wagon to wagon. He has Master’s list in one hand and scans the barrels, sacks and boxes for the items listed on the crinkled parchment.

“Isn’t that one of the gnomes from the school?” Dante asks.

“Ishii,” George says. “His name is Ishii.”

Hearing his name, the gnome looks around and finds George with the other students from Ambergate and an elderly woman he does not know. Ishii waves and George jogs over to greet him, forcing the others to follow.

“Ishii, what are you doing here?” Dante asks.

“Errands for my master.” He holds up the paper as evidence and adds, “And a bet.”

“Would you like to come with us, Ishii?” Dante asks, a bit uncertainly.

With a beatific smile, the gnome accepts.


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Sep 30, 2005)

eris404 said:
			
		

> Why, yes. Yes it does.




Well, knock me down with a wet haddock (as they probably don't actually say anywhere other than in my head)! I must have a had a charisma boost last time I levelled up.

Great stuff again, eris. Keep it coming.


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## eris404 (Sep 30, 2005)

Thanks!

And actually, I have more written, I'm just trying to space it out to give myself more time to write more.


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## eris404 (Oct 3, 2005)

Dante must cajole and coax Utresh all the way to the office of the Mayor. He seems to Dante a little taken aback at this visit, but agrees to talk to the students and the wise woman. Reluctantly, she tells the Mayor about the visions and the dreams she has suffered; his face falls from good-natured indulgence to disappointment and worry.

“This is most extraordinary,” he admits. “And to think I was going to come to you for help.” Dante exchanges a look of curiosity with Serai, then bids him to continue. “I was hoping to ask you to discreetly look for the adventurers I sent to find the children missing from the town. Now that’s the least of our worries.”

“We’d be happy to help,” Dante interjects. He glances about at his companions for their agreement, then notices with a thrill of alarm that George isn’t with them. A glance out the window reveals the tall lad stooped by the door of the bell tower. To Dante’s horror, he realizes George is trying the lock. Dante quickly continues to cover his agitation. “And I suspect that the missing children, the adventures and the strange visions and dreams are all connected.”

The Mayor nods, absent in his own unhappy thoughts. “I fear as much, though I dread bringing more outsiders into our misery. There’s been too much death and unhappiness – I had hoped we had left those days behind us for good.” He looks Dante in the eye. “We can’t spare much, but I promise you one hundred gold each, should you be able to help us.”

Dante meets his gaze with a dead-eye wizard’s stare that unnerves the Mayor and sends a shiver down his spine. “We will take your offer, but I do ask only for one other thing: the deed to that mine.” The Mayor protests, but Dante is firm. “It is doing none of you any good as it is and it will be our problem to protect and work it.”

The Mayor sees the wisdom in this, or perhaps ever the merchant, he sees a way to profit from this agreement. Either way, he promises the mine shall be theirs.

Through the window, Dante sees that George is not quite finished with the tower’s door, so he stalls the Mayor with questions. “That bell tower – I understand the bell was made from copper from Copperdeath’s mine. May I ask if it has any unusual purpose or power?”

The Mayor smiles. “Nowadays, its only purpose is to ring the time of day – we’ve two men, Harley and Malcolm, who volunteer to do this. It has no magic of its own, though it does bring bad memories for some.”

George has given up on the lock, just in time for Dante, Serai, Jade, Ishii and Utresh to leave the Mayor’s office. As promised, the students take Utresh to stay on Othic’s farm, though they decline to impose on his hospitality another night. Instead, they return to rooms at the inn, where over smoked sausages the students take turns reading from the journal of Thrommel Redstone, a dwarfish priest of Darvos. Though it is a thrilling tale about the slaying of the Dragon, no one can gleam any new clues to the present situation. Exhausted, the students say good night and crawl into their beds…


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## eris404 (Oct 3, 2005)

…And into nightmares.

For Jade, it is beetles. Thousands of them crawl about his body, their tiny feet tickling his flesh even as their mandibles cut into it.

Dante is a toothless, drooling idiot, followed by children throwing stones and clods of earth. He remembers it was not always so and that make his condition all the more unbearable.

Ishii has his bones broken, one by one, by a relentless, unseen attacker.

Serai finds herself at a desolate crossroad, alone. In the blink of an eye, a crystalline creature, shaped like a jagged man, is beside her, his razor-sharp arm jabbing into her stomach like a sword. Before she can cry out, there is another, then another, their spiky limbs slashing and stabbing. But there is no blood, only sickening pain that brings her to her knees. She awakes with a start…and finds herself atop a table, her arms shackled at her sides, an unseen being sawing the crown of her skull open to expose her brain.

Worthern is in a forest. He sees a pixie at last, as he has always desired, but it runs from him through the trees. He chases the pale, slight shape, only find it is nasty creature with a wide mouth filled with shark teeth that bite and bite and bite.

And George sits sweating, cowering in a corner. There is only one bullet left. He can no longer keep the door closed no matter how he tries. The Thing on the Other Side is nearly through now; the door shakes on its hinges while the frame splinters.

And it will all end, if they would just give in.

George does wake to a pounding on his door. He sees that Dante is already out of his bed going towards it.

“No, don’t open it!” George yells wildly. Dante turns to him, eyes wide and rimmed with dark circles. He is so pale and his thin hair is stuck to his scalp with sweat.

“George,” he starts, but then a voice from behind the door exclaims, “Master Dante! Please, it’s Tal, Othic’s man. There’s been a terrible accident!”


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## eris404 (Oct 4, 2005)

Accident does not accurately describe the scene in the barn. The students are huddled together, weary and sad, their eyes unable to rest comfortably anywhere on the scene. The hay is soaked with fresh blood from Othic’s slain body which is nearly cut in two. Upon his back are impressions where the horses in their panic had trampled him on their way out of the barn. The farm hands are still searching for them.

Serai is sickened, as much from grief as horror, and leaves the barn to question the farm hands. Dante murmurs a familiar spell while touching the air, searching for the tingling, electric presence of magic and finding none. With a sigh, he crouches to examine the bloody tracks with Jade, but the elf shakes his head: they are too jumbled or perhaps he is too distracted to make sense of them. He turns instead to the body.

“George,” Dante says wearily, and without needing to be asked, his friend helps him right the corpse.  He examines the arms and hands and finds no scratches or defensive wounds. There is still a wallet filled with coins at his belt. There are large bites at his neck, however, and waist. But they are most chilled to find a horse’s bit shoved into his mouth.

Dante glances about the barn and explains his theory, “He was attacked from behind from here.” He points to a spot about a third of the way inside. “Whatever it was that killed him was already inside.”

“And this?” George asks, pointing to the bit.

“Most likely, he put it in himself, probably at the command his attacker” Dante says. “I can’t explain it otherwise.”

“Dante!” Serai’s voice is shrill with fear. The body of their former host is forgotten in their rush to find her. She is only a few feet from the barn, but she is paralyzed with terror. Ishii is beside her and looks at her in puzzlement. When the three reach him, he merely shrugs.

“There,” she points. At the gate, three horses are standing, tossing their heads and snorting.

“Serai, it’s just Othic’s horses,” Dante replies. 

And then he sees one lifting the gate’s latch with its teeth. The other two snort, stamp their hooves and flick their tails with impatience. A nearly tangible wave of menace hits our little group. Dante staggers a moment and shakes his head to clear it.

Serai answers his question before he can ask it. “They are psionic. They attacked me before you got here.”

Dante nods, a bit shaken by the encounter, but chants a spell for summoning undead. A tiny zombie, the rather ripe body of a recently deceased kobold, answers his call and plods in the direction of the malicious horses. Panicked, he hides in the barn.

Ishii unties the bola from his rope belt and slings it around the legs of a horse, which stumbles and falls with a loud shriek. It rolls, frees, then rights itself.

George trembles while loading his pistol and silently curses himself for not loading it properly beforehand. His hands shake so that he loses the shot in the grass and has to start over. The horses are nearly upon him when he takes his first shot and misses.

Serai’s eyes glow with power as she utters a word in a language strange to George. Whatever she intends, it does not stop the horse galloping toward her. She backs away, but not in time, for the horse nips her on the shoulder. Ishii punches it, then jumps to kick it squarely in the jaw, thus giving Serai time to get away from this monster.

With his mighty bow, Jade shoots an arrow true and strikes a horse in its flank. Something changes in their demeanor after this, for they circle round to the gate to flee in panic. Attuning with Nature, Jade calls upon Her magic again and performs several small miracles. First, he makes the grass near the gate grow and writhe to cling to and hamper the legs of one of the horses. Another he causes to stop altogether, and though it is far from docile, it no longer tries to bite or kick. The third he chases, all the while striking it with swift arrows until it collapses dead from its many wounds. While Jade is occupied, the entangled horse breaks free and flees. George shoots but is inexpert at hitting moving targets and does not strike it as it disappears into the woods.

Breathless as frightened rabbits, the students gather around the remaining horse,.

“Don’t kill it,” Serai says. “I want to try to talk to it.”

George swallows hard, but reloads his pistol. “Tell it I’m watching it. If it tries to get away, I’ll shoot.” He cocks the pistol and points it at the horse’s head, and adds with more bravado than he actually feels, “And I won’t miss this time.”

With hands raised in a gesture of peace, she tells it, “We won’t hurt you. Please, we just want to ask you a few questions.”

It snorts, then tosses its head, assenting.

“How did you come to be?”

An eerie, croaking voice from a throat never intended to use speech replies, “Little blue men from the forest came. They free us. Make us strong. Now you, you will wear the saddle.”

The horse rears with a snarl. George shoots a glancing blow that grazes its neck. It sprints away into the forest, while George reloads and gives it parting shot. If it hits, it does not slow the creature and it vanishes into the trees.


