# The Age of Blood



## Eloy (Mar 7, 2003)

Hello! This is my first post to EN World, but I'd like to share with you my character's journal from a brand new campaign we have started. My friend Jorge has developed his own homebrewed world over many (at least 10) years, and it is a truly well thought out setting. 
He has named this campaign the Age of Blood, and has offered us a 10% XP bonus if we write a journal of the session's events from our own character's point of view.

Anyway, I don't want to give away many details, but here is the first chapter from our sessions. I hope you enjoy it. Please forgive any grammatical errors, but English is not my first language. 

Feedback is always welcomed!

Eloy
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Girion's Tale

	'Tis a strange thing, death. Even as I lie here dying, my mind plays tricks on me. Familiar faces fade in and out of my vision. Kalten, Segnarus, Landotharan. And I wonder: are you here or do I imagine you? Do you still live or have I summoned you from the grave? I see your lips move but I cannot hear any words. A loud roaring fills my ears. Is it the din of battle I hear, or the rushing of blood through my veins as my heart beats its last?

	Unanswered questions and philosophical rhetoric are swept away as bittersweet memories flood through my head. Childhood in Roedran, The green forests of my youth. Father teaches me the bow and the sword. The ways of the woods and the Huntmaster's duties. Tears at mother's funeral. Gavin by my side. The newborn baby in my arms. Larae, sweet Larae...

	The call of the horns, the thundering of hooves, the thrill of the first hunt. The pull of a fine yew bow. Easy now, deep breath. Steady. Slowly exhale and... Release! The stag falls. Heart's blood warm and salty in my mouth. "You are a hunter now, Girion." My father's proud smile. 

	A bent branch, a broken twig, a half-hidden footprint on the trail. Tracking, pursuing, hunting. Cruel Orcish blades, fell goblin spears. Border Guards hunt the Kundrian prey. 

	Dire news interrupt the hunt: "Roedran burns! Roedran burns!" Larae! Gavin! Father! Despair and grief. Lost, they are lost. Ah! Mercy! Such cruel fate. Kundrian slave pits or foul cooking fires. Hurt. Anger. Hate! Countless Orcs fall to my blade. Revenge, sweet revenge...

	War. Death. Despair. Anguish. Grief. At long last, tears come and wash my soul clean. Hate subsides, emotions return. Though the battle continues, my sanity has been reclaimed. 

	Medore. Lord Erecos. The war approaches an end, and I meet three men who will change my views of the world. Segnarus, who teaches me respect for the law, and the certainty of a man's word. Kalten, whose faith inspires me to believe in gods I have long mistrusted. Landotharan, who reminds me of the cold-hearted killer I once became. 

	At least there is no pain. As I float in peaceful darkness, time slows down. Memories become more vivid, and I relive that fateful day when our adventure began...


*	*	*

	"We're almost upon them," I whispered to myself. I would have had to shout to have my words heard above the noise of galloping hooves and the rushing of the wind as we raced across the countryside. 

	On either side of me, Segnarus and Landotharan rode light, swift steeds, bred for speed and endurance. Kalten lagged behind us on his heavier destrier bred for war.

	The three riders who were our prey also rode light horses, but the distance between us slowly decreased to three hundred yards. The riders, half-orcs and human mercenaries in the employ of the traitor Tobias, spurred their mounts on and were soon lost to our view. They rode up a hillock amidst the plains north of Medore, where we had been sent to hunt them. Tobias' mercenaries worked in small bands spread all over the southern Hintanese empire, harrying supply caravans, spying on Imperial Army troops and selling information to the Kundrian warlords. It had taken us several days to find rumors of this encampment. Segnarus had managed to bribe a few of the locals to get us to meet these mercenaries. Things had escalated, and so we found ourselves giving pursuit across the plains as the sun rose in the eastern sky. 

	We reined in our horses as our quarry disappeared over the hilltop. Several grayish white boulders rose like jagged teeth on the grassy green slope. We smelled an ambush. 

	Segnarus and I quickly conversed and decided to scout ahead. Kalten and Landotharan, the heavily armed and armored warriors, would wait below. 

	We quietly slipped off our horses and stealthily moved up the hill. My woodland training gave me the necessary skills to accomplish this short trek unnoticed by prying eyes.  Segnarus' profession as a thief-catcher of the village of Tromos also gave him the ability to move unseen and unheard. Our choice of light armor, a shirt of fine mail, also lent us ease of movement and stealth. 

	We reached a large boulder near the top. Crouching next to it, my back to the stone, I readied my recurved longbow and searched for signs of the enemy. They were not far off, and quite easy to spot. A dozen or so yards to the northwest of our position, behind another large boulder. They wore light armor similar to ours and bore plain, but serviceable longbows of yew wood. I silently relayed this information to Segnarus beside me and to Kalten and Landotharan below by means of hand signals. 

	I silently cursed as a rather strong wind picked up. Our chances of taking out the two sentries had just markedly diminished. Between the breeze and the cover afforded to them by the boulder, the possibility of picking them off with arrows quickly became an unlikely proposition. 

	As I contemplated my next move, an arrow landed next to me. I turned in amazement towards our companions. Landotharan had just shot at us! My surprise quickly evaporated as Landotharan's frantic gesturing revealed the reason behind this unexpected attack. A cloud of dust was rising from the west as several riders approached.

	At this point, I must admit, I stopped thinking clearly and started acting on pure instinct. Fearing overwhelming odds from the unknown cavalry charging in from the west, I made a rather grievous tactical mistake. 

	I loosed an arrow at the two sentries behind the nearby boulder and , without waiting to see where it landed, shouted at Segnarus, turned and ran for the horses. It was my belief at the time that the mounted troops constituted a major threat that must be dealt with immediately. I neglected to consider two things: First, that the sentry archers presented an equal, if not larger, threat, as they held the high ground and would now shoot at us unhindered and second, I had abandoned Segnarus, who was unaware of my intentions. 

	Halfway to the horses, the impact of my actions struck  me, but it was too late to turn back. The archers now also had a clear shot at my unprotected back. But no arrow hit, though several whistled by. I looked back as I ran to see Segnarus sprint from our hiding place, with his two short blades in hand, and he fell upon the sentries like a lion pouncing on helpless prey. I prayed to the gods to look after him and to forgive me for my carelessness. 

	Kalten crossed my path briefly, as he readied his warhorse and his lance, and took off towards the advancing horsemen with a mounted charge of his own. 

	I finally reached the horses and managed to climb unto the saddle, secure my bow and unstrap the small metallic shield I kept around the saddle as the enemy slammed into me.

	The hastily raised buckler deflected a flail aimed in a deadly blow by my opponent. With my free hand, I released the mount's reins and, guiding the horse with my knees, managed to draw my sword and return the blow. The first stroke glanced off his armor, but the next shattered his collarbone as fine Hintanese steel bit into half-orc flesh. My foe fell dead to the ground. 

	I looked up just in time to see Kalten raise himself up in the saddle and deal two mighty overhand blows in rapid succession, one to his right and one to his left, dispatching both his foes with a single powerful stroke each. 	

	Certain that at least one of my companions had the upper hand in his combat, I scanned the battlefield only to see Landotharan in dire straits! The half elf was under attack from a fourth mounted rider, who apparently had come down straight from the hillock. Landotharan's mount, unused to combat, reared and buckled wildly under the mercenary's assault. The half elf had neglected to procure himself a trained warhorse and was now paying the price. He held his two-handed greatsword in one hand, while battling the reins of his panicked steed with the other, trying to control the animal in order to launch a counterattack against his foe. As I watched, a glancing blow of a flail was deflected by the half-elf's enchanted breastplate. 

	I spurred my own horse forward, to aid Landotharan. It seemed my mistake in running for the horses had been a fortuitous choice after all, for otherwise Landotharan would have been left alone, battling both mount and foe, while struggling to remain in the saddle. I furiously struck the enemy rider, inflicting a flesh wound, and managed to avoid the whirling flail that whistled past my head. Landotharan seemed unable to regain control of his horse.

	With a noise like rolling thunder, Kalten slammed into the fray. Having dispatched his two foes, the Falconian knight had led his heavy warhorse in a powerful charge to aid us. His sword rose and fell in a precise stroke, felling the rider amidst a shower of blood. 

	The immediate threat ended, my eyes sought the hilltop where I had left Segnarus. The thief-catcher of Tromos stood over the corpse of one of the archers and fought with a dancer's grace. Twin shortswords flashed as he battled a large, heavily armored figure wielding an impressive sized battleaxe. Of the second archer, I could see no sign. 

	Without a second thought, I drove my horse towards the hilltop, attempting to rectify my earlier error. Never more would I leave a comrade alone in battle. I leaned sideways and struck, decapitating the armored warrior in one fell stroke. 

	Dark skinned Segnarus flashed me a wide grin: " You stole my kill," he said.

	"It's the least I could do after I left you behind," I replied by way of an apology. 

	Segnarus dismissed my concern with a shrug, looking around for the missing archer, who bolted from behind a boulder in an attempt to escape. Kalten thundered by once more, on his horse, cutting off the second archer's getaway. I could hear his heavily accented speech: "Tilsman forgive us! Don't make us add another death to this day."

	"Stay your hand! " the archer replied, raising his empty hands in a gesture of surrender. 

	"It seems we have a prisoner, Segnarus," I told the thief-catcher. "Your skills as a lawman will be useful in interrogating him." I could see the man kneeling before Kalten. 

	I took one final glance around the battlefield. Kalten had sheathed his weapon and disarmed the prisoner. Segnarus was inspecting the corpses of his fallen foes: the archer and the axe wielder. If there were any clues or useful leads to help us find the traitor Tobias, surely the experienced former constable would find them. At the foot of the slope, Landotharan had finally dismounted and was methodically dismembering the corpses of the orcs and half-breeds we had just vanquished. A chill ran down my spine at the gruesome sight. Landotharan's face twisted in hate as he methodically hacked at the corpses. Merciful Tilsman! I promised myself I would have a talk with the half-elf soon. I understood his anger and had lived through it after my family was taken when the Kundrians overran my village. But I had been able to overcome the pain and had regained my humanity. Landotharan's hatred was understandable, given his long enslavement by the orcs, but he was blinded by it. That way led only to madness. Unbridled, this hatred would grow to eventually consume him. In the arms of Nuthon would he forever dwell after that. 

	But more pressing business lay at hand. Beyond the hillock where we stood, I could see the small encampment from which our enemies had operated. I drove my mount down the hill and warily dismounted. A thorough inspection of the camp quickly revealed several things: first, more than six people had lived here, though none remained at camp. Second, several people had ridden off towards the north east several hours before. 