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## Lela (Oct 4, 2005)

Well, he didn't miss this time.


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## djrdjmsqrd (Oct 4, 2005)

*Claps...*

Very good SH, I am going to keep watching this one...


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Oct 5, 2005)

Creepy stuff ....

Nice updates, eris. Keep 'em coming.


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## eris404 (Oct 5, 2005)

Our little group of novice adventurers is discouraged by this encounter and at a loss at how to proceed. After a brief discussion, Ishii reveals that gnomes can speak with burrowing animals; perhaps he could find one to question.

A little way into the forest, he wakes an ill-tempered badger who seems disinclined to be helpful. But through the chittering noises and hissing the animal makes, he discerns that he did see a small green man walking in woods. He shows Ishii where he saw the little man and Ishii indeed finds a tiny footprint among the leaves. He returns to his new companions with more questions than answers.

Where, might you ask, is Utresh among all this? She is alive and quite safe, though shaken by the experience, and is making breakfast and tea for the grief-stricken farmhands. The students are glad to see she is well and note that the experience has changed her. No longer is she the cringing old woman, though her smile is feeble.

“I have something to tell you,” she admits. “I am not completely the old fraud I pretend to be. I am a worshipper of Xante.”

“Who’s that?” George whispers to Dante.

“If you paid attention in religion class, you’d know she’s the goddess of forbidden knowledge.” Dante hisses back.

“Is that bad?” George asks, worried.

“Depends on who you ask,” Utresh replies with a soft laugh. “I may not have been her most favored worshipper, but she has shown me a few things.” From her bundle, she unwraps several vials of dark liquid. “These are the sum of my magical training. I think you may need them more than I.”

Dante receives the potions with gratitude and asks Utresh what she will do next.

“Go home,” She says with a shrug. “If nowhere is safe, then I might as well be where I am most comfortable.”

After breakfast, the students sit together and discuss what to do next. They are afraid, but also excited by the promise of exploration and adventure. Ishii offers to show them where he found the footprint, which seems as good a place as any to start. And so, our friends say good-bye to Utresh and the farmhands and set out for the woods. While combing the forest for the print, Jade discovers several sets of small tracks.

“I think these belong to the children,” he announces. Our travelers follow the trail in silence north across the river. The tracks cross an old road and then find an old path that leads up to the foot of the mountain. There it ends among the tall rocks that rest there; nearby, a waterfall hisses and gurgles into a large pool.

“Now what?” asks Serai. She is unused to such hiking and is quite fatigued and thirsty. She rests by the pool and drinks from its cool, clean water. Nearby, she notices a dam made of leaves and branches and an idea occurs to her. “Ishii, can you speak to beavers?”

From the busy little builder, Ishii learns that the mines are sealed, but that small green-skinned men had climbed up the mountain not long ago; he twitches his nose in the direction the little men hiked.


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## Funeris (Oct 5, 2005)

Found this little gem just yesterday.  Wonderful, wonderful writing 

I'll be keeping my eye on this. (So, keep it up!) 

_(As an aside, its interesting--at least to me--to see all the variations of P-Cat's module that pop up on these boards...the variations obviously due to both the skill at which the module was designed and the differing personalities of each gaming group.)_

~Fune


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## Lela (Oct 6, 2005)

Funeris said:
			
		

> _(As an aside, its interesting--at least to me--to see all the variations of P-Cat's module that pop up on these boards...the variations obviously due to both the skill at which the module was designed and the differing personalities of each gaming group.)_
> 
> ~Fune




It's like reading a different story every time.  Really, it's amazing.  I'm thinking I'll need to get a copy of this one.  Urrrr, where can I find it?


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## Kid Charlemagne (Oct 6, 2005)

Lela said:
			
		

> It's like reading a different story every time.  Really, it's amazing.  I'm thinking I'll need to get a copy of this one.  Urrrr, where can I find it?



I imagine you can still find it around in various places.  It's by Fiery Dragon, and it looks like its available on their website.  I think that one reason it can play so differently is the way that it has a very open way of hooking the players in - in my case, I adapted it into my campaign world and came up with an idea and motivation to get the players into the adventure (pick up bell, keep them out of trouble until the school year starts after the duel with Malek).  Then there's the town and the townsfolk.  The players kind of imprint their own style and mindset onto the NPC's - for example, Utresh, the "witch" wasn't really written to be more than a slightly crazy fake seer who happened to have one true vision.  My players decided they weren't just going to let her give her little spiel and run off - the drug her back in to town and made her take a more active part in helping.  They even tried to set her up with Othic - sadly that didn't go as well...


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## eris404 (Oct 6, 2005)

Thanks everyone for the kind words!

Lela - This was a really fun adventure and I hope you do find a copy.

KidCharlemagne - That's one of the things I love about group, that we can latch onto an "insignicant" NPC, adopt them and turn them into something the GM did not intend. I can think of a couple of villains in some of my campaigns, for example, that were entirely not my fault.   

More story coming up.


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## eris404 (Oct 6, 2005)

“Little green men?” Serai asks. “That’s the second time we’ve heard that. And Othic’s” she pauses here to swallow,”…horses said they were blue. What do you think that means?”

Dante shakes his head. “I’m not familiar with either, though possibly it could be fey of some sort.”

“We should start moving,” Jade interjects. He looks at the sky, then the mountain and the rock at its base. “You’re not expert climbers and it might take us a while to find an entrance.”

After a half-day of climbing over jagged rocks and thorny scrub, the band finds a shaft sealed with copper sheets, much stained and tarnished green from weather. One corner has been curled back by heating and bending the metal with crude tools. A thick, new rope is dangling from the otherwise old and rusted winch underneath. Judging from the roar of water below, the shaft must be a hundred feet or so straight down.

Unable to contain his excitement, George volunteers to go first. He’s an athletic lad who enjoyed climbing and swimming as a small boy and the shaft reminds him of the caves in the cliffs of his native Mavarre. Besides, he is anxious to show off for Serai. He checks and loads his trusty old pistol, lights a lantern and descends. As he climbs, he notices a platform of wood about halfway down and shouts this intelligence to his friends above. The wood seems stout, so he feels safe to stand and look about.

The water comes from another shaft and falls into a stream another fifty or sixty feet below the platform. The shaft is limestone supported by creaking wooden beams, all of which is covered with a sheen of water and slime. Large, dark beetles scurrying from the light of George’s lamp as he peers about and discovers a passage leading into a cave or chamber.

“It’s alright,” George calls over the rush of the falls. He braces the rope and his friends come down one by one.

Following the beetles through the passage, the band finds a large, square chamber filled with decaying mining equipment smelling strongly of mildew: wheelbarrows, pick axes, shovels. The room in the dim light feels expansive, larger than it actually is. The water dripping from the ceiling makes soft echoes against the stone floor and the support beams groan alarmingly loud.

“Someone’s been here,” Serai notes, pointing to a path made through the piles of junk. She catches a glint in the firelight and rescues a small copper statue of a dragon from the filth. “Clean off the tarnish and this could be worth something.”

In a single-file line, the band follows the path into a mined area filled with small loose stones. George playful chases the beetles and notes that the walls are covered in bluish slime. In spite of his curiosity, he decides it would be prudent not to touch it. Then he notices an elaborate archway, somewhat out of place in this rough environment; its capstone is carved with the head of a dragon. He stops to examine it closely with his lantern, then sees something beyond that makes him gasp.

“Dante!” he calls and though he intended his voice to be soft, it echoes uncomfortably loud against the rock. Dante scowls, but looks where George points.

Beyond the archway, the passage continues on and another intersects it. At the crossroads, three severed heads have been stacked in a pyramid. Beetles scurry in empty eye sockets and open mouths, but scatter when the band approaches the arch.

“What are they?” George whispers.

“The top one is female, an elf I think,” Dante lectures. “But George, surely you know those two at the bottom are goblins. Green-skinned goblins,” he adds meaningfully.

George’s eyes widen with understanding. Dante realizes what George means to do and reaches out to grab his shirt, but is too late to stop him from crossing the threshold. The heads in unison scream in unholy, gurgling voices.

“Shut up!” George screams back.

Jade rushes forward and strikes one with his scimitar, cutting it in twain, while Serai hits another. Both go silent. In a panic, George kicks the last head down the passage and it wails as it sails through the air. Dante calmly loads his crossbow and hits it in the forehead. The screams cease, leaving a silence ringing in their ears.

For a moment, they wait, panting and listening. The only noise for some time is the whisper of wind that flows up from the deeper parts of the mine.

Jade turns sharply to Dante. He points to George and snaps, “Keep him on a leash!” As a feeble apology, George shrugs.

Dante ignores them both for the moment. The dead are his specialty and the severed heads fascinate him. He lifts the female head and examines it.

“Didn’t the Mayor say that one of the searchers looking for the children was an elf?” he asks. Jade nods and his face is grim at the sight of his kinswoman’s mutilated remains. Dante continues, “And these goblins have been dead less than a week as well.” He hesitates, then asks Jade, “How do your people deal with your dead?”

The elf replies, “By avenging them, for a start.”

Dante nods and gently places the remains on the mine floor.

George, still in the lead of our little band, enters the next chamber on quiet and nimble feet. It is a large and finished area and he notes the wooden frame and its rotted door leaning against the wall. The brittle remains of mattresses are heaped at one end of the room, against a mural in three panels. George holds up his lantern to get a better look. The paint is flaking from the stone, but he can still make out clearly a massive dragon looking wise and benevolent as tiny men dig with pickaxes and shovels and cart away stone in wheelbarrows. Other men present the dragon with gifts of copper bells and other art objects. George turns at a noise behind him, but it is just Dante poking at the bedding with his staff.