	All that remained was deciding whether to pursue the northeast trail or to return to Medore to report the results of our mission. 

	I climbed my horse and turned uphill to rejoin the others.


*	*	*

	Medore. Main garrison city of the Southern Hintanese Empire. While not the largest city in the southlands, it was nearly as large as Leriond and did hold the distinction of housing the largest division of the Imperial Army in the district. War-torn Medore showed the scars of prolonged campaigning against the Kundrian forces. Strong embankments guarded the city, scorch marks from siege fires and broken stone ramparts attested to the plentiful prior assaults upon the town. But the walls had held. Medore still guarded the southern frontier. 

	The great Southern Imperial Army lay encamped outside the city walls. Countless tents, banners, cookfires and standards surrounded the city. Our small company wound its way through several such camps, challenged several times by chainmail clad guards, bearing longsword or crossbow. Our destination was the large pavilion in the center of this particular camp, where a standard bearing the Arms of the City of  Medore marked the location of the Supreme Commander of the Southern Host. 

	We knew Lord Erecos would be there. Though, as Lord Protector of the city, he held a residence inside the town, Erecos was the sort of general who worked closely with his troops. 

	We dismounted close to the pavilion, and handed the reins to some of the guards stationed there. Erecos, having been informed of our arrival, was already coming out to meet us. We stood at attention and saluted our commander.

	Gray-haired Erecos was a grizzled veteran of countless campaigns. Though well into middle age, his body was still fit and hale, quite capable of hefting a broadsword and killing all of us, I was sure. A true campaigner. His clean shaven face always wore a stern expression, an air of command that made every soldier stand up straighter and pay attention. 

	In turn, Erecos regarded each of us. I followed his gaze and considered my fellow soldiers. Erecos looked first at Kalten. The tall Falconian knight returned the general's steely gaze. Kalten was a couple of inches taller than me. Light brown haired and hazel eyed, Kalten Hawkshand's tanned face was that of a typical western Andaran, yet his strongly accented speech revealed his foreign heritage. Born hundreds of leagues to the west, in the Archbarony of the Falcon, Kalten had been exiled by his liege lord for showing mercy to his enemies. He had traveled far and wide to finally come here, to the other side of the world. His weapons and gear told the tale of his journeys. Falconian steel longsword, Feremordian plate-and-mail and Black Nomad recurved horsebow. A far and wondrous journey indeed. 

	The two men looked at each other, and the tension between them was palpable. Kalten, the man banished for being merciful, faced Erecos, a ruthless warrior, willing to do or risk anything to accomplish his goal of driving back the orcish foe. 

	Next to Kalten stood Segnarus Mank. Dark of hair, eyes and skin, Segnarus was the shortest and leanest of us. Though not strong like Landotharan or Kalten, or even me, he was certainly quicker and more dexterous. He wielded a light shortsword on each hand with deadly grace, his movements unhindered by light chain armor. Our commander respected the thief-taker of Tromos, for though he had been conscripted into the army, the former guardsman's strong respect for the law, and his sense of duty and honor had turned him into a valuable scout. Erecos was the sort of man who appreciated honest, devoted service. 

	Last came Landotharan Silvermoon. The half-elf warrior was the son of an elven sorcerer and a human ranger. We were of the same height, and the only hint of his fey heritage was in the slight tilt of his blue eyes, and the angular shape of his clean shaven face. The most obvious features were the tips of his pointed ears, half peeking out from his long blond hair. His choice of armor and weapons was somewhat unusual, but it certainly fit his personality. Having endured long years of slavery at the hands of savage Kundrian taskmasters, Landotharan had only been recently freed from bondage by an Imperial army detachment on a tactical sortie behind enemy lines. The half-elf and a handful of other prisoners had been safely returned to Hintai scarcely a few months before. Landotharan had insisted on being given a sword and armor to fight the orcs as soon as the priests of Barlam has healed his physical wounds. His spiritual wounds were certainly still open and fresh. Landotharan had claimed the largest greatsword he could heft and wield, and clad himself with plate-and-leather armor. His only desire was to wreak havoc upon the orcish horde and claim vengeance for the wrongs done to him. The hate evident on his gaze still sent chills up and down my spine, for I had felt the cold grip of hate for a time after my family was killed . My heart wept for Landotharan, who had not been able to release his grip on revenge as I had. 

	Erecos finally turned his steely gaze on me. Though he was nobly born and I was not, we both recognized a certain kinship between us. Like myself, the Hintanese commander had lost his family when Kundrian orcs had overrun the southern borders of the Empire. For generations, Erecos' family had fought the Kundrians. For over five hundred years, since the time of Omadan, the orcs had done battle with the Hintai Empire. Now, at long last, the tide had turned. Less than five years ago, a band of adventurers had defeated Oromor, avatar of the Orc God. With the loss of their principal spiritual and military leader, the Kundrian advance was halted and the Hintanese frontier was pushed back almost to the edge of the Antarius river, where it had originally been. 

	My companions and I had been fighting for the army for some years now, but our time in the military was surely drawing to a close. Military actions were now smaller in scale, as the war wound down to a near standstill. 

	"Well," Erecos' gruff voice snapped me out of my reverie. "What news from your mission?"

	"We bear sensitive news, my lord," I replied. "Best kept from prying ears." Even here, at the heart of the Imperial Army's encampment one could not be certain spies weren't about. By the Nine Hells, Tobias himself had been one of Erecos' most important subordinates. 

	"We found Tobias' men," Kalten said in his crisp accent, once we had gained the relative privacy of Erecos' tent. They were certainly the traitor's men. Segnarus' inspection of the bodies had shown each of the mercenaries to be marked by a particular tattoo: a strange sigil in the shape of an hourglass flanked by a triangle on either side. A mark Tobias had been known to use. The mercenaries were all Kundrians: humans, half-orcs and even a large orog, a fierce, more savage breed of the orcs. "We captured one of them and managed to extract the location of Tobias' base in the region," Kalten continued. 

	"A prisoner?" Erecos replied. "Where is he?" 

	Kalten set his jaw in anticipation of the general's reaction. "We released him, lord. We granted him his life in exchange for the information."

	"You did what?" Erecos was livid with fury. "I should turn you over to the City Council under charges of treason," he raged.

	"It was the only way we could get him to talk, lord. Believe us, we wanted to bring the man to justice but had no other choice. And we did manage to find Tobias' lair," Segnarus added, in defense of our cause. The thief-taker had certainly wanted to take the prisoner in. He and Kalten had argued long over their decision. Segnarus had fervently argued against releasing the prisoner, but the mercenary had been more terrified at the prospect of facing Erecos' questioners than anything else. He had betrayed Tobias without much need for persuasion, at the prospect of escaping the wrath of the Hintanese general. 

	Erecos regained his composure, realizing the import of the news we bore. It was this crucial knowledge that had led us back to Medore, instead of pursuing the tracks of the missing bandits. We quickly described to lord Erecos what we had learned; that the traitor had taken up residence in an abandoned garrison within the outskirts of Calemd Forest, seven or eight leagues north of Tabat township. It was from this secret base that Tobias launched strikes against our supply caravans and coordinated a vast network of spies, selling information to the enemy. 

	"This is most fortuitous," Erecos said, looking at a large map of the Southern Empire spread upon a large rectangular table set in the middle of his tent. "I have a last mission for you, before your military commissions are officially ended. The Empire will consider your duties fulfilled after this, and will require your services no longer." At long last, having served our nation, we would be allowed to retire to private life and pursue other goals. 

	"We are planning a last strike against the Kundrian forces entrenched at the fork of the Antarius," Erecos said, pointing at a spot on the southeastern end of the map. "These forces outnumber our troops at Medore, so we will need reinforcements to engage them. We can only commit one half of the Medore garrison to this endeavor if we are to leave the city with some protection. Tabat is the logical place to obtain reinforcements for our attack. Word must be sent to Tabat and also to Cir, to the west, for we will need their support as well to reinforce the Medore garrison in the event of a surprise attack upon this city."

	"Our plans must be swiftly executed," Erecos continued, straightening up. "For if we delay too long, the orcs will consolidate their forces and march on Leriond, where they will surely overrun the depleted garrison stationed there."

	"So," he looked at each of us in turn. "Will you aid me in this endeavor? I have need of trustworthy messengers to bear orders to both Tabat and Cir. Both roads are perilous."

	Kalten, Segnarus and I shared a look. The road to Tabat would lead us close to Tobias. All of us had met the traitor and were eager to confront him. 

	"We will gladly take the message to Tabat, lord" was our reply. "And if our paths cross the traitor's, we will surely bring him to justice."

*	*	*

	Sullen dark clouds covered Medore on the morning of our departure. We secured our gear, all of our worldly possessions, upon two of the horses taken from our battle with the mercenaries. Landotharan had claimed a third horse to replace his own skittish mount. The last horse captured on the hillock was now ridden by a man who had joined our company a few hours ago. The priest, Solemund, was a tall man, nearly as tall as Kalten, but wider and more muscular than the knight. He kept his head shaven clean, to signify his worship of Barlam, God of Strength. The deity's holy symbol hung around the cleric's neck, over the plate armor we had taken from the orog axeman and bore a heavy wooden greatclub, shod in iron. The priest had joined our party at my request, for I had asked Lord Erecos for a healer. Solemund had agreed to accompany us as far as Tabat. Kalten at least had been pleased to have a man of faith join us in our journey. My guess is he thought a servant of the gods would be a good influence on Landotharan. 

	Kalten straightened the leather barding on his heavy destrier while we waited for Lord Erecos to give us our final instructions. 

	"You will present this to Captain Eltros, Military Commander and Lord Constable of the City of Tabat," the general said, handing Kalten a scroll sealed with Erecos' signet. "The road to Tabat is seventeen leagues long. It should take you three days to reach the town. I will give you five days before the troops set out towards the Antarius river. That should give you plenty of time to reach Lord Eltros."


*	*	*

	It stopped raining early on the second day of our journey. We had spent a wet and miserable day followed by a wet and miserable night. Progress had been slow on that first day, and we managed to travel only six leagues form Medore. We were unable to light a campfire, but at least managed to get some sleep in our dry tents, except for the time we spent on guard shifts, of course. 

	Fortunately, we seemed to be making better progress now. By midmorning, we had covered nearly three leagues. And then we saw them. Two large shapes above the horizon, with a buzzing sound filling our ears. Gigantic wasps, large as horses!

	Without hesitation, Landotharan spurred his horse on, charging the insects, while Segnarus and I readied our missile weapons. I cursed viciously and tried to take aim on the hornets, trying to avoid hitting our reckless companion.

	Kalten had taken only a few moments to adjust his lance, and now thundered past me on his way to assist the half-elf. His charge struck a glancing blow off one of the monstrous insects, but the beast recovered quickly. Kalten dropped the lance and drew flail and shield. 

	Segnarus' horse raced past me as well. "I'll help Kalten," he said, crossbow in hand. I spurred my own mount forward, guiding it with my knees as I drew aim at the wasp attacking Landotharan. The half-elf's furious assault was effective, but he was outflanked. His blows were beginning to tell, but he was stung repeatedly by the insects. I fired several arrows into the melee. A few moments later, both wasps lay dead by the road. All was quiet for an instant. 
Then Landotharan collapsed from the saddle and started seizing as soon as he hit the ground. All of us dismounted and raced to his aid. Segnarus produced a vial of antivenom and managed to force the contents down Landotharan's throat. Kalten and I combined our efforts to draw the poison from the wounds and tended to them with salves and herbs from our healer's kits. Our efforts were successful. The fits stopped and Landotharan soon regained consciousness.

Solemund offered prayers to Barlam, and his blessings enabled the half-elf to regain some control over his limbs. Landotharan managed to remount his horse and ride for the rest of the day, though I could see his muscles twitching and spasming occasionally. 

*	*	*

	That night we camped close to the road, which by now ran near the Calemd Forest. It loomed dark and foreboding beyond the reach of our campfire. We had managed to cover a good eight leagues that day, in spite of Landotharan's injuries. Though we were now close to Tabat, barely three leagues distant, we were uneasy, knowing that Tobias' hideout lay near our position. We took turns at watch, and lay ourselves to sleep within reach of our weapons. 

	My worst fears were realized when I awoke to Kalten's cries: "Foes! Wake! We are under attack!" With no time to don armor, I grabbed my longsword and my round steel shield and rushed out of the tent clad only in my traveling clothes. A frantic scene greeted me.

	I heard arrows whistle nearby, but could see little else. A torch lay upon the remains of our campfire, and I could make out Kalten's armored shape gesturing northwest at the source of the arrows. 

	Things happened in rapid succession. 

	Landotharan and Segnarus emerged from their tent and ran off to the southwest of the camp. I would later find out that the half-elf's elvensight had enabled him to spot enemy archers in that direction. 

	I heard Solemund chant and suddenly, a pure white light glowed from the trees to the northwest. Kalten roared a battlecry and ran towards the light. Though I couldn't see a thing, I rushed off right behind him. 	

	I nearly crashed into a dark cloaked figure and narrowly avoided impaling myself on his blade. I struck furiously as my eyes accommodated to the lighting conditions. My opponent fell to the ground even as another appeared from the shadows to my right. Kalten and I fought back to back against a single foe each. 

	And then a third cloaked figure wielding longsword and shortsword appeared to my left. I found myself quickly outflanked, fighting furiously for my life. The opponent on my right opened a gash on my unprotected thigh with a shortsword, wounding me grievously. I launched a furious counterattack and managed to drive him back. 

	As I turned to face the man on my left, I felt his cold steel sword cutting into my belly, knocking the wind out of me. The last thing I saw before darkness took me was my assailant's face, lit by the pearly glow of the priest's conjured light. 

	A familiar face...


*	*	*

	Is that how I came here? I wonder. Darkness surrounds me. It will not be long now. A light will come soon, I know. To lead my soul to its final destination. Whether I will rest in a peaceful paradise or burn in the flames of Gehenna will be for the Gods to decide. Kalten! Ah, Kalten. Pray for my soul, my friend. 

	But no. I did not die that night, I know. Though I came close. I have faced death before, and know her well. 

	Memories return and the journey continues...

*	*	*

	I awoke with a start and a cough, as I drew a ragged breath again. Kalten and Solemund knelt over me, chanting prayers to their respective patron gods. A warm feeling engulfed me and I feebly raised my head, anxiously inspecting my wounds. The cuts in my thigh and abdomen had already healed. The blood around the wounds was not even dry yet. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks to both Tilsman and Barlam that I was still alive. I thanked my two rescuers as well. And then I remembered...

	"Kalten," I said in a hoarse whisper. I was yet weak from loss of blood. "The fellow with the two swords was Tobias himself."

	"By my troth," the knight replied. "You are right. I thought his fighting style seemed familiar." I tried to stand but was unable. 

	"Rest easy, my friend," Kalten said. "You are weak yet from your ordeal. The ambushers are dead or else routed. Landotharan has gone in pursuit of Tobias, and we will keep watch until dawn. Rest now, and let our prayers heal your wounded body."

	Heeding his advice, I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. 

*	*	*

	As the sun passed its zenith on the following day, we enjoyed the hospitality of Lord Eltros' keep, within the town of Tabat. Unlike Medore, Tabat had no encircling walls, but was rather a collection of farmsteads and houses clustered around several stone and mortar buildings comprising the center of the town. A council of regents had been appointed by the Lord of Leriond to rule the four thousand souls inhabiting the township. Lord Eltros, as military commander and lord constable, was the de facto ruler and head of the council, charged with overseeing both the public order and the disposition of the Imperial Army troops garrisoned at the stone barracks scattered throughout the town. 

	The rest of the previous night had been uneventful. We had briefly discussed pursuing Tobias, who had evaded Landotharan in the forest. Our mission to deliver the message to Tabat took precedence, however, given the time constraints and the possibility that, should we be slain or captured by the traitor's men, Erecos' call for reinforcements would never reached Tabat. 

	Having inspected the area around camp at daybreak, I was confident I could reacquire the trail again at some later date and track Tobias to his lair. If the weather held, that is. 

	So we decided to complete our original mission as swiftly as possible and return to pay our "friend" Tobias a visit. 

	The rest of our journey had been uneventful, only we arrived at the Lord Constable's keep to find that Eltros was gone and would return that evening. His seneschal, Lorem, offered us the hospitality of the manor. Our horses were taken to well-stocked stables and we were offered two spacious rooms to rest until the lord of the house arrived. Kalten and I shared a room, and took the opportunity to relax and refresh ourselves before our host arrived. Thanks to Solemund and Kalten's prayers, my body was almost entirely healed by suppertime. 

	At dusk, Lorem announced his master's return and informed us that dinner would be served soon. We changed into our finest clothes and girded ourselves only with longswords. Our armor and gear were left behind in our lodgings. 

	Our host, Lord Eltros, turned out to be a gracious, if somewhat austere, host. The meal itself was splendid enough: exquisitely prepared dishes, including several local delicacies made from corn grown in the region, and fine wines and ales aplenty. 

	We related the reason for our visit and concluded our mission by presenting the sealed missive to the Lord Commander. We even spoke of our encounter with the traitor in the forest. Lord Eltros responded that he would give the order for the army to mobilize with all haste to attend to the assault on the Kundrians at the river fork. 

	Segnarus asked if a healer were in town, to see if he could help Landotharan recover from his injuries. Though the half-elf was much recovered, his muscles would still twitch occasionally, and he had not recovered his full coordination and usual ease of movement. It seemed, however, no healer was available. 

	Kalten asked for a priest of Tilsman, and our host indicated that old Sen Beldazar would gladly greet us at the Temple of Tilsman in town. 

	Though we engaged in small talk, and Kalten even attempted to amuse us with a tale from his homeland involving a strange creature called a "furry trout," I could sense a growing unease among my brothers-in-arms.

	After thanking Lord Eltros, and retiring to our rooms, Kalten spoke of his misgivings. He felt ill at ease around Lord Eltros, and could even sense a faint taint of evil around him. Though I had felt no such thing, I trusted Kalten's instincts better than my own. That night, we kept watch and slept with our weapons close by.


*	*	*

	By midmorning, we had taken our leave of Lord Eltros. Claiming urgent business elsewhere, we even refused to break our fast within the keep. Tired from a restless night, we saddled our horses and rode off into the town's center, looking for the Temple of Tilsman.

	Everywhere we went, we saw signs of great poverty. The town was ravaged from the war, and despair and hopelessness were evident on the faces of the local inhabitants. 

	"My friends," Kalten said. "I have traveled many, many lands and seldom have seen such misery. We must have faith in Tilsman."

	We rode single file through the narrow town streets. Kalten and Segnarus rode before me, with Solemund and Landotharan behind, leading the pack horses. We were expecting no trouble, when suddenly, a strange encounter took place.

	An unkempt and disheveled beggar regarded our passage from the mouth of a side alley. As our horses drew near, he stood up and pointed at Kalten. "You," he said, then turned to Segnarus. "And you too."

	I felt his eyes pierce my soul, and shiver ran down my spine at his words. "Woe, woe, woe," he said, backing into the alley. "Stay away from me, you cursed ones." He was soon lost from view as we passed the entrance to the alley. But his words struck me with a cold dread I had never felt before. I tried to steady my trembling hands by gripping the reins harder.



*	*	*

	After waiting for a short while on the outer hall of the temple, Kalten finally emerged from the inner sanctum with Sen Beldazar. The priest of Tilsman regarded us with kind eyes and proceeded to give us his blessing. He laid his hands on Landotharan, cleansing the last of the poison from his system with a prayer. The old priest radiated peace and calm.

	But his presence did not soothe me. The fear still gnawed at me. "Holy father," I addressed the Sen. "Something happened on our way here. A beggar called us accursed, and it disturbed me. Can you tell if this is true?" I could see my friends' eyes, and the same fear was reflected there. 

	"Let me see," the priest said, bowing his head and chanting a prayer. "Yes," he said after a while. "There is a subtle evil around you all."

	"By the Judge of Judges," Kalten said, looking at each of us in turn. "I can see the taint myself. Most dire news, my friends."

	"I do not know whence this evil comes," Sen Beldazar said. "But it is growing." 

	"Can you divine the source of this evil?" I pleaded. "That we may seek it and destroy it."

	Beldazar reflected for a moment, then said: "Perhaps. I shall need two or three days to perform the necessary rituals and purification."

	"Then, with Tilsman's grace, we shall return, Reverend Sen," Kalten added. 

	We left the temple with great apprehension at the news of our misfortune, only to meet Segnarus as he returned. The thief-catcher had taken off on his own shortly before our arrival at the Temple to gather some information on the mysterious beggar.

	Our situation became more complicated as Segnarus relayed his findings. The mysterious beggar was rumored to belong to an evil cult, run out of town by the constable. They had used to hide in an old priory near the southeastern part of town, before the guards stormed the place and drew them out. 