“Stop it, Dante. That smells really bad,” George says, backing away.

“There’s something dead in here, but it’s just a husk,” he murmurs. “The stink is much worse than the decay would suggest.” He looks up at George. “Troglodytes?”

George shudders. “I hope not.”


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## eris404 (Oct 10, 2005)

Deeper the party goes into the old mines and splash through shallow pools of stagnant water, disturbing the scum that collected on the surface. Serai does her best to avoid them, but the hem of skirt is still wet and covered in filth, much to her disgust. The floor is slick with slime in places and has an unnatural blue cast. Some passages have collapsed into rubble and the remaining support beams groan loudly under the weight of the mountain.

“Do you think it’s still safe to be in here?” George asks.

“What do I look like, a dwarf?” Jade replies dryly.

Dante decides to placate George. “I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think these happened recently.” While examining a pile, he finds a flat stone near a large pool of green water; the stone has words carved crudely upon it. He reads aloud:

“Here lies Kormastos dissolved before we could save him. We know the child has been taken to the tunnels above us. We continue on.”

Jade gestures for Dante to stand aside and kneels next to the pool. He dips one end of a rope into the water and it dissolves as the liquid hisses and bubbles.

“Why only one child?” George asks. “Weren’t three missing?”

His question lingers in the air unanswered. The bleak message, the caved in passages and the foulness of the tunnels are discouraging and despair creeps among the adventurers. They continue on in silence and watch the flickering of their own shadows with dread. They are tired and dirty and unprepared for staying much longer underground. They are hungry, but neglected to bring any provisions other than water with them from the town. While stopping to drink, George hears a shuffling noise down a corridor.

“There’s something down there,” he whispers hoarsely while loading his pistol.

Something moans. In dim light, a stooped form drags its feet towards the party. Behind it, another, then two more, shambles on, slow but determined. The strong stench of death precedes them. They are lizardlike, but stand on two legs like a man; their scaly skin is patchy and hangs loosely from their limbs. Their tails twitch and sway with each step. Their eyes are empty sockets and their paws end in long, dirty, broken nails. George raises his pistol and Dante places a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Wait,” he whispers. “I want to try something first.”

Dante approaches them. He holds his staff aloft and pronounces a single word with great force. One of the corpses stops and tilts its head, looking like a very ugly and very dead puzzled dog.

“I’m sorry,” Dante whispers, backing away. “I can’t control them all.”

With a smirk, George fires. Chunks of dead flesh fly from the creature’s skull from the force of the blow. He reloads. Jade draws his scimitar and finishes it off with a single stroke.

A familiar sheen coats Serai’s body and she adheres to a wall. She creeps slowly to ceiling to get out of the way.

Ishii rushes forward, punching and kicking, but the stench coming from the corpses is too strong. He feels woozy and retches and a corpse takes the opportunity to scratch him with its sharp claws. Serai gasps. Thinking quickly, she points at the gnome and for a moment, he is outlined in a flash of light.

“Climb, Ishii!” she shouts. The gnome is confused for a moment, but seeing Serai clinging to the ceiling like an insect, he flings himself onto a wall and climbs out of the way. His shoulder stings where the corpse struck him.

Meanwhile, George reloads and fires again and again, easily striking the slow-moving targets. He takes down a second corpse before Dante winds his crossbow and hits the third in an empty eye socket. It crumples into a heap of skin, sinew and bone.

Somewhere further down the hall, a voice cackles.


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## eris404 (Oct 11, 2005)

Ishii leaps down, wheezing, while Serai opts to take her time. She notes her hands and knees are now filthy. This skirt, she decides, will need to be burnt, should she survive this. 

Jade checks the scratch on Ishii’s shoulder and washes the filth out with a bit of wine. He offers the gnome some water to clear the taste of vomit from mouth and Ishii gratefully drinks the remainder of the skin. Assured that the party is fine to move on, Dante presses them forward. George reloads and scouts ahead, the corpse shambling not far behind him at Dante’s command. 

Through a maze of passages, the adventures travel. They are looking tired and hungry, aren’t they? I hope they are able to find their way out again after this is all done, if any of them survive, that is. 

George at last sees a light up ahead. He slows to quiet the sound of his boots on the stone floor and he creeps up to the doorway to peek in. The room is ornately carved and filled with benches on which bipedal skeletons with long, lizardlike skulls lie. One wall is covered with a life-sized, blue stone statue of a majestic dragon with its wings outstretched and large blue gems for eyes. Before it is a copper bowl on a pedestal in which flames burn, filling the room with weird cool light. 

The voice cackles again. A blast of light hits a wall near George’s head. It comes from the hand (paw?) of a stooped-shouldered humanoid, his lizardish scales dull and patchy. He is a scrawny thing, missing many of the sharp little teeth in his maw, and is dressed in shabby skins. 

George and Jade shoot, grazing the creature. He panics and waves his wrinkled arms in surrender. 

“Who are you?” Dante calls out. 

“I am called Temoruk,” he replies in passable Imperial. “Temoruk the wise, servant of the Dragon!”


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## eris404 (Oct 13, 2005)

George snickers, but Dante replies without a hint of irony, “Indeed, great Temoruk! We were looking for one such as you who is knowledgeable-“

“Stuff it!” the ancient, bent thing interrupts. He rubs together his hands and the dry, papery skin makes soft rasping noises. “I know what you think of me.”

Dante emerges from the hall with his hands up in a gesture of peace, but George covers him with his pistol trained on Temoruk.

“Please,” Dante continues. “We mean no harm. We’re looking for three children gone missing from Bellhold. Have you seen them?”

“Why should I help you? You came to my home and would kill me!”

“You attacked first!” George protests.

Jade raises a silencing finger to George and emerges from the darkness of the tunnel.

“We own this mine now,” he says slyly. “If you help us, we won’t force you out.”

The old troglodyte looks from Dante to the elf, then says, “I keep this section.” It is a statement, not a request.

“Sure,” Jade replies. It is an agreement, but it sounds like a threat or a king allowing a condemned man to live against his better judgement.

Next to George in the hall, Serai shakes her head. “This will come back to haunt us,” she whispers.

The critter scratches his scaly arm and replies, “No young did I see. There were big humans that came through here, though.”

“Where did they go?” Dante asks.

He scratches his chest and shakes the flaky scales loose from his paw. “Don’t know.”

Dante looks around the chamber. There is only one other exit.

“Could they have gone that way?” he suggests.

“No!” Temoruk shakes his head, rattling the necklace of bones and teeth about his neck. “That leads to the dens of my people.” He adds in a mutter, “Or it will again, rather.”

“Your people…?”

“Dead,” he confirms. “Murdered by the men who murdered my master. He will return you know. I dream it every day and your people will be slaves once more.” He rubs his hands in anticipation. “I am patient. One day our roles will be reversed, elf.”

“So, where did these men go, if not through there?”

The troglodyte sulks. “I don’t know. I hid and didn’t see. Up, I think.”

“Up where?”

“The tunnels above, to my master’s rooms.”

“Can’t you tell us how to get up there?”

The creature lowers his head, ashamed. “No. Master had a way to get to his chambers that I did not know.”


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## Lela (Oct 13, 2005)

I'm not sure that was worth a section of the mine.  Kill him and be done with it.

Grrrrr.


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## Kid Charlemagne (Oct 14, 2005)

Jade just came out and said it - and Dante was so annoyed with him for basically giving away half the mine on a whim.  It was pretty amusing when it really dawned on Dante what Jade had done.


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## eris404 (Oct 14, 2005)

The mines do pop again later and I will say that we aren't quite finished with them anyway. 

BTW, as I will be gone this weekend and I have a midterm exam on Wednesday, this next post will probably be my last update until after my test.


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## eris404 (Oct 14, 2005)

George lowers his gun and ambles into the chamber. Dante is sighing and shaking his head, never a good sign. The copper bowl, with its fire, attracts George like the proverbial moth to the flame. The pedestal on which it rests is tall, so George has to hop up to grab the ledge and pull himself up. The bowl is quite large, large enough for George to stand inside it.

“George!” Serai gasps.

“It’s magic,” George explains. He waves his arm through the flames to show that they are quite cool. “See?” He climbs in and finds the bowl is full offerings: some weapons and arms, a whistle made of crystal, some coins, a few small gemstones, and a few vials of liquid: potions George guesses. He glances at the troglodyte to make sure he isn’t watching and fills his pockets before climbing out again.

“George!” Serai chides in a sharp whisper. “Get out of there!”

Meanwhile, Dante and Jade are examining the statue and have determined that the back of it is not connected to the back wall.

“It’s a door,” Dante notes, “but how to open it?”

George admires the gemstones in the statue’s eyes glittering in the firelight and wonders if he could climb up and pry them out. The climb would be steep, but he could possibly make it. He walks forward and hears crunching beneath his feet. The floor glitters with splinters of glass. George is suddenly reminded of Master Lykor’s office filled with mirrors that can see into one’s soul.

The eyes are the window to the soul, he thinks, remembering the old saying.

And then suddenly, George knows how to open the door.

He drops his pack and rummages around for his shaving mirror (not much used, to his dismay). He angles the mirror to catch the firelight and reflects it to the eyes of the statue.

Which reflect the light back to his mirror.

Which in turn reflects the light back to the eyes of the dragon.

Over and over, the light reflects and intensifies until with a bright flash the mirror shatters and the shards slash George’s skin on his arms and face. Instinctively, he puts his arms in front of his eyes to protect them.

“George!” Serai calls, alarmed. Then softly, she says, “George, look!”

He moves his bloody arms away from face and sees. The statue has moved aside, revealing a dark passageway.

Disgruntled, Temoruk huffs.

“You did it,” Serai says.