	In turn, we informed Segnarus of the priest's findings. His grim silence echoed my own feelings.

	"What then?,"  I said. "What shall we do while the Sen seeks answers from the god? Shall we investigate this priory or shall we seek out the traitor Tobias?" The question hung in the air as we considered our dark choices.

*	*	*


Well, that's it for now!

Eloy


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## Jodo Kast (Mar 9, 2003)

This is certainly one of the better written stories to grace these boards.  Very well done!  My only constructive criticism would be to break your posts up into shorter installments in the future, please.  It is difficult to find time to read posts as lengthy as the first without interruption, and for this format shorter posts seem to fare best.

Thank you for sharing your adventure with us!  How long have you been playing this game?  Was this the first session for these characters, or were they established?  What level are the characters circa your first post?


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## njorgard (Mar 10, 2003)

*The Characters...*

Jodo Kast...

I am the DM for this campaign an I must say that I am very happy to have players who are as inspired as Eloy.  There are currently 4 of them and this was, in fact, first adventure they played in the current incarnation of this campaign world.  All the players have created very rich and detailed backgrounds for their characters (they are all 3rd level btw...).  If anyone is interested I'll post these here.


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## Alejandro (Mar 10, 2003)

Very nice! Though English is not your first language, this Story Hour is very well-written.

Have fun in the Age of Blood, and may Terferos judge your actions kindly when you die!


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## njorgard (Mar 10, 2003)

*The Brother's Ran*

Alejandro...make sure you keep reading cuz the Brother's Ran will more than likely make a guest appearance here at some point...


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## Kestrel (Mar 10, 2003)

Woohoo!  I can't wait to see the brothers in this 

Its interesting seeing the campaign being played out with other players.  Your new group is not nearly eclectic as ours


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## Helfdan (May 10, 2003)

*The Age of Blood Continues...*

Hi!  I play another of the characters in Njorgard's Age of Blood campaign (Kalten Hawkshand).  Because Eloy has been unable to post further chronicles due to real-life concerns, our DM has asked me to start posting mine.  I will start with my second entry, so as not to be redundant.  You will quickly notice the format is slightly different: less literary, and more epistolar, as my character is writing letters to his father half-way across the world, though he knows he is unlikely to recieve them.  Without further ado, here is chapter 2
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2:  Hunt for a Traitor