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## eris404 (May 11, 2006)

George’s triumph is short-lived. It is swallowed by the gaping hole that is the chamber beyond the statue. There is a short hush. Then Dante, with great caution and hesitation, enters it.

“It’s clear,” he says softly, though his voice still echoes against the stone walls. George brushes the glass from his arms and examines the cuts, none of which are serious, before following. 

“Are you going to take point from now on?” he asks with a smirk.

But Dante is lost in thought, examining the smooth walls and the copper floor. 

“These walls,” he mutters. “They’re too smooth to have been done by humans.”

“Dwarves?” Jade asks.

“Magic, more likely. And this stain, or lack thereof…it’s about the right shape for a dragon, don’t you think?”

“What do you think this was for?” Serai asks. She points to a normal-sized copper bath tub with deep grooves scratched in the bottom.

The other gather around and puzzle over it for a few, long, silent moments.

“You know,” Dante admits, “I’m not sure I want to know.”

Past the copper chamber, through wide, winding passages the party continues on. Soon the melody of falling water reflects off of stone. The passage widens and before the students see the waterfall, they can feel its cool spray.  A grotto of shaped stones surrounds the falls, at the bottom of which is a large, bubbling pool. 

“It’s beautiful,” Serai breathes, and the others agree. The cave is peaceful and light reflects softly off the water and makes the rock sparkle.  Ishii stoops to take a drink and meets soft, laughing eyes in the water. A woman, naked and beautiful, emerges from the pool and smiles.

Ishii and Dante are smitten at once. Jade, immune to the wiles of the Fey, rests a wary hand on his scimitar. George, by sheer luck, happened to be examining the pool at that moment and notes with some alarm the bones, weapons and armor lying at its bottom. 

The nymph beckons the gnome and the thin, pale lad closer to her, a command they are happy to obey. 

“Jade, this isn’t right,” Serai whispers.

“Did you see the bones?” George exclaims.

“Nymphs can be dangerous,” Jade warns “We need to get them away as quickly as possible.”

“Please help me,” the nymph pleads.

“Of course!” Ishii exclaims.

“He doesn’t talk to me like he used to.”

“Who doesn’t?” Dante asks, wondering to himself who could possibly not talk to this radiant creature.

“The dragon,” she replies, no, coos to Dante, whose pale skin flushes bright enough to be seen in this dim light. “Please, you must help me, free me.”

“How?” Dante asks.

“Bring him to me. Bring the dragon to me and he will free me.”

“Enough,” Jade exclaims, rolling his eyes. “Come on, loverboys.”

“We have to help her,” Ishii explains. 

“He’s right, she needs us,” Dante protests.

“And so we shall,” Serai replies smoothly.  An ugly frown clouds the nymph’s beautiful face for a moment, but Serai continues, “We will find the dragon and get him to release you.”

For a moment, the nymph is doubtful, but Serai’s face is honest and innocent, completely trustworthy. She recedes into the pool, satisfied. George grabs Ishii’s shoulder and Jade grips Dante’s upper arm to lead them away.

“Do you think we’ll find the dragon this way?” Ishii asks.

“I hope not,” George whispers back.

“I sense something,” Serai interrupts with a slight frown. The others hush, listening. They creep forward, their breath loud in their ears, kicked pebbles echoing off the walls.

“I don’t hear anything,” Jade hisses.

“It’s…not that,” she explains. “There’s something magical ahead.”

“Magical?”  For a moment, Dante forgets the beautiful nymph.

“Psionic magic,” she confirms.

The passage opens into a large chamber in which four-foot figures made of copper stand lined on either side of a dragon-sized chessboard. Dead ahead is a life-sized sculpture of a dragon head in copper. A large brass bell hangs to one side of the cave.

“It’s coming from the head,” Serai notes. “I’m not familiar with this magic, though.”

“It could be a trap,” Dante warns.

“There’s no clapper in this bell,” George notes. Dante turns with alarm to find George with his head inside the bell.

“Don’t touch anything!” Dante hisses.

“Are you sure?” Serai looks at the sculpture with disappointment and longing.

“Positive,” Dante replies firmly. “We have to be more careful.”

“I agree,” Jade says, his face grim. “We have no idea what has taken up residence here. Let’s move on.”

The chamber opens into a long hall lined with stone statues of human soldiers. The light from George’s lantern causes shadows to move across their faces, giving them a sinister aspect. Dante examines them in passing, wondering to himself about their age and the artist. They were created with some skill, he notes, with intricate detail on their weapons and armor. Tiny spiders crawl across their faces.

This hall opens into the largest chamber yet. Its ceilings, fifty feet or more above, are reinforced with arches. Light from the far end of the chamber reflects off of the mosaic tiles on the walls, which form images of a majestic, blue-scaled dragon on beds of copper and gold coins. Ahead is a workbench, twelve feet tall, with giant tools scattered across its surface as well as srystals and geodes, some radiant with psionic energy. A small building, ten feet tall and shaped like a house with a handle on its roof, stands to one side of the cave.
Serai stares for a long moment at the house. “It reminds me of a dollhouse,” she says and shudders with revulsion.

“I hear voices ahead,” Ishii whispers. He point to the light at the far end of the cavern. “From there.”

The students freeze and exchange looks. With deep breaths, they sneak as quietly as they can towards the light. They notice a crude ramp that leads to the light, but there seems to be no door or obvious light source. Ishii cautiously creeps up the ramp, concentrating on the soft light. He stares at it for a long moment, his eyes losing focus as he reaches out to the wall…

…and steps through it.

“It’s an illusion,” Dante says, grinning with appreciation. “A good one, but an illusion nonetheless.”


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## eris404 (May 11, 2006)

In the room beyond, Ishii hunches low to the ramp and watches. The cavern, widened and smoothed by labor and magic, is well-lit by torches. He notices at once the green-skinned goblins working among the ruined furniture. The floor was once burnished copper, but is now scratched and tarnished green and black. What was once a beautiful chamber created for a majestic dragon ruler is now a small goblin village, complete with a livestock pen, a firepit, workbenches and bedrolls.

He notices a metal cage holding a sleeping human girl and a human boy who paces and figets. In the center of the cavern is another boy gagged and bound to a large block. He shies away from a goblin who is trying to hold the boy's head still, but Ishii cannot see for what purpose. The child slumps unconscious.

In the far side of the room, Ishii sees the dragon corpse, its hide a papery dried husk, its giant maw propped open. A blue-skinned goblin wearing an tin crown casually walks out of the dragon's mouth.

Ishii crawls backwards to the others.

"I count nine goblins," he tells them. "Two of them have blue skin and one of them wears a crown. One of the goblins is quite large."

"The children?" Dante asks.

"I saw three. They're captive, but they seem unhurt. There's about a 20 foot drop from this ramp into the chamber. It's quite large. And there's a dragon corpse in it."

Dante's eyes glitter with greed at this.

George holsters his empty pistol. He's nearly out of bullets, but he has a small crossbow for emergencies. Jade nods at him, and George closes his eyes. The wall still seems solid to him, until he tumbles, with a yell, into the room beyond. He lands and fires a bolt. Ishii drops in with Jade tumbling artfully after him. Serai manifests a power and climbs spiderlike down the ramp.

Dante, ever so carefully, lowers himself to ground. Even so, a jolt a pain shoots up through his ankles and calves.

The goblins are enraged. They close in and the students are assaulted first with the smell of goblin sweat and goblin breath, sour and rotten.

The blue-skinned, crowned goblin grabs the bound boy and uses him as a living shield while the boy cries in terror. The blue screams something in his language and the goblins fall back towards the dragon.

George and Jade cover Ishii with fire from their bows while he moves to engage the largest goblin. A well-placed shot from Jade hits a blue-skinned goblin in the skull, killing it and freeing the child it held captive. Ishii finds himself surrounded. He knocks out one goblin that Dante quickly pounces on with a dagger. As the goblin expires, Dante forces open its mouth and places a small gem inside. He whispers dark words of necromancy.

The body rises. Dante points to the crowned goblin and the zombie obeys.

While the other goblins fall back and draw their bows, Ishii is in a desperate duel with the hulking, slavering goblin. He lands several blows from his fists and feet, but the goblin is larger and far stronger. He lands several punches to Ishii's stomach, winding him. A hard blow to the gnome's chin renders him unconscious.

Meanwhile, Serai, attracted to the strange blue light radiating from inside the dragon's corpse, recklessly runs towards it. Dante shouts to Serai to stop, but the grinning goblin stomping on Ishii's head demands his immediate attention. He points at the goblin and with an arcane word, a small, screaming skull hits the goblin in the chest. The beast hesitates, clutching his bruised sternum, and it gives Jade just the opening he needs. A razor-tipped arrow from his longbow finishes the goblin.

Jade reaches Ishii first. Seeing George's worried face, he waves him on towards the dragon. "Get to Serai," Jade yells. "And get Dante away from these archers!"

George grabs Dante by the collar as two arrow narrowly miss the wizard. Instead, they strike George in the thigh; dragging his wounded leg and pushing his friend ahead of him, he finds cover in the dragon's mouth.

Steadying himself, George works the arrows out of his leg. Tears blur his vision and his hands shake; he feels nauseous and faint and guilty. Searching through his bag, he finds two small vials.

"These had better work," he says weakly. He glups the liquid, which seems to burn like alcohol down his throat. For a moment he is afraid that it was a horrible trick, for burning spreads through his skin and bones. He feels numb for a moment, then tentatively he touches the arrow wounds on his thigh. Perhaps they weren't as deep as he first thought, because he sees now that they are mere scratches, sore but not bleeding.

He turns to Dante and realizes that his friend is quite hurt as well, a thick flow of blood rolling from a wound in his scalp. Dante is fatigued and barely conscious, so George shakes him and hands him an unstoppered vial, forcing him to drink from it. He checks the wound and notes that the bleeding has stopped.

"She's gone," Dante whispers. He nods towards the dragon's throat, just wide enough for a person to crawl through on her hands and knees.

"Why would she do that?" George asks. He peeks through the dragon's teeth to look for signs of Ishii and Jade. He winds his crossbow and takes a few futile shots at the goblin archers.

"George, we have to stop her."

"But Jade..." George protests.

"Can take care of himself," Dante replies firmly. Without waiting for George, he crawls down the desiccated throat. The papery flesh disgusts George and he is reluctant to touch it, but he holds his breath, shuts his eyes and follows.

He opens them just in time to see Dante strike Serai.

"George!" She screams. "Dante is under a spell! He's trying to kill me!"

"She's lying George. She under the influence of that." Dante points to a large gem glowing bright blue.

"George!"

"George!"

The poor lad looks from one to the other. He has no idea who to believe.


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## eris404 (May 11, 2006)

Meanwhile, Jade is calculating. The archers, he decides, are worrysome, but overall, the goblins are disorganized. With the blues and the hulking nightmare of a goblin dead, there is a desperation to their attacks. He decides they will flee or try to, if he lets them. With a glance at Ishii's prone form, he makes his choice.

He drops his bow and makes a quick lunge towards the gnome. Jade places both hands on the gnome heart and feels its weakened beat through his palms. He concentrates and speeds up time for the gnome. He breathes in and with the exhale, broken bones and torn flesh knit together, leaving only a bruise where once life-threatening wounds existed.

Ishii opens his eyes and kips up to his feet in a fighting crouch.

Nodding in approval, Jade says in a low voice, "You've only been out a moment. There are still goblins to deal with." He draws a scimitar from his belt.

"The others?"

Jade shakes his head. "They're in... the dragon, or what's left of it anyway. I heard shouting."

One of the goblins drops his bow and runs towards the ramp. His former fellows howl in anger.

"Go to them," Jade says with a nod at the dragon.

"What about you?" Ishii says, wary of the goblins.

"I'm not worried," the elf replies.

In the dragon, Serai is manifesting a power. Her eyes glow with strange light that raises the hackles on George's neck.

"Don't," Dante warns. He gives her a rough shove that breaks her concentration.

"George! Please!" she pleads. "How could you let him do this?"

"George, what's going on?" Ishii asks, startling him.

"I don't know," George moans in confusion. "I mean, I don't know..."

With a boxer's instinct, Ishii quickly assesses the situation on his own. "Who do you trust, George?" Ishii presses.

"I don't know!" George shakes his head, then blurts out, "Dante! I trust Dante."

It is all the confirmation the gnome needs. A well-place blow stuns the girl and she crumples to the ground.

George is horrified. "You hit a defenseless girl."

"She was hardly defenseless," Dante replies dryly.

Ishii checks her pulse and breathing, then loads her body across his shoulders. Both George and Dante are surprised by the gnome's strength.

"She will be fine," Ishii says. "But we must get out of here. Jade may need us." He looks at the glowing stone. "Did that do something to Serai?"

Dante nods. "I think that might have done something to a lot of people."

Outside of the dragon, Jade is going through the pockets of a dead goblin. It is quiet except for the soft sobbing of the captive children. One child lies still unconscious near Jade.

The students look around at the crumped bodies of the goblins. Dante notices his zombie, now inanimate and lying like a broken doll among the other goblin bodies.

"They're not all here," Dante notes.

"One or two got away," Jade says. He pulls a few paltry coins from the goblin's pocket and shakes his head. "I don't think they'll give us any grief, though." He frowns as Ishii lays Serai gently on the ground and demands, "What happened?"

"I think we found the source of the nightmares," Dante explains. "It was controlling her, I think."


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## eris404 (May 11, 2006)

Jade arranges the sleeping boy and Serai side by side on the ground and tends to them. Their pulses and breathing are strong, so he leaves them for the moment to free the children in the cage.

The encaged boy is suspicious and watches the elf closely as he picks the lock on the door. Opening the door, Jade says, "It's alright. We're here to help you."

There is a bright flash in Jade's face. He is blinded by the afterimages dancing before his eyes, but he still has his wits about him.

"The children are under a spell!" Jade warns. He grabs the sleeping girl and realizes she is comatose, her breath frighteningly shallow.

"You're evil!" the boy hisses. "You're here to kill us!" His face is a snarling mask twisted by fear and anger. He reaches for the girl, but Vor (Martha) lashes out from under Jade's cloak. With a menacing hiss, the snake snaps at the boy, barely missing his pudgy hand.

Both George and Dante try to placate the boy, who fights and spits at them passionately, and so they find themselves simply tying his hands and feet. He squirms violently and curses as they carry him to rest with the others.

While Jade minds his charges, George loots the bodies of the dead and drags them to the firepit. He loathes the idea of burning them here and now and decides to wait until the others are ready to leave.

Jade gently shakes Serai awake. She blinks in confusion, looking first at Ishii, then Dante.

"I'm sorry, Serai," Dante says, but she turns away, her face as cool and set as stone.

"We should rest here," Dante suggests. Looking around at the blood and bodies, he amends, "Just for a bit, of course. We'll need our strength for the journey back."

George finishes his grim work and crouches next to Serai.

"I'm sorry, too," he whispers.

"George, keep an eye on them," Serai whispers back, eyes wide with fear. "They're still under the nymph's charm. They might do something...rash."

Unnerved, George rises and backs away. With relief, he notices that Jade, Dante and Ishii are huddled together a little way away. Between them, he sees the glowing blue crystal which they are contemplating.


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## eris404 (May 11, 2006)

"Well?" George asks.

"I have no idea what it is," Dante whispers. "And the person who might we can't trust right now."

"What's there to know? Shouldn't we just destroy it?"

Jade rolls his eyes. "Yes, George, that's what Dante is saying. He doesn't know how."

George frowns. "Maybe I could just shoot it? I have a few bullets left."

Jade exchanges looks with Dante, who shrugs. "It's as good as anything else we could try."

Setting the crystal on the ground, the others back off, while George chooses a good distance, loads his pistol, takes aim and fires. The bullet reflects off the crystal, turning it momentarily a deep red.

The boy howls in pain.

George looks to his friends, who nod encouraginly. He loads again, takes a few deep breaths to steady his aim and fires. Again the bullet reflects off the stone without any apparent damage to it, but it glows an angry red. The boy rolls on the ground shrieking, cursing and crying.

"May I try something?" Serai is barely audible above the boy's fit, but the others, curious but skeptical, urge her to go on. "I think this might do it." Theatrically, she produces the crystal whistle in her open palm. She rises, a bit unsteady, to her feet and motions to the other to get behind her, out of the way of the sonic blast. With a deep breath, she produces a long, loud, shrill note that rattles their teeth and hurts their ears. The crystal glows red, but again is otherwise untouched.

"Dammit!" George shouts, frustrated. "How the hell are we going to destroy this thing?"

"We'll think of something," Dante mutters, his mind already lost in thought, looking for solutions.

"You shouldn't curse," a weak voice adds. Surprised, all of our little party turn towards the voice. It is the tied-up boy, no longer wailing or thrashing about. A thin trickle of blood runs from his nose. "Mama says you shouldn't curse."

Dante reaches the boy first. "What's your name? Are you alright? Do you remember anything? "

"Caleb," the boy replies in a small, fearful voice, his eyes darting from Dante to Jade to George. "I want my mom!"

While the others sleep, George and Ishii stand guard. How they can sleep is beyond George, who can't stop looking at the grotesque pile of bodies in the fire pit. Perhaps he should have set fire to them right away. Perhaps the dried dragon husk, too. The crystal still glows, the blue light somehow menacing and poisonous. If only the bullets or Serai's whistle had smashed it to bits! As it was, they'd probably have to take the thing back with them to the University where mages more powerful than they could destroy it. How disappointing.

And George had been so confident that his pistol would do it. It had seemed, to him at least, that it had been more effective than the whistle, that the crystal had glowed brighter and longer when struck by the bullets. Why that should be mystifies him; after all, the whistle is magic and while his pistol is loud and dangerous, it is all too mundane.

George leaps up, shrieking in delight, startling the others from a deep sleep.

"Dante! I know how to destroy it!" George crows. "It's not the bullets! It's the loud noise! Dante, we have to use the bell!"

Annoyed, Dante snaps, "George, what are you talking about? What bell?"

"The town bell! Don't you see? We have to get it to the town bell!"


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## eris404 (May 11, 2006)

Negotiating the way out of the mines is tricky. The little band is now burdened with extra gear and three exhausted children. No one has slept well, nor eaten recently. Ishii is still bruised and George's leg, though nearly healed, is still tender and trembles when he puts any weight upon it. They are relieved that they encounter no one on their way out, though they give the nymph's grotto a wide berth just in case. The rope climb leaves them shaky, sweating and panting. Night is descending - again? No one can say how long they have been underground.

They pause at the river to drink and wash the grime and blood from their faces. Jade leads them through the woods, which, even with its mysterious evening noises, is refreshing and peaceful compared to the mines. They dream of hot food and warm beds.

Jade notices the villagers first. In truth, it is a farmer living on the town's outskirts; he stands still as a scarecrow in his fields, but Jade feels the man's eyes upon them and is unnerved by his open stare. Closer to town, they encounter a few more townsfolk standing quietly and very still, blocking the path to the town. Their eyes shine in the gloom. The party alters its course through the fields and the sentinels react, running with a loping, animal gait towards the town.

Closer yet: the villagers move in dense, synchronized packs, hunting our terrified little party. The children are too frightened to even cry and cling to the arms and clothes of the students. It makes running difficult.