	My father, I again find a brief moment to write you of my travails in these strange lands, the war-ravaged border between Hintai and Kundria.  As always, I hope the Keeper’s blessing lies with you and our family.  I pray that at least some of these missives reach your hands, so that you know your son still lives, and keeps his faith and honor.  And should you chance to see…  no, it is best I do not even think of her, as I will probably never again meet her outside of Terferos’s domain. 
	I believe I already wrote of how my companions and I undertook the dangerous journey to the township of Tabat, to carry an urgent request for reinforcements in the upcoming attack on the Kundrian forces entrenched at the fork of the mighty Antarius River.  During this short but fateful trip, we were attacked by giant wasps, and ambushed by the traitorous Tobias, who we drove off after a bloody struggle.  We succeeded in delivering our message, and for a night accepted the hospitality of Eltross, commander and constable of Tabat.  Early the next morning, we proceeded to the temple of Tilsman, hoping that the high priest (or Sen, as they are titled here) Beldazar could rid Landotharan of the lingering effects of the wasp poison.  
	As I wrote previously, a mendicant on the streets pronounced us cursed, and the Keeper’s priests told us he was part of an old cult that had been previously driven out from an abandoned priory at the edge of the city.  The saintly Beldazar gave us some grim news: he could feel an evil taint in us all, an insidious one he could not easily remove.  He assured us it did not seem to be harming us at present, and that he felt he could divine its source after a few days of prayer.  He also aided Lando, but to our disappointment told us the half-elven sworder would need to rest for a few days before he could travel.  As we stated our intention to hunt Tobias before the trail grew cold, the Sen suggested that we seek additional help from the militia, as he wisely deduced Lando was our strongest fighter.  
	Segnarus led us through Tabat, heading for an ‘irregular’ unit commanded by an old friend of his.  (Apparently an irregular unit is one composed of mercenaries and ne’er-do-wells of differing capabilities – how this differs from an ‘elite’ unit such as ours is not yet clear to me).  The thief-catcher from Tromos seemed to have friends throughout the war-zone.  As we rode down the streets of Tabat, Girion was on the alert for our doom-speaking mendicant, but saw no sign of him.  I was again impressed by how sad the people of this town appeared.  I pray Lurian can protect them from Draugord’s assaults.  
	I was also struck by the frequency of branded foreheads I saw in the streets.  You see, father, these Hintaneese call themselves civilized, and consider our customs quaint, but they are at times as barbaric as the Kundrians they so hate.  By their law, many crimes such as adultery, theft, and tax evasion are punished initially by applying a red-hot iron to the criminal’s forehead.  Repeat offenses are punished with increasing harshness.  Though this is very common across southern Hintai, I had never seen so many branded folk before reaching Tabat.  
	We promptly reached one of the many stone and mortar barracks scattered across the town.  The men hanging about the camp were obviously mercenaries and conscripts – sloppy and undisciplined.  Segnarus warmly greeted their commanding officer, a lieutenant.  On hearing our request, he promptly, and even eagerly, announced he had an ideal candidate.  He spoke of a dwarf who apparently was skilled in both military and sorcerous arts.  Even Segnarus was surprised that his friend would part with such a soldier.  The lieutenant, whose name I do not remember, admitted that his men found the dwarf odd, as he had strange powers, kept to himself, and was rumored to be mad.  But, he said, “He will nonetheless make a powerful addition to your party.”  
	I had to laugh at his sincerity, for when I asked if he meant he wished to be rid of the dwarf, he promptly admitted as much.  We agreed, and he disappeared into the barracks.  After a few moments, he returned with our new companion.  He proved to be typical of the folk of Belakduum: barely over four feet in height, but stocky and strong.  He was clad in leather armor, and bore twin steel axes of fine craftsmanship, balanced for both fighting and throwing.  His brown hair and beard were shorter than usual for dwarves, and on his cheek was tattoed a strange sigil of an axe, a torch, and a pickaxe.  He introduced himself as Baruk (which according to Segnarus, is the dwarvish word for ‘axe’) as he loaded his scant belongings onto a mule, and we made ready to depart.  
	The thief-catcher decided to see if he could find any information about Tobias in town.  After the better part of four hours, he returned with little in the way of news.  He did learn that the traitor was selling information to both Hintaneese and Kundrian forces.  But the townsfolk seemed consumed with their own problems – the reappearance of strange folk around the abandoned priory, and the unexplained disappearance of several people.  Thus it was difficult for Segnarus to get them to talk about our prey.  It was not until noon that we rode out of Tabat, following the south-westerly road along the perilous Calemd forest.  
	It was late afternoon by the time we reached our old campsite.  To our surprise, the corpses of our attackers were gone!  Segnarus opined that the slain ambushers appeared to have stood and walked into the forest.  Baruk could scarcely suppress his scorn, as he was sure our foes had fooled us into thinking they were dead.  But by my troth, they were cold as ice the morning we set for Tabat.  We looked to Girion to confirm or deny this, as the ranger’s keen eyes seldom missed a sign.  He could only confirm that the corpses had not been dragged away, but could not tell for certain whether they had been carried.  But the huntsman from Roedran was more interested in our quarry, and promptly found a cunningly hidden trail leading northwards into the forest – surely the path Tobias had used to ambush us!  
	The path was narrow, but horsemen could follow it in single file.  As we remounted to enter the mysterious Calemd forest, we heard hoof beats rapidly approaching from the northeast.  I saw my comrades readying various weapons, as I lifted my lance and whirled Stepper to face the new arrival.  Our concern was foundless, as the horseman was none other than Lando.  The half-elf was distraught at being left behind, and the moment none of the priests were ministering to him, he ran out of the temple, seized the closest horse, and rode after us.  We were happy to see him, but also amused – for in his haste, he had once again chosen his steed poorly, and was mounted on a broken-down nag, unfit for combat.  He’ll never learn, I fear…  
	Girion led the way into the forest, followed by Segnarus, Baruk, Lando, and Solemund.  I brought up the rear, alert for ambuscades.  As the overcast skies grew darker, the ranger called a halt, for he spied a small clearing about 50 feet ahead.  Segnarus and Girion went forward on foot to scout, quickly vanishing into the underbrush, their light mail shirts making no noise.  The dwarf, priest, and half-elf dismounted, but I stayed in the saddle in case quick assistance was needed – a wise precaution, as it turned out.  After seemingly long, tense moments, Solemund announced he heard the sounds of combat ahead.  On instinct, I rode forward, as my allies scattered to make room.  
	As often happens in battle, time seemed to slow as I burst into the clearing.  Directly to the north was a small shed, with three saddled horses lashed to a post in front.  To my left, a half-orc crossbowman was trying to pull an arrow from his arm.  To my right, two others were firing crossbows into the forest.  Two swordsmen stood in front of the shed’s door, shocked at my sudden appearance.  I leveled my lance, and Stepper’s momentum drove it through one of the men before he could as much as cry out.  The point went deeply into the wooden door, and the lance bent almost double before my snorting destrier could come to a complete stop.  I heard my comrades charging behind me on foot, shouting battle cries.  I was set upon by a swordsman and a gigantic orog warrior, wielding a massive axe.  I drew sword, and dodged or parried their fierce attacks as Stepper reared in fury.  
	The door to the shed opened, and two more men joined the fray.  The fight was fast and furious.  I heard Solemund’s voice calling on Barlam’s power, and as Baruk chanted, a fiery bolt slammed into the orog’s armored form.  I lay to with my sword, repeatedly wounding the massive orc, who riposted fiercely and almost broke my arm, even through my shield.  As I fought, so did Stepper, his mighty hooves crushing skulls and ribcages as though they were paper.  Once the orog and one of the swordsmen fell, my last foe darted northeast into the forest.  
	I heard an inarticulate roar, and turned to see a savage orog, foaming at the mouth, surrounded by Baruk, Lando, and Solemund.  The huge orc attacked the dwarf, grievously wounding him.  But before he could recover from his swing, Lando’s greatsword split his skull to the teeth.  By this time the battle was over, as none of our foes were left standing – except for the man who was still impaled by my lance to the shed’s door.   Six more souls sent for Terferos’s judgment, may the gods forgive us.  Girion and Segnarus were nowhere to be seen, but they shortly returned.  They had chased the swordsman who escaped me, and lost him before finding a narrow game trail leading deeper into the forest.  	
	We quickly took stock of the situation.  Solemund used his prayers to heal both the dwarf and the half-elf, who had been sorely wounded by orcish axes.  Segnarus reported the corpses all bore Tobias’s odd tattoo.  The shed was a small affair, with a few cots and crude benches.  We decided to continue the hunt, as the escaped foe would likely give warning to the traitor.  The game trail was too narrow for horses, thus we tethered our beasts to the hitching post and set off quickly along the game trail.  Night fell, and Segnarus produced a torch which burnt with a cold, eldritch flame.  Girion lit a conventional brand and led the way.  
	The Calemd forest seemed as mysterious as it was reputed to be, for its heavy foliage kept both starlight and moonlight at bay.  Though the ranger moved confidently, only the half-elf seemed comfortable, as his elvensight allowed him to see far by torchlight.  Baruk’s eyes could also penetrate the darkness, but the dwarf kept looking at the gnarled, low hanging branches with distrust, muttering to himself as he rubbed his axe-hafts.  We had followed this narrow, winding trail for less than half an hour, when we were startled by a blood-curdling scream from the darkness ahead.  Girion handed his torch to Segnarus, and slowly made his way forward to scout our opposition.  
	It was then that I heard something moving through the woods to our right.  I called out a warning, and saw three figures shuffling into the torchlight.  They were none other than the men we slew two nights past, during Tobias’s ill-fated night raid!  But they were not alive.  Their skin was pale, as if drained of blood.  They had no expression on their faces.  And their eyes burned with an unholy light.  The nearest one attacked a surprised Landotharan, wrapping its claw-like hands around his neck in an attempt to strangle him.  At this I was overcome with what I can only describe to you, father, as righteous wrath.  These un-living creatures were blasphemous in their very existence.  I felt the power of my faith throughout my veins, and on instinct, ordered them to begone.  But it seems my faith is not enough, as, though the closest one cowered, the atrocities renewed their assault.  
	Baruk spoke eldritch words, and a crimson beam shot from his hand, burning one of the creatures.  It recoiled in pain, but pounced upon Segnarus, who was encumbered by the twin torches.  Before the ranger could come to his aid, the walking corpse throttled the thief-catcher, and threw him motionless to the ground.  Lando was still standing, and struggling to break free of his tormentor.  But even the half-elf’s great strength was no match for unliving flesh.  I drew sword in desperation.  The silvery runes along its length seemed to glow in the darkness, and the monstrosity shied away from me, while still strangling Lando.  It was at this time that Solemund, who had been struggling with the third monster, dropped his iron-shod club and lifted his holy symbol.  “In the name of the Strong God, BEGONE, vile things!!”  His command carried Barlam’s power, for the monsters fled in terror from the hulking, shaven-headed priest.  
	The Barlamite ran to Segnarus, who was still breathing.  His windpipe was all but crushed.  But faith can overcome all hurts, father, for Solemund’s prayers quickly restored the thief-catcher.  I used my own prayers to heal Lando’s wounded neck, as Girion again went forward to scout, for we were sure this battle had ruined any pretense at stealth.  He returned after a few minutes, telling us he had found the traitor’s fortress.  We quickly followed him to the trail’s end.  
The trail widened into a clearing much larger than the last one.  At its center stood a tower, forty feet high.  Its only entrance was a heavy wooden gate, banded with iron, set into its south wall.  Four torches, set on poles around the tower, provided light.  Thus it seemed we had found our prey.  But all vegetation had been cleared in a radius of eighty feet around the tower, giving the sentries at the top a clear view in all directions.  Baruk reported he saw movement atop the tower, likely archers waiting for us to enter the torch-lit area.  Four ravaged corpses lay in front of the door – obviously some of Tobias’s men, slain by the un-dead things before reaching safety.  
     After a brief discussion, we decided to head back to the shed to pass the night.  Some of us were eager to assault the tower in cover of darkness, but Solemund informed us that the undead monsters would soon be back, and we could be caught between two foes.  By Tilsman’s grace we reached the shed without incident.  I was glad to see our horses were safe, as Stepper neighed in welcome.  Almost as if echoing my unspoken fears, Girion made a surprising suggestion: that we bring my destrier into the shed with us.  Solemund’s disbelieving expression was almost comical.  Girion hushed all protests saying that a trained charger was difficult to replace, and helped make room for the horse at the back of the shed.  I quietly thanked him, and led the massive bay stallion into our meager accommodations.  Belatedly, we noticed our six fallen foes were gone – but this time we glumly thought we knew how.    
     The ranger took first watch, and after midnight woke me for my turn.  I had barely finished donning my plate-and-mail armor, when the screams of frightened horses filled the night.  Simultaneously, loud thumps were heard as the door shook on its leathern hinges.  As my friends awoke, the door shattered, and two of the undead things tried to crowd into the shed.  I moved to block the door while drawing my sword.  Girion called upon Syllisia, lady of the forests, and we were surprised to see all manner of grasses, weeds, and branches reach for the undead things to restrain and entangle them.  The horses again screamed in fear, as they were also grabbed by the plants.  
I lifted my shield to block the first monster’s claws.  Landotharan leapt to my side and attacked, but his greatsword bounced from the dead flesh as if from stone.  Baruk spoke words of power, and his crimson beam burned the creature’s flesh.  Solemund again called upon Barlam, and the monsters turned to flee – but were slowed by the grasping, strangling plant life the ranger had awakened. I was about to close the door when Segnarus cried: “No, Kalten! We must slay them now, or they will return!”  His words seemed wise, but it appeared only Baruk possessed the means to harm such creatures.  
     But by Tilsman, we had to try.  Girion and I ventured into the mass of wriggling vegetation he had summoned, avoiding entanglement as best we could.  We could see three of the monsters struggling through the plants.  I reached the nearest, and attacked – and miraculously, my sword bit deeply into its unholy flesh.  Girion bravely assailed it, but his blade proved as ineffective as Lando’s.  The dwarf spoke again, and a fiery bolt struck our retreating foe.  Before he could move, I struck again, this time cutting deeply through its shoulder and into its chest.  The creature screamed as it was consumed by an eerie fire, and reduced to a pile of ash.  As we watched, this was scattered into the night by an unnatural wind.  Before we could recover, the other two creatures managed to force their way past the entangling plants, and fled into the woods.  
        By Tilsman’s and Barlam’s good graces we had survived unscathed.  Girion checked on our mounts, and found that we had lost our pack-horses and Landotharan’s borrowed nag.  But these were easily replaced with the beasts we had captured from the brigands.  We returned to the shed, hoping to survive the rest of the night.  My comrades settled down to rest, but could not yet sleep due to the typical exultation in the aftermath of battle.  I was sleepless for a different reason.  I was cleaning my sword, which I now saw in a new light.  Aerbrand, the Winter’s Blessing.  Truly, it was blessed, but I had seen no glimmer of such power before that night.   
               It seemed a plain enough sword, if of excellent craftsmanship.  “Know your weapons,” was arms-master Turin’s first instruction.  The blade is exactly 36 inches in length, and gradually tapers to a point from its broad base.  Silvery runes are lightly etched along both fullers – usually these are invisible against the sheen of the steel, but they seemed to glow as I fought those demons.  The pommel and straight crossguard are made of plain brass, and seem unscored despite years of heavy use.  The hilt is wrapped in plain leather, worn smooth.  
How could this blade hurt such creatures?  
	“It’s enchanted.”  Either I spoke out loud, or Solemund read my thoughts.  “It is obvious to all those schooled in magic.”  At this the normally dour Landotharan showed interest.  It is easy to forget he was originally raised to be an enchanter, rather than a killer.  “May I see it, friend Kalten?”  He asked.  The half-elf hefted Aerbrand, testing its edge and balance with the mien of a practiced warrior.  
	“Beautiful work!”  I was surprised by Baruk’s interjection.  He also examined the sword, but with a craftsman’s eye.  The dwarf had been less than forthcoming when questioned about his past, but it was now clear to all he had fired a forge at some time in his life.  “It is obviously old, though of remarkable quality.  Where did you get this blade?”  
	“It is an heirloom of my house,” I answered.  Truth be told, father, I had not thought about its history for a long time, even though it kept me alive during my travels.  But I could not refuse my friend’s questions.  “It is said to have been forged by Talorn, the greatest of Falconian smiths, almost four hundred years past.  But I thought this was only a legend.”  
	“Sometimes legends are true, my friend.”  As he said this, the dwarf had a wistful look in his eyes.  “At any rate, we are all awake and anxious, thus a tale may raise our spirits.”  I acquiesced, and spoke of Talorn’s gift to his son.  I told them of Kendrick Hawk’s-hand, founder of our house and slayer of dragons.   They seemed to like the story, commenting on how after almost four centuries, Aerbrand once more became a parting gift from father to son.  Things became quiet after that, and they drifted off to sleep one by one.  I stayed awake long enough to say a prayer of thanks to Tilsman for deeming me worthy of such a sword – and such a father.  
	We woke with the dawn the next morning, eager to finish our self-imposed quest.  Breakfast was a quiet, rapid affair.  We tethered our horses securely and readied weapons and armor.  As we navigated the narrow game trail (which was much easier by daylight), we discussed our options for storming the tower.  The iron-bound wooden doors were surely barred from inside, and Girion had seen no other entrances.  Scaling the walls unnoticed in broad daylight would not be easy.  When we were within forty feet of the clearing, Girion and Segnarus went forward to scout.  As we waited, Solemund voiced a problem that we had all been pondering: the fact that all who died in this forest arose as undead horrors.  
	These abominations were a threat to both the brigands and us, which meant that striking a bargain was a possibility.  Our scouts returned with valuable information.  As we feared, the corpses which last night we had seen in the clearing were now gone.  Great gouges marred the tower door, as if the walking corpses had assailed it.  They also saw several men hiding behind the parapets on top of the tower, but they could not tell how many.  Discussing our options, we felt it was best to bargain with the men in the tower, and see if they would surrender their traitorous leader in exchange for our help in escaping this dangerous forest.  
	While my friends hid in the forest with bows and crossbows at the ready, I strode to the edge of the clearing, calling for parley.  The sentries cautiously listened as our explained our common plight, and offered to help them escape these haunted woods, if they would surrender Tobias.  But soon the traitor himself made an appearance on the parapet.  His complete disregard for truth was an affront to Savitas himself.  He claimed that his actions were meant to bring the war to an end!  I gave him a chance to surrender, but he refused.  Ignoring him, I once again appealed to his men, but they were daunted by the traitor’s cruelty, and did not respond except for an arrow fired at my feet.  And a promise by the traitor that in five minutes, his men would hunt us down.  
	When this grace period lapsed, an eerie whistling sounded through the clearing.  The doors opened, and the traitor’s men emerged.  Four half-orc crossbowmen charged down the center, flanked at each side by two swordsmen.  Two gigantic orogs, armed with their huge axes, stayed behind to guard the door.  But we were prepared.  Solemund and I stood at the entrance to the clearing, presenting an obvious target.  The shaven-headed priest looked even burlier than usual, thanks to the magic of the Strong God.  Our allies were concealed in the foliage to the sides of the tower.  The priest and I whistood a volley of quarrels, but were protected by our armor and our gods.  
	As one of the swordsmen in the left flank fell with an arrow through his leg, the hulking priest and I charged into the center of their lines.  Aerbrand drew first blood as the half-breeds dropped bows and hefted axes.  I saw Segnarus dart in from the right, avoiding swords and axes, to slip into the tower.  Baruk intended to back him up, but his shorter stride made him fall behind, and he was intercepted by an orog.  The dwarf drew twin axes and charged, shouting eldritch words.  
	At this time I lost track of all my friends save Solemund, who fought by my side.  We were set upon by half-a-dozen foes.   The melee was sharp, brutal, and seemingly endless.  The huge priest called Barlam’s name as his great iron-shod club rose and fell, caving in skulls, bellies, and chests with supernatural strength.  Aerbrand shone in the morning light as I fought for my life, and no less than three foes lay dead at my feet before I could stop and assess the field.  
	There was still heavy fighting at the tower door, where Lando, Girion, and Baruk fought the last of the orogs and swordsmen, as well as reinforcements who had come from the tower.  The priest and I charged into the melee, and thanks be to Iolanthes, we were again victorious.  But as he ran his greatsword through the final foe, Landotharan informed us of grievous news: Tobias himself had vanquished Segnarus, and taken him into the tower.  Girion sprang forth like a deer, followed by the dwarf and half-elf (who would not wait for Solemund to heal his severe wounds).  
	I followed them though the door, across a bare stone room, and down a set of narrow stairs.  I was met by a grim tableau: A sorely wounded and hastily bandaged Segnarus Mank lay unconscious on the floor of a cramped storeroom.  Over him stood the traitor Tobias, holding a long sword at his throat.  The betrayer was slightly taller than the thief-catcher, with dark hair and fastidiously-trimmed mustache and goatee.  He was slim as a serpent, and just as dangerous.  By his side was his last surviving henchman, a crossbow held tightly in his shaking hands.  
	“I will give you his life for mine,” he announced smugly.  It tore at my heart, father.  I could not bear to see Segnarus cut down in cold blood, but I knew he would not want us to release the traitor for his sake.  Such was his dedication to the rule of law.  I could not betray this.  But then I remembered: the thief-catcher and the former lieutenant had met before the latter’s desertion.  
	“Did you meet Segnarus Mank, before your crimes?”  He seemed surprised at my query, but answered affirmatively.  “Then you know what he would do, where he in my place,” I concluded, with great pain.  The traitor blustered, stating the choice was mine and no other’s, but he knew he would never leave alive should he kill Segnarus.  And what faithless man feels ready to meet Terferos?  They promptly surrendered, and our friend was saved, thanks be to the Judge of Judges.  
	After binding our captives, we searched his tower, taking what valuables we could find.  Baruk claimed the traitor’s own leather armor, which he claimed was magically hardened.  Of particular interest were the various letters and journals we found.  A quick examination showed that the names Leven, Woreth, and Irwillinor were oft mentioned in these documents, but Tobias would not give any clue to their identity.  As we bandaged our wounds, we contemplated the next stage of our journey: we still had to leave the Calemd Forest alive.