In the town, they chose a lane, find it choked with villagers. A quick dodge down an alley finds a temporary escape route. The plaza beyond is filling with people with burning eyes.

"They move quicker than zombies," Dante observes between gulps for air. "I don't think they're dead. Don't hurt them."

George exchanges a look with the elf and sees agreement in his face: they might not have a choice.

Their lungs are on fire from exertion when they reach the belltower at the town's center. Of course, its door is locked; George recalls, in between hysterics, that the townsfolk told a legend about a drunken man had fallen asleep and died in the tower from the force of the bell's ringing. His hands shake as he out digs the bits of copper wire he had hidden in his pocket. He shapes the wire and realizes its too soft to make a good tool. It bends in the lock. He wipes his forehead with his sleeve.

Serai, Ishii and Jade have formed a small circle around the children, Dante and George. The townsfolk, the entire population of the town, are rushing towards them now; they are pushing each other, stepping over their fallen neighbors, all trying to grab, to maul, to bite the students at once. It is difficult to remember that these snarling, living zombies are innocents, but the students do their best not to hurt them. Serai uses her powers to create bright, stunning flashes, but she is too tired to do so for long. Jade wrestles with one villager only find three others clutching at his hair and clothes. Ishii fairs somewhat better. He is smaller and quicker and can land precise blows that incapacitate without doing great harm.

George reshapes the wire, doubling it for strength, and tries again. It's difficult in the din to hear or feel the lock's tumblers move. In his mind, he prays to whatever god will listen and swears he will study with great diligence every lock, every mechanism, any and every device with complex moving parts, if only he can pick just this one lock.

He feels a piece move, tries the handle and nearly faints when the door opens. Dante shoves past, with three terrified children clinging to his coat. George follows, shuts the door and locks it.

"There's another fricking door!" Dante shouts from the stairs. Panicked, he grabs the doorknob and rattles it, vainly hoping to force it open. George brushes him aside; wielding his misshapen wire, he catches the pins and forces the lock open. The door is heavy to protect against the sound of the bell and it takes both students to open it wide enough for Dante to slip through.

The bell at the top of the tower is massive. Inscribed on its rim is a single word: Wyrmcall. Dante is in awe of it; suddenly it doesn't seemed so far fetched that someone this close to it could be killed by pealing. He lays the glowing crystal on the groaning floorboards beneath Wyrmcall and runs.

"Ready, George!" he yells down the stairs. George is at the door when Dante slips through and they shoulder the door in place. Dante is downstairs pulling at the rope before George reaches the bottom.

The entire tower seems to shake as the bell tolls. Even with the door closed, George has to cover his ears to protect from the noise. Dante pulls on the rope and is swept off his feet by the power of the bell's motion. The children and George watch as the Dante rings Wyrmcall over and over, until he is too exhausted to hang on.

After the last peal, George asks, "Did it work?"

Dante opens the tower door. The three students outside are facing a crowd of bewildered, frightened villagers, stunned into silence. No one says anything for a long a moment, until one man steps foward, shyly twisting his cap in his hands. It is the workman from the foundry they spoke to the first day they came to Bellhold.

"I expect your bell will be first in line," he says.


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## eris404 (May 11, 2006)

Epilogue

Summer is definitely over; one morning, the students awaken to find their breath misting in their cold rooms. After they have washed up and dressed, the pretty maid brings up a fresh load of wood for the stove. With eyes lowered demurely and a lovely blush to her cheeks, she tells them Cook has made them special treats if they want them. No one has called them "heroes" directly, but the entire town treats them differently now. Shy and reverent children follow them around and whisper in awe. Some of the girls have taken to wearing their hair in the same fashion as Serai. People smile. There's always an extra treat or someone willing to buy another round. The barkeep refuses payment for food and one night they find coin on their pillows, suspiciously the same amount they paid for the rooms.

And with great fanfare, the bell is completed and loaded onto their wagon. True to his word, the mayor give each a purse filled with gold and a firm handshake. He takes Dante aside, though, and asks, "Now about that mine. I don't suppose you'd be willing to sell it back to me? After all, you're students. You don't have the manpower or capital to make it a working mine. What do you think, lad? Could we come to an agreement?"

Dante smiles crookedly and replies, "I'll have to think on that."

The trip back in the wagon seems almost anti-climatic, especially since the bell and its straw padding now takes up most of the wagon bed. It is uncomfortable to sit for too long in the cramped, cold wagon, even with the blankets and hot drinks the townsfolk thoughtfully provided. Serai picks a straw fight with Dante, who for once doesn't immediately pick up his book. George's leg is still sore and he can't find a good position to sit anywhere. He's miserable and wonders if this year will be any different from, any better than, the last. One thing he's certain of: he's no longer going to take the abuse of the Atli Crows and Maleks of the world.

At the university's gate, Ishii unceremoniously jumps off the wagon and waves good-bye. The gnomes are working in the gardens, putting the flowers to bed for another season. Ishii hands an eldery gnome a bag of seeds and though the students are too far away to hear their conversation, the elder gnome laughs heartly and slaps Ishii on on shoulder. His bet is won.

Sobering thoughts occur to each of them then. Dante and George will soon be busy with lessons and exams. Serai, of course, will be working on campus, but will have little time for them. Jade's position with the Embassy will keep him from the campus for long stretches. And Ishii is a gardner, a servant of the University; students rarely mingle with the staff.

They decide not to speak of it. Instead, with great and forced joviality, they deliver the bell to the Headmaster, who had already heard something of their exploits and orders them to the infirmary. It is then that Dante and George truly realize how difficult it is to be back, to be mere students among other students, to answer to teachers and headmasters who see them as no more than apprentices and children.

But for them there is only one year left before they get their rings, which will proclaim them as fully-licensed wizards. George looks at the gear tattooed on his left palm, the mark of his school etched in his flesh on his very first day of school. So much time has passed since then and yet, there is still so much to do and so much to learn.

George smiles. "So Dante," he asks, "What are you going to do with all that gold?"

---
SO ENDS OF SOUND MIND​
The adventures of Dante, George Barleycorn, Jade Harkith, Ishiro Longshears, and Serai will continue in GALAHORN.


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## eris404 (May 11, 2006)

*Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin*

_EDIT: Much to my embarrassment, I got some of the details wrong, so I needed to repost this section with corrections. I also wanted to add some background to KidCharlemagne's campaign setting and Master Lykor's lecture seemed like a good place for that. _

I suppose you hear that infernal clanging down the hall. I hate it myself; too loud and bright, if a noise can be called “bright.” It’s the kind of sharp noise that makes you squeeze your eyes shut with each ringing clash. I suppose you also want to come closer, investigate the source. Please do, if you must. Down this dark passage, at its very end, you will see the orange glow of the forge before you feel its heat.

The forge is filled with apprentices this time of day, all glad to be indoors near the open flame on a day as chilly as this. The apprentices are not at all what you imagine wizards to be: no skinny lads these, they have arms hardened from swinging hammers against anvils. They are dirty from toil and when they wipe the sweat from their foreheads it leaves a gray smear on their shirt sleeves.

Over there, you see a familiar face: it’s George, the tall, thin Mavarran lad with the pale blond hair. Our young friend is here visiting his mentor, Unna, a tiny, wrinkled gnome with hair the color of iron. Unna’s arms may not be as strong as they once were, but her hands are still clever and nimble. She’s leaning over a disemboweled clockworks and peering, through spectacles sliding down her nose, at its entrails.

The clockworks is enormous, even in comparison to the tiny gnome, with gears ranging from the size of George's hand to one the size of a wagon wheel. It is only a small part of a larger mechanism, the internal works of the school's clocktower.

"Again, George," she says in Gnomish.

"All that's just for telling time?" he asks in the same tongue, ignoring her command. "I heard the clock is magical. What does it do?"

Without looking away from the gears, she repeats, “Try again. This is detention, not recess. If you're in my forge for anything else besides a class, you better be practicing or making yourself useful. It's either magic or a broom, you decide."

George sighs, exasperated. He replies, “I still don’t get why I have to gesture. Why can’t I just say the words?”

“Hmmmm,” she murmurs to herself. “I think it’s this one.” She plucks out a gear with one slightly worn cog. “Because, my lad, that’s how it’s done. Perhaps if you learn this trick, I can teach you to pull while standing perfectly still and not saying a word. But you need something to focus on first. Draw the area on the ground. Say the words. Concentrate. Focus. Again.”

George smiles at the Gnomish idioms; Gnomes call spells “tricks” in their own language and rather than “cast a spell,” one “pulls a trick” or “makes a prank.” This appeals to George’s sensibilities. He exhales and clears his mind. He imagines drawing a large box on the floor and says the words. This time he feels the familiar electric tingling on his neck flowing through his arm and out his pointed finger. The floor hisses and inky black oil bubbles to the surface.

“Unna!” He exclaims. The excitement in his voice makes her look where he is pointing. She drops the gear, kneels next to the greasy substance and groans in discomfort as her old knees pop and protest. With two fingers she scoops up a bit of the oil and tests it against her thumb.

“It’s good,” she notes. “Very slick. With a little more practice, you’ll be able to coat this on any surface with ease. A very good prank indeed.”

George smirks, thinking of course of all the pranks he will be able to pull with this particular spell.

“Grab those ropes, will you, dear,” she adds. “Let’s rope off this section until the trick wears off. I don’t want to cause any accidents.”

George helps her tie ropes to tables and chair legs, making a neat little fence around the grease on the floor. A young wizard, just out college, passes by and whistles through his teeth.

“That’s a nice one, George,” he says in the Imperial language and claps him on the shoulder. “Good job!”

When the fellow moves on, Unna chides George, “See, people do like you. You need to make more friends your own age, not sit around chatting with old gnomes in the mother tongue no less. Where is that nice girl, Serai?”

“She’s working,” George says with a blush. “She's always doing her research in the library. And I do have friends. I see Dante all the time.”

Unna rolls her eyes.

“And I see Ragi, too.”

Unna rolls her eyes again. “Oh, that one. The musician! Too old, by far, and I don’t trust her by half.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “She’ll break your heart, I tell you. And that elf! Didn’t he slip something into your beer last time?”

“Some herb…” George mutters, embarrassed.

The gnome snorts angrily and wags a finger in warning. She is not even as tall as George’s waist and yet he backs away from her temper. “You’re too trusting by far, my lad. I’d like to see him try something like that when I’m about. Now, you’ve been hiding in here too long, my lad. You need fresh air and sunshine, and besides, Master Lykor’s Planar Mechanics lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. Off with you!”

Unna hands George his overcoat, tri-cornered hat and a woolly muffler his mother sent from home, knitted by her own hands. Then she shoos him out the door.

Outside, George takes his time. The lecture is a mile or so outside of the college in the outskirts of the Old Forest. It is quite cold, cold enough to make your breath fog, and he’s forgotten his mittens so he has to shove his hands deep into his pockets. It hasn’t snowed yet, but the leaves on the ground are crispy and laced with frost. The sky is a brilliant gray-white. He hates winter. Until he came to Ambergate, all George knew of winter were his mother’s tales of the Marklands, her cold, hostile homeland north of the islands of Mavarre. Now it seems he can’t escape it. The air passes through his coat unimpeded and he’s lost one mitten already and had to find a new pair. The stiff wind steals his hat and even if it is unfashionable, it’s the only one he has. He pushes it down securely and with a set jaw, he marches up the hill to meet the rest of his class.

He is surprised to see the Head Master among the students, then more surprised to see his guests.

Serai, the beautiful Murkraali girl, looks as uncomfortable as George in the cold weather. She seems almost oppressed by the heavy wool cloak she clutches tightly around her. Her long dark hair is loose and the cold wind playfully blows it about. The blue stone on its dainy gold still adorns her forehead.

The tall elf, Jade, stands beside her and seems untouched by the cold. His dark green cloak is open, revealing that he is armed with a bow and quiver and wears well-worn leather armor.

George quietly sidles up to him and whispers "How did you two get here? And why are you dressed like that?"

It is Serai who answers. "The Head Master permitted it, because it relates to my research about Dreams. Jade is interested in Fey and thought we might need some protection."

"Protection?" George hisses in disbelief.

Jade fixes an unblinking, serious gaze on George. "Have you ever met a Fey?"

George rolls his eyes. "Have you ever seen one around here?"

“Master Barleycorn, so good of you to join us!” Master Lykor announces in a too-loud voice. “Can you enlighten us on the nature of this object?” He point to a large red mushroom on the ground.”

George blushes to the tips of his ears. “It’s…a mushroom?”

A few of the students snicker.

“Yes, of course it is Master Barleycorn. Perhaps Master Dante can explain to you its significance?”

Dante clears his throat. “It’s a part of a mushroom ring, which at one time were used as portals into the realms of Faerie.”

“Excellent! So, if I step within this circle, I should be whisked away to a Fey realm, correct?”

The snickering stops. The students watch nervously as the master steps inside the ring. He does not disappear.

“Can anyone explain why I am still here?”

The students look away, so Dante dutifully raises his hand. When called upon, he explains, “There is a spike of cold iron, right there. During the War, many of these portals were closed by the Church of Alioth to keep the Fey from slipping through unnoticed.”

“And why cold iron?” Master Lykor asks.

“It is poisonous to Fey,” Dante answers.

Lykor leans towards Dante and murmurs, “Well done. You are ready.”

In a louder voice for the rest of the class, he continues, "The Church of Alioth has always had, at best, difficult relationships with the non-human races. The Church has formally ruled that the Fey, being immortal, do not have souls and have often debated whether this extends to our Elvin and Gnomish friends."

Jade stiffens at this comment, but Lykor closes his eyes and gives him a slight nod, as if to ask his pardon. The master continues his lecture.

"In the year AF 864, Cardinal Gregor of Carn took this belief as a mandate to break any relations with the Fey, whether Seelie or Unseelie. With full support from His Majesty, King Farghus, he issued an order to the Inquisition to block all Fey Circles and other Gates in Kintayne. The Church mobilized thousands of priests and lay worshippers to seek out and 'seed' these naturally occuring Gates with Cold Iron."

"As soon as the Seelie realm of Alfar and the Unseelie realm of Umbria realized what was happening, they responded. The Seelie used their contacts with the Wizards and Gnomes of the Guildlands of Khoria to put pressure on the Kingdom and Church, and defended their forests. The Unseelie, however, were openly hostile, sending small raids into Kintayne, assassinating and terrorizing the Church leaders and the Kingdom's nobility. Kintayne responded with a declaration of war."

"The war was disasterous for Kintayne. Can anyone give a reason why?"

Determined to redeem himself, George raises his hand. "The Merchant League was formed when the gnomes refused to sell smokepowder to the Empire."

That is a mistake. George feels the cold stares of the other students on him. Most of them are Imperial, born in Kintayne and devoted to the Empire. His accent marks him as Mavarran, an outsider only marginally a part of the Empire, and possibly a rebellious one. Never mind the war was one hundred years ago, there are still hard feelings towards the city-states that rebelled against the King and the gnomes who refused to help him.

Master Lykor nods and adds smoothly, "Yes, that is very true. The southern cities broke away from the Kingdom in order to continue trade with the Guildlands. Keep in mind all of you that gnomes are part Fey. If the Church believed that Fey were souless, that insult would include our friends the gnomes as well. Can anyone else give a reason?"

One student timidly raises her hand. "An entire Kintish army went missing."

"Yes, The Lost Regiment, very good. Anyone with another reason?"

"Taxes," someone called out.

Lykor nods. "Yes, indeed, very good! The peasantry were taxed heavily, some might say disasterously. It was a very costly war, both in trade, money and lives. But, this is no history class. I think we should move on to our next stop."

He ushers the group on to the next point of interest on this field trip, but Dante hangs back to speak to George, Serai and Jade alone.

“Dante!” George exclaims. “Unna taught me a new spell-"

“George, wait. There’s something important I have to tell all of you. Worthen is missing.”

George frowns. “How do you know?”

“He left two week ago on an errand in Dunbar. He hasn’t come back yet.”

George shrugs. “Maybe he’s just late.”

“No, not like this. I think he tried a shortcut through the Woods.”

George shakes his head. “No, not Worthen. He’s not stupid. He knows how dangerous the Woods are.”

Dante sighs. “George, you’ve seen him. Since we’ve come back from Bellhold, he’s been different. He’s always been obsessed with seeing Fey and now he’s even worse. I think he would take that risk. Master Lykor thinks so, too. That’s why he wants us to go look for him.”

George is stunned by this news. “Really? He really wants us to go?”

Dante nods, grinning. “Amazing isn’t it? He was impressed by how well we did at Bellhold. More than likely it will be as you said, that Worthen just got caught up in something innocent. But he trusts us to find out.”

For a moment, George is rendered speechless by this responsibility. Students are not usually trusted outside of the college walls let alone on a mission, even if it is a minor one. Neither he nor Dante is a licensed wizard as yet, which means that neither can legally cast spells. It just isn’t done, sending students on a wizard’s errand.

“We have to tell Ishii, too!” George blurts out, excited. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow, if we can.”


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## Lela (May 12, 2006)

I really enjoy these more personal moments with George and Dante.  More than the quests themselves actually.


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## eris404 (May 12, 2006)

Thanks, Lela!  

If anyone else has read the first post in this new storyline, please reread it. I needed to post corrections today; besides getting the story straight, there are some details that will be important later in the campaign.


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## Lela (May 16, 2006)

Now that's a cool backstory.  Hmmmmm, I'm always looking for ways to get the good guys to fight each other.  It forces the party to really think.  I love that.  Was it played out in an earlier campaign KidC?

And Eris, I'll say it agian, I love the more personal moments.  It flows so well and keeps me going.  Appreciate it.



> I suppose you hear that infernal clanging down the hall. I hate it myself; too loud and bright, if a noise can be called “bright.”




It can and often is.  It means reverb in the higher frequincies.  Basically, go into a bathroom and say something.  Listen to the little echos.  That's reverb and it tells your brain about the room you're in.  Higher frequincies bouncing around is refered to as "bright."  A wooden room would be a great example.


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (May 16, 2006)

I'm very glad to see a new adventure kicking off for your somewhat eclectic band, Eris. Looking forward to more ...


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## eris404 (May 16, 2006)

Lela said:
			
		

> It can and often is.  It means reverb in the higher frequincies.  Basically, go into a bathroom and say something.  Listen to the little echos.  That's reverb and it tells your brain about the room you're in.  Higher frequincies bouncing around is refered to as "bright."  A wooden room would be a great example.




Now that's an interesting little factoid.  This is sort of an odd tangent, but I was remembering visiting my dad's shop as a kid when I wrote this. My dad retreaded tires and I was remembering the noise the metal rims make when my dad was using a mallet and crowbar to pry the tire off: very loud, very grating, a sound you had to squint against. Sometimes I actually saw a sort of bright light behind my eyelids when I closed my eyes against the sound. I thought that was probably a pretty accurate noise to be coming out of a forge, but it was sort of hard for me to describe it. I'm glad it made sense.


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## Kid Charlemagne (May 16, 2006)

Lela said:
			
		

> Now that's a cool backstory.  Hmmmmm, I'm always looking for ways to get the good guys to fight each other.  It forces the party to really think.  I love that.  Was it played out in an earlier campaign KidC?