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## njorgard (May 13, 2003)

*GREAT!!!*

Thanks for the effort Helfdan!!  That way I can point people here so that they can look at the journal updates...

- Njorgard


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## Drawmack (May 13, 2003)

we would love to have you scheduled updates listed at http://www.suryvial.com


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## Helfdan (May 13, 2003)

*The Winter's Blessing*

Here's the story Kalten Hwakshand relates to his comrades, regarding the mighty blade "Aerbrand":

             The craft of sword making has been raised to an art by the falconian smiths, who have combined eastern techniques of folding steel for maximum sharpness with the nordian tempering methods.  One of the most renowned masters of this craft was one Talorn.  Though he died over three centuries past, his fame persists, as a few of his blades still linger as heirlooms of some baronial lines.  Unfortunately his one son had little talent for the forge, and most of his secrets died with him.  

	His finest work was his last.  As his years drew to a close, the desert paynim to the south were mounting a major offensive against the falconians, to take by force the lands so painstakingly conquered by feremordian expatriates from goblinoids and giant-kin a mere century earlier.  He knew his son was to ride to battle as soon as the snows thawed in the northern baronies.  Thus he decided to forge a blade no nomad could whistand.  	

	In the heart of winter, he fired his forge one last time.  He poured all his skill, faith, and love into the crafting of this broadsword.  He folded the white-hot steel over ten times, and the tempering was done not in water, but in pristine snow.  As he completed his work, he was inspired to etch along both fullers, in purest silver, runes both eldritch and divine.  Even he was not sure of their meaning, but somehow he knew that in the hands of a worthy man, such as his son, their power would be evident.  And he named this, his finest, and final, creation, Aerbrand, the winter’s blessing.  

	Talorn did not survive the winter, as his son did not survive the war.  Aerbrand was taken back to the archbaron, who gave it a place of honor in his armory.  For the blacksmith’s son had wielded the blade doughtily, and fell while defending his lord during a nighttime black nomad raid on the baronial camp.  The sword then lay untouched for almost two centuries.  

	It was two hundred years past that Kendrick Hawk’s-hand became champion to the archbaron.  A mighty and pious knight from the northern reaches of the archbarony, he won the sword as grand prize in a tourney.  With this mighty blade and his own selfless courage, he became somewhat of a legend in the archbarony for his exploits against marauding monsters and evil nomads alike – some say he even slew a dragon with Aerbrand.  He eventually gained a fief for himself.  But he was not a savvy politician, and once his youth and vigor left him, he faded into relative obscurity in his small, remote fief.  

	Aerbrand remained as an heirloom of his house.  But though all his line were warriors, none wielded the sword to the same effect as he did.  The house of Hawkshand was virtually unknown until a few years back, when its youngest heir, on his way to swear fealty to the archbaron, ran afoul of a band of nomads attacking a village.  The youth recklessly led his men-at-arms against the paynim, and after a fierce struggle killed or captured all of them.  Then, inexplicably, Kalten Hawkshand showed mercy to the vile raiders, and released the prisoners after they swore never to raid into the baronies again.  What was to have been a joyous day was a tragic one for the young warrior.  He was knighted by Archbaron Osric himself for his bravery – but in accordance with ancient law, he was immediately exiled as punishment for aiding the enemies of the realm.  

	After a night of vigil at Tilsman’s fane, the young knight rode out for lands unknown.  He bore the mighty blade Aerbrand, a parting gift from a father who at once seemed heartbroken and proud…  

Description:  Aerbrand is a ‘classic’ long sword.  It measures forty-four inches from pommel to point.  The top-shaped pommel and straight crossguard are made of plain brass, and the hilt, long enough for two hands, is wrapped in worn leather.  The razor-sharp blade is lightly etched with silvery runes along both sides, but these are difficult to see given the sheen of the steel itself.  Wielders quickly note it is superbly balanced, and does not seem as heavy as its imposing appearance would suggest.  (The ‘look’ I’m going for is the type of sword wielded by Parn or King Kashue in Lodoss)


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## Alejandro (May 13, 2003)

Great update! I'm happy to read that you guys are still playing, and that Jorge has TWO players who post story hours. I'm going to have to drop in on you when I visit!


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## Helfdan (May 16, 2003)