No, it was largely original, though inspired by something posted by an ENWorlder (Takyris, if I'm remembering correctly).  I like to weave elements of the world directly into the story when I can - its better to have the PC's experience the history then to have it info-dumped on them.  This particular adventure was intended (amongst many things) to introduce the player to the non-standard planar structure that I use in my campaign world, particularly since I intended to use it heavily in a couple of later adventures.


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## Lela (May 17, 2006)

Thanks KidC.


And Eris, I happen to be a Digital Audio Restoration Artist (I take crap out of files--I do records too) so that kind of industry slang was drilled into my head.  I figured I'd just toss it out as a P.S.

I did think it was brilliantly use to describe the mood of the place.  We've all heard sounds like that: Piercing, loud and sudden.  Shutting our eyes one of those natural instincts that everyone can share; immediately grabs your entire audience.


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## eris404 (May 23, 2006)

Master Lykor has given Dante instructions for the group to meet with him after the lecture. He has also warned him not to tell anyone outside of his little group and to instruct them to keep quiet as well. The rest of the class goes too slowly for these students, who are impatient to pack and make provisions. George is fairly bursting with questions which Dante waves away in alarm and the headmaster directs more than one scowl in their direction.

To make matters worse, Master Lykor refuses to speak of the matter until they are safely within his office. Once the door has been shut and affixed with glyphs (a precaution George finds both alarming and unnecessary), the teacher sighs and permits them to speak.

“Why was Worthen going to Dunbar?” Serai asks.

“It’s a fairly regular trip for him,” the master says, sinking into his armchair. With a casual wave of his hand, he invites the students to sit, but the chairs in here are hard, uncomfortable wooden ones usually meant to seat misbehaving pupils. Only George finds the chairs undaunting.

The master continues, “Dunbar is closest city where we can find unusual ingredients. You should try finding beholder eyelash in the market here sometime, if you don’t believe me.”

George raises his hand timidly, which makes Lykor smile. “We’re not in class now, George. You can ask whatever you like.”

“Sir, why didn’t you just scry on Worthen to find out where he is?”

Lykor’s frowns with something between displeasure and irritation. “Master Barleycorn, do you presume that you know more than the masters at this college?”

George swallows a lump in this throat, then replies with downcast eyes, “No, sir.”

But them master sighs and says in a gentler tone, “We did try, George. But, there are ways around magic of any kind, lad. I suppose to you students magic must seem like the answer to everything, but it isn’t. Sometimes you need to use your head.” He looks at each of them in turn. “We’re not sure what has happened, and that’s why we’re sending you. We trust you to use your heads, to make good decisions and stay safe. Stay together and don’t go looking for trouble. You have seven days; you must come back with or without Worthen in seven days or else. If we must send a master out to find you there will be consequences. Understood?”

The students nod solemnly.

“Excellent. I had the cook make up bundles for you, nothing special, just hardy food for the week. Pack lightly; we’re not supplying you with horse.”

“But,” Dante interjects. “What if Worthen is still in Dunbar? It will take longer than seven days to get there, look for Worthen and get back.”

Lykor smiles. “Ah! At last someone is using his brain! The answer, Dante, is that we’re fairly certain Worthen never made it to Dunbar. I’ve received messages from the merchants Worthen was supposed to visit. They have not seen hide nor hair of him.”

“Which could only mean the Old Forest,” Jade interjects.

“Possibly,” Lykor replies. “This is why I asked you to accompany the students. You know the signs and I’m relying on you to keep the students safe.”

Later, after the door was unsealed and Lykor saw them out, Dante turns on Jade. “Know the signs? What’s that supposed to mean.”

Jade shrugs. “Someone has to keep an eye on you. You’re not as resistant to Fey magic as I am.”

Dante wants to be angry. He scowls and tries to think of a good reason why they do not need Jade to watch over them like babies. But his logic tells him it only makes sense; aside from being an elf, Jade is also a druid, and the nature priests know more of Fey magic than most wizards do. It galls Dante to have his knowledge and abilities questioned, but he cannot argue with the logic. In the end he grits his teeth and says nothing more about it.

The next morning they wake well before sunrise and make small bundles of their blankets to hold the small supplies they plan to take with them: tinderboxes for making fires, whatever vials of magic potions they still have, a few odds and ends that they think might be helpful. Considering their last journey, George includes a new mirror in his pack (just in case) and the mound of shot he spent several hours making the night before. Serai borrowed several maps of the Old Forest from the library and these she stores tightly rolled in a tube of hard leather. Everyone remembers their mittens and scarves, for it is a very cold, crisp morning. Jade wonders aloud whether there could be snow today. And before anyone else is up for breakfast, the students are gone through the gate, and a line of black, leafless trees are before them on the horizon.

At about midday, they find Worthen’s wagon half-concealed by bushes and fallen limbs not far from the main road but a distance that would make it difficult to see; only Jade’s sharp eyes notices the wheels hidden well by the thorny, twisted branches of the brush. Whatever poor beast was drawing the wagon is long gone. Jade can make out some footprints he believes to be Worthen’s though the trail is far from clear. They seem to lead deeper into the Old Forest.

“Before we go on, there is something we should consider. These woods weren’t completely cleared,” Dante says. “That is, there are active gates all over this forest. Anything could come through and we could enter one by accident and not know for some time that we had passed through. Do you still want to continue?”

“Yes!” George replies without hesitation.

Serai considers a moment, then nods once, though cautiously.

Ishii merely smiles.

Dante looks at Jade, who shrugs and says, “I am game if you all are. This is entirely up to you.”

Dante takes a deep breath and says, “Lead on, Jade.”

Once in the forest, the light dims immediately and grows fainter quickly as the afternoon passes. Jade suggests looking for a place to spend the night, while Dante watches the forest floor for faerie rings. That is why he did not see the web until it was too late.

The sticky, silvery strands brush past his face, startling him. Arms flailing in disgust, he reaches out and finds to his horror there are more of the near-invisible strands before him. One arm is ensnared; in panic, he tries to snatch it back and only succeeds in entangling it further. With his other arm he tries to pull away the strands, but they stick to his hand. He is not strong enough to break the web and the more he panics, the more threads he comes into contact with, the more threads stick to him and bind him fast.

“Hold still!” Jade exclaims. In Elvish, he chants a few rhyming lines and a small flame dances in his palm. “I’m going to try to burn these off of you.”

Serai grips George’s shoulder tightly. When he turns to her, he sees that her eyes are wide with fright and that her finger points to a spider the size of a dog. Another is smoothly coming down on a thread of spider silk. In the dying light, the webs are backlit, revealing the dozens of traps strung between the trees all around them. Two more spiders, like dainty tightrope walkers, pick their way down the webs to surround them.

“Jade!” George shouts.

“I know, George!” Jade yells, annoyed. Burning the webs without burning Dante or getting stuck himself requires patience and concentration.

George is glad he thought to load his pistol this morning. He draws it and fires, striking a spider in the abdomen. It lets out shriek, which surprises and terrifies him. Sensing an opening, the spider rushes forward and bites George’s pistol arm with its pinchers.

Ishii punches and kicks another one, crushing its exoskeleton like an egg. Yellowish ichor leaks outs.

“Jade, some help!” Serai yells. She backs away from the spiders, keeping them a good distance away while she uses her powers to make bright light to daze them.

At last, Dante is free. Jade throws the last of the magic flame at one of the spiders, which screams in pain and backs away in fear.

Dante intones a magic word and sends a tiny screaming skull at one of the spiders. It hits unerringly in a bright, painful flash. The spider leaps onto a web and climbs.

Between Ishii’s fists and Jade’s scimitar, two of the fleeing spiders are killed, but the last climbs high up into a tree and bothers them no more. Jade checks George’s arm and although the bite is painful, he does not find any venom in the wound.

While the others burn away the webbing with torches, Jade examines the dead spiders with a keen interest that unnerves George. George has seen that look before on Dante, when he has found a particularly interesting dead thing. George forgets the webs for the moment and joins the elf.

“Are you planning on becoming a necromancer, too?” George jokes.

He surprises George by smiling. “Aren’t they amazing? Look, here’s where their venom is produced. And on this one, you can clearly see the spinnerets.”

“George! Jade!” The urgency in Serai’s voice makes them forget the gory corpses and they rush to find her. She, Dante and Ishii are not far into the trees, the shrunken, burnt remains of webbing floating in the air. Before them is an area where the webs are thickest and a large white bundle is suspended within them. It is human-sized and looks like a corpse wrapped in a shroud.

“Is it an egg sack?” Ishii asks hopefully.

Jade’s face is grim. He takes a torch from Serai and burns around the gruesome bundle until it falls into the bushes below it. Jade uses a large branch to drag into the clearing and cuts the sticky bonds with a knife. Carefully, he peels back and burns the webbing away to reveal a face.

The face is old, haggard, with a white beard, half-open blue eyes and a slack mouth.

“It’s not Worthen,” Jade tells them and they exhale in relief.

Jade rules a pyre in this forest would be too dangerous, so they find as many stones as they can and build a cairn over the body with great care. Darkness falls while they bury the dead man and now they are tired and filthy. Jade finds a new clearing some distance away from the grave and dead spiders and though Dante chides himself for being careless, he is too tired to check the ground for faerie rings. There is some debate about whether to light a fire, for now that they have stopped moving it is bitterly cold, but Jade is against it and instead arranges them close together so they can share both blankets and body heat. The students hate it: it is cold, uncomfortable and embarrassing, but they are too tired to object. With his cloak wrapped around him, Jade sits a little away from them and keeps watch with the trees.


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