*Chapter 3*

Part 3:  The Night Grows Darker



	Again I get a brief moment to write to you, though it is with a heavy heart that I do so.  At times I wonder if I should continue to tell you of these events, grim as they are.  But I know that the chances of my letters reaching your hands are slim, and as I write I can imagine your responses and fatherly advice.  And today I could use your kind words more than ever.
	I already wrote of how, after a bloody struggle, we captured the traitor, Tobias, in his stronghold in the Calemd forest.  It was another matter to get him safely back to Tabat, given the un-dead monstrosities that were waiting to fall on us as soon as dusk deepened.  The only survivor among the mercenaries, a man called Landrick, offered to help us, and swore not to aid Tobias or try to escape.  As he tried to interfere with our preparations, the betrayer of Medore was roughly gagged.  We had a brief discussion, as some of my comrades wished to spend the night in the traitor’s tower, whilst others wished to hurry out of the forest.  In the end we decided to try to leave the forest post-haste, as we feared that our horses would not survive the night.  
	After setting fire to the corpses of our fallen foes, we hurried along the narrow game trail and reached our horses by dusk.  We were weighted down by the loot we took from the tower.  Much of it would be useful to us, and the rest we meant to return to the Hintaneese quartermasters.  Jaral smiled on us, as our mounts were safe.  We quickly loaded both goods and prisoners on our pack beasts, and anxiously followed the wider trail out of the forest.  It was completely dark by the time we reached the main road.  Inexplicably, the half-elf Landotharan suggested that we camp then and there!  He was promptly outvoted, for the rest of us had little doubt that the monsters would chase us past the eaves of the Calemd.  
	The ride back was a harrowing one.  Our imagination made many a tree branch look like a grasping claw, and the wind often sounded like the hellish moaning of unliving monsters.  But thanks to the Judge of Judges, no attackers materialized on our four-hour ride to Tabat.  As we approached, we saw a long line of torches leaving the garrisoned town—the armies of Tabat were starting the march to the fork of the Antarius River, where they mean to destroy the largest remnant of the orcish hordes of Kundria.  
	We rode slowly past the mobilizing troops, and it was almost midnight when we reached the iron gates of Lord Eltross’s keep.  We were promptly received by his seneschal, Lorem.  He was elated to see our prisoners, and had them promptly taken to his dungeons.  I reminded Tobias of his impending appointment with Tilsman’s justice, and his reply was the only one possible – a hate-filled glare as he growled through his gag.  I fear he will never repent, and is already lost.  I have to admit I felt pangs of guilt at Landrick’s surprise at his own arrest.  But though he was true to his word, he was guilty of brigandry as well.  I resolved to aid him at his trial, within the bounds of truth. 
 	We were then led to the same guest rooms as before, and settled down to a large meal, which seemed a feast to us after our toils.  Again with the cornbread…   what do these people have against wheat?  After dinner, Segnarus announced he had ‘business’ to take care of (yes, at midnight!) but the rest of us settled in for some rest – or so we thought.  For I was woken by a sense of palpable evil, less than an hour after bedding down.  It seemed to emanate from outside the room, so as I donned my plate-and mail armor, I awoke my companions and warned them of impending danger.  Girion donned his own shirt of dwarf-forged links, while Baruk went next door to awaken Landotharan and Solemund.  Soon we were all awake and armed, and I set to the task of finding this hidden threat.  I soon saw that the taint I felt came from the left-overs of our meals!!  
	We were preparing to go to the kitchens, when Lorem came to us.  He was surprised, and incredibly offended, to see us awake, armed, and armored.  I explained our reasons, but he would not listen.  His anger was great, as if we had committed a heinous crime.  I told him about our curse, Sen Beldazar’s efforts, and my feelings regarding the food.  He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but ended up casting us out into the night, for ‘violation of the lord constable’s hospitality’.  What were we to do?  I thanked him for his kindness, and as we parted, beseeched him one last time to confirm our story with the Sen.  
	As we did not know this town, and needed shelter for the night, we sought sanctuary at Tilsman’s temple.  The acolyte on guard explained there was not room for us all, but he kindly directed us to a nearby hostelry called ‘The Inn in the Hole.’  I was somewhat surprised, for what inn keeps its doors open after midnight?  It was to be a night full of surprises.  
	The inn was indeed open, and as a matter of fact, crowded.  The many wooden tables were loaded with platters of food and flagons of strong drink, even at this hour.  All eyes in the common room seemed to turn to us briefly on arrival (I keep forgetting these people are not used to fully armored knights outside of the battlefield).  A burly ruffian, working as door-guard, gruffly welcomed us and intimated that though we were obviously deserters, we were welcome!  Baruk grumbled at this slight, but nonetheless we followed a serving wench to a well-used, ale-stained table.  We ordered some mulled wine, except for Solemund, as the large, shaven-headed priest avoided all earthly temptations.  I wondered if that was the reason his faith seemed stronger than mine, though I admit I was distracted by the swaying hips of our serving maid…  Some things do not change, do they father?
	The men in the tables close to ours were engaged in games of chance – knucklebones and a complex game wherein a large, colored wheel set on the wall was spun, and bets were placed on which number would be topmost when it stopped.  Baruk and Lando both bet (and lost) a few coins, but conversation soon turned to the tainted foodstuffs.  At my friends’ urging, I called upon Tilsman to help me see if the food in this place was also tainted.  As the wenches passed by our table, I saw that over half the heavy platters of viands had the taint!  We were soon interrupted by the door-guard, who claimed my “staring” was making the customers nervous.  I apologized, and returned to my wine.  I could not help but think that in some way, they knew I was seeking the evil in their hearts, and it was their guilt, rather than my eyes, that made them nervous.  Solemund heartily agreed.  We soon were led to our rooms, and spent the rest of the night in peaceful slumber.  
	I arose with the dawn the next morning, and made my way to the stable.  After checking on Stepper, I went to the inn’s courtyard, which was still quiet.  It was a good place for my morning prayers.  As the sun rose over Tabat, I prayed:  to Barlam, for strength; to Iolanthes, for courage; to Morcandor, for honor; and to Tilsman, may he judge me worthy.  I then started practicing with Aerbrand, as armsmaster Turin taught me.  But after half an hour or so, as the townsfolk arose, I had to stop due to their stares – truly, for an empire which claims to have the largest armies on Andaras, these people seem to have little experience with warriors.  
	After a quick breakfast, we returned to the temple of Tilsman to meet with Sen Beldazar.  He welcomed us, and quickly led us to his study.  He congratulated us on our capture of Tobias, and asked if we were pleased with the bounty.  Lorem had mentioned nothing of this!  The Sen smiled, and offered to send an acolyte to collect it for us.  I was very pleasantly surprised when Girion and Lando offered a portion of the reward as a tithe.  He then turned somber, as he announced he had communed with our lord Tilsman and his saints.  He spoke of visions, father:  He spoke of Cir, and the march of the Hintaneese army.  He saw Lord Eltross, and Erecos himself.  He saw Death, and rivers of blood flowing though the land.  And he saw the abandoned priory at the edge of Tabat, and somehow knew that the answers to our riddles were there to be found.  He also said he did not understand the nature of the curse, but felt something terrible was about to happen.  
	To these grim tidings we added our tale of the previous night’s events, and the evil taint in the food.  We all agreed our best lead to this widespread taint was the old priory, but the Sen warned us that the lord constable’s men were guarding it, and no one was allowed within a stone’s throw of the place.  As we were discussing our options, Segnarus swaggered into the temple.  Now fully recovered from his wounds, the swarthy little thief-catcher had obtained some useful information.  He had heard Lord Eltross was back in his keep.  He also felt that the best way to get access to the priory could be obtained from a smuggler named Murias, a dwarf of the Old Kingdoms.  I was shocked to hear that Segnarus would deal with such folk, but he sheepishly explained that sometimes these ‘contacts’, as he called them, were needed to catch other criminals – this land has truly unusual customs, father.  
	But we decided to attempt to gain entry to the priory in a lawful manner, and rode to the lord constable’s keep.  The gate guards were short with us, stating that Eltross would not want to see us after our ‘behavior’ the previous night.  Girion and Baruk soon lost patience, and started answering the guards in kind.  Thank the Keeper I was able to calm my friends, and persuade the guards to at least announce us to their lord.  Within a few minutes Eltross himself marched out to meet us, surrounded by seven men-at-arms.  He was as furious as Lorem had been, accusing us of violating his hospitality.  I told him of our findings, and of our intention to explore the priory.  Again my words fell on deaf ears.  He accused us of rumor-mongering in times of war, and refused our request.  “If you truly wish to help, you should ride out with our troops, to fight the Kundrian scum!” he announced imperiously.  After crossing Andaras to fight orcs, father, I cannot help but feel there was some truth to that statement.  But the evil in this town was palpable, if insidious.  It needed to be rooted out.  
	Thus, despite my misgivings, we were soon standing in a small, cluttered store in the seamiest part of town.  Our host was a white-bearded, wrinkled dwarf, who for all his finery had all the finesse of a weasel, if you can forgive the alliteration.  His keen eyes appraised us, or rather, our belongings – his craftsman’s eyes were even drawn to Aerbrand’s plain hilts, though it remained in its old scabbard.  We first traded with him for some of the items we obtained from Tobias’s keep (and I’m certain he cheated us, despite my ignorance in matters of coin).  We then turned to our quest – and were surprised when he told us he knew of our plans!  This dwarf is more dangerous than he seems.  
	He offered to help us enter the priory, in exchange for a black gem, the size of a man’s fist, which he knew was hidden at the priory.  Some “associates” of his wanted this item, or so he claimed.  Murias warned us not to touch it with our bare hands.  However, he refused to answer any questions on the nature of this item, or who his sponsors were – save to tell us that his patrons were powerful and not to be crossed.  And worst of all, he would only agree to help us if we gave him our word that we would give the gemstone to him, regardless of its nature.  It felt as if we were making a promise to Etigon himself, Tilsman preserve us.  But the deal was struck, and we were instructed to go to the priory four hours after sunset.  
	As we turned to leave, Baruk asked Murias one last question: “You say you are from the Old Kingdoms, Master Murias.  By chance do you know the meaning of this brand upon my cheek?”  The dwarven sorcerer rarely spoke of his past, and with good reason.  All he remembered was waking up amongst his kinsmen after a battle with monstrous goblins.  He knew nothing of his home, his kin, or the source of his remarkable powers.  I did not like the gleam in the smuggler’s eyes as he answered the obvious: He would tell Baruk of the strange sigil when we brought the black gem back.  I could not help but feel my friend would be disappointed.  
	At the appointed time, Girion, Baruk, Lando, Solemund, and I approached the priory in the light of a half-moon.  Even from this abandoned area of town, we could still see the line of torches as the armies of Tabat continued their march towards the fork of the Antarius, and destiny.  I briefly thought of the quartermaster’s delight when we gave him the armor, weapons, and other military supplies we liberated from the traitor’s keep.  I was shaken from my reverie by an improbable sight:  over a dozen guardsmen were strewn around the courtyard which surrounded the priory.  They had identical darts sticking from their necks, but to our relief they were not dead, only drugged.  The ranger from fallen Roedran was amazed.  “My friends, skilled in stealth as I am, I know of no one who could accomplish such a task without raising any sort of alarm.”  This was no doubt the work of Murias’s patrons, as if we needed further concerns.  
	But other matters were quickly forgotten when we saw our goal.  The priory was a large stone and mortar structure, at least thirty feet high.  It was roughly pyramidal in shape, if flat-topped.  A large stairway led to a set of great wooden doors.  We climbed swiftly, and on reaching the doors saw that they had scorch marks and other signs of forceful entry.  And then the ranger’s keen ears heard footsteps beyond the doors.  Solemund and Lando leapt up, applying their combined strength to gain our entry.  But they felt resistance, as if someone was opposing their efforts from within.  Girion and I added our shoulders to the fray, and the doors flew open.  We saw a dimly-lit hallway, which two cowled figures were crossing in an attempt to escape through two separate doors.  
	The ranger sprang forth like a panther.  He drew his sword as he reached his prey, but the cowled one was far from helpless.  He touched Girion’s shoulder and to our horror, wounds opened on the skin of the ranger’s arm.  As Girion struck back dauntlessly with his blade, I ran after the other black-garbed man, Solemund and Lando close on my heels.  We burst into a large storeroom, which was remarkable only in that several walking corpses served as porters!  
	“By the power of the Strong God, BEGONE, vile things!”  And Barlam’s power was indeed with Solemund, as three of the zombies were consumed by cleansing white flames.  By that light I saw that there were not one, but three of the cowled villains in the room.  We attacked, and a fierce melee ensued.  Our foes wielded spiked maces, and invoked some kind of hellish power as they struck at us.  Solemund called Barlam’s name as he swung his iron-bound club with passion.  Lando fought silently at my other side, his greatsword cutting through robes and into flesh.  
More zombies joined the fight, and we were sorely pressed.  As the last of the cowled villains fell to our weapons, I was once again compelled to call on the gods for aid.  “By all that is holy, BEGONE, foul creatures!”  I do not know if my faith has grown, father, or if these creatures are simply weaker than those we met in the Calemd forest.  But they recoiled in terror from me, and shuffled away as fast as they could.  It was not long before all of them were destroyed by steel, wood, and Baruk’s eldritch beams.  
	We searched the cowled corpses, and found naught but maces, hauberks, robes, and medallions which I can only depict roughly:   



	After making sure no one was grievously wounded, we chose one of the doors leading deeper into the priory.  We saw a long hallway with two doors on the left side.  Girion and I opened one, while Lando and Solemund opened the other.  Each room held one of the cowled villains, but these were quickly dispatched.  The hallway seemed to end in a blank wall.  But the eyes of the faerie are not to be underestimated.  Lando somehow saw a cunningly hidden doorway in that wall!  He also announced he heard strange chanting behind the door.  He hastily opened it and rushed out, before we could stop him.  We followed as he turned right into a narrow hallway.  It opened into a chamber the likes of which I hope to never see again.  
	It can best be described as a fane.  It was dark, and dominated by a ten-foot tall statue of black stone.  We could only see it from the back, and it appeared to be a powerfully-built humanoid with six arms.  The only lighting came from two torches clenched by the uppermost of arms.  The middle arms were spread out as if in supplication, while the lowest set held twin censers, which spewed out noxious fumes that permeated the room.  My senses were assaulted by raw, unabated evil.  
	Its occupants were no less striking.  Close to half-a-dozen zombies wandered brainlessly around the statue.  The chanting came from three more of the cowled acolytes, for it was now obvious that is what they were.  And leading their unholy rite was a woman.  She was tall, slim,  and pale, with a wild mane of lustrous black hair.  Her unearthly beauty was only marred by the malice in her features as she saw us, and commanded her minions to attack.  Solemund’s warning was no surprise: “She’s been kissed by the dark powers, the stench of death is upon her!”  
	Crowded into the entranceway as we were, it was difficult to react as our foes set upon us.  One of the acolytes spoke eldritch words, and to our amazement, Lando screamed and ran in terror from the battle!  Solemund called on Barlam to destroy the walking dead, but he was unsuccessful, as it seemed the miasma in the fane protected them from his powers.  I called on Tilsman’s blessing as I drew sword and tried to force my way into the fane.  As Girion gracefully loosed arrows into the fray from his long bow,  Baruk spoke words of power, and from his outspread hands a sheet of flame appeared, singeing several foes!  But the stalwart dwarf was then affected by another of the acolytes’ spells, and fled in terror after Lando.  
	Solemund then spoke sacred words as he brought his club down on the floor, and a shockwave traveled through the tiles to knock one of the zombies off its feet.  I rushed through that opening, striking at the two acolytes who came to bar my way.  In such close quarters, it was my shield and harness that protected me from their spiked maces, though some of the impact got through.  The evil priestess spoke hellish words, and my eyesight started to fade.  But the Judge of Judges must have been watching for me, as her spell vanished without effect.  I saw a fierce wolf materialize next to the evil beauty, summoned by Solemund, but she eliminated it with her magic in a matter of seconds.  
	Not for the first time that fateful night I thought I would be overwhelmed, alone against so many foes.  But my friends have yet to fail me.  One of the acolytes, in trying to avoid my sword, walked into Girion's line of fire, and fell with an arrow in his throat.  As I pressed my attack, the barlamite used another sacred shockwave to slay a zombie, and charged into battle.  Once again we stood side by side, sword and club bringing death to evil foes.  But this time our victory was far from assured.  For the priestess again spoke words of power, and from the darkest pits of hell a terrible monster appeared.  
	At first glance it appeared to be a massive ape, like those we once saw in the great baronial fair so many years ago…  But its hide was crimson, and its stench was of sulfur and brimstone.  It roared as it flailed at Solemund with its mighty claws.  Yet not all was lost, for Lando charged back into the fray at this time.  Shortly after this we saw Baruk’s fiery missiles join Girion’s arrows in punishing the zombies.  Again the priestess called to the dark powers, and I felt my muscles start to freeze in place, but by the grace of Tilsman this did not last, and I continued to fight for my life.  I raised Aerbrand high, and by Morcandor’s might split an acolyte’s skull to the teeth.  I turned on the fiendish ape, invoking the Keeper’s name, but before I could strike he shouldered me into a wall with such force that my sword slipped from my grasp.  But that was the least of my concerns at the moment.  
	For it was then that the priestess glided into the melee, straight at Solemund.  Her delicate hand grasped the mighty barlamite by the throat, and as she spoke eldritch words, he died. No, that is not correct.  Father, I cannot describe to you how vile an act that was.  At her touch, the burly priest went stiff, and his eyes turned completely white.  In front of our disbelieving eyes, his skin became sallow and greenish, as life was drawn from his body.  What fell to the floor was not a corpse, but a desiccated husk.  
	I heard inarticulate cries from my friends, and saw Baruk’s  magical missiles slam into the villainess.  As the ape, acolyte, and remaining zombies battered me, I crouched to recover Aerbrand, and plunged its white blade into the fiendish simian’s guts.  Before I could finish it, though, the priestess leapt to my side, her lovely face twisted with hatred.  “I curse you for as long as you live to be weak as a child!”  With these words, she caressed my face, almost sensually.  But her words came true, as strength drained from me, and my armor seemed as heavy as the first time I put it on in your training yard.  As I fell to one knee, Lando screamed in rage.  Ignoring the zombies, he leapt at the ape, swinging his greatsword in a powerful arc.  The ape’s head rolled to the floor, and it vanished in a flash of hellfire.  
	Baruk again hit the priestess with his fiery missiles, and though hurt, she seemed to be intent on finishing me.  But weak as I was, I could still wield Aerbrand.  I attacked as I rose, and felt my blade bite deeply into her flank.  She screamed, backed away from me, and cast another spell—and the room was plunged into darkness.  The next few moments were confusing, as Lando and I moved awkwardly through the magical darkness to bring the fight to the remaining acolyte and zombies.  Suddenly we heard a male voice shout “Simarul take me!”  , and the eldritch darkness vanished.  We saw that the last acolyte had taken his own life.  
	As we turned to look for the priestess, we heard Girion cursing from another entrance to the fane (the main one, as it turns out).  The ranger had managed to follow the priestess through the magical darkness, but as he ran after her, he fell into a hidden pit, and she was able to escape.  We reached him as he was climbing out of the pit, annoyed at his ill luck. There was naught left to do but search the fane, for Lando had killed the last zombie and was looting the corpses.    
	We could now see the front of the idol, and were surprised to find it had the head of a crow!  I have heard of no such demon, but doubtless its name is Simarul.  In front of the statue was a plain altar.  On this altar was a crystal urn.  Within it, in a fist-shaped steel clasp, was a large black opal.  The opaque stone throbbed eerily, like a beating heart would.  As I turned to ask Baruk what kind of stone this could be, I heard him sobbing quietly.  Then the events of the battle returned to me with stunning force: Solemund was dead.  
	I approached his remains, and tears welled in my own eyes.  The evil woman had managed to take away what dignity there was in death.  His corpse was dry and desecrated, and barely resembled the man we knew.  Baruk doffed his cloak to cover our friends face.  With some difficulty (due to my weakened state) I knelt at his side and prayed to Barlam, the Strong God, to intercede with Terferos for this brave man’s soul.  As I did, the golden buckle on Solemund’s belt shone with a clean, inner light.  I was compelled to take it, but felt it would be disrespectful.  
	“He would want you to take it, I think.”  Girion smiled, even in his grief, as he spoke.  The rest of my comrades agreed.  As I buckled on the broad leather belt, I felt slightly stronger – an unexpected gift from a departed friend… 

I will continue this tale another time, for as I write this, father, my grief returns.  If a man of such strong faith can be so easily overcome by evil, what hope is there for the rest of us?  Yet I can imagine your answer to that question, and it seems to me the barlamite would agree.  “The best a man can do, son, is to face life’s hardships on his feet.”  Solemund was a good man, courageous and true.  He shall be greatly missed, but not forgotten.  And if Tilsman is willing, he will have justice.


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## Helfdan (May 27, 2003)

*Part 4*

Part 4:  Escape into Darkness


	Now that I have fully recovered, at least physically, I can continue writing of the horrors we found, and the losses we suffered, in the abandoned priory at the edge of Tabat.  These letters must seem to you as stories to frighten children (if you receive them at all), but you must know every written word is true, as your son could not do otherwise.  As always, I pray you remain well, and that our family prospers.  
	As you may recall we had a fearsome fight in a shrine to a crow-headed, six-armed demon named Simarul.  Though we were victorious, the mighty Solemund, priest of Barlam, had been mercilessly, and horribly, slain by a beauteous yet evil priestess. Her mere touch drained him of life such that naught but a desiccated husk remained.  Before we finally routed her, she had also cursed me to be weak as a child for the rest of my days -- and indeed, my armor felt as heavy as the first one I donned on my twelfth birthday, so long ago…  
	But there was little time for mourning, or regrets.  Once we determined the priestess had escaped, we collected the pulsating black opal from the altar (we left it in its glass case, as none of us were willing to risk touching such a stone) and decided to bring Solemund’s remains closer to the main doors, so that we could collect him on our way out of this vile place once we finished exploring it.   Landotharan shouldered our friend’s remains without complaint, as I was too weak to assist him, and we needed the ranger and the dwarven sorcerer to be unencumbered in case of further ambuscades.  
	On reaching the entrance, we were surprised to find Segnarus Mank had decided to join us!  But the small and wiry thief-catcher brought ill tidings:  The town guard had discovered the disabled sentinels around the priory, and had surrounded the building.  It was unlikely we could escape if we used the front door.  Reasoning the cultists must have had another means of egress, we decided to explore the place further.  Lando reminded us he had found another secret door prior to the melee, and we decided to explore it first.  
	Like the other one we had used, it was naught but a thinner section of wall cunningly balanced to rotate around a central axis.  As I opened it, a charnel house stench assailed me, and it was all I could do not to vomit.  It was a richly decorated, womanly bedroom, belonging no doubt to Solemund’s murderess.  And it was horrifying (though not the worst of what we were to see that night).  It was full of bloated flies, and the stench was almost unbearable.  The cause was immediately evident, as on a small table there was a gilded platter heaped with rotting carrion!  I tried to warn Baruk against entering, but he bravely joined me, only to be reduced to heaving violently as the nauseating stench assailed him.  
	We quickly searched the room.  Next to the hideous platter there was a letter, written in a very ancient language.  All I could tell was that it was signed by someone named “Naranath”.  The dwarf somehow managed to detect a magical aura within a large wooden chest, which we proceeded to drag out of the room.  Segnarus used a curious set of flat tools to open the lock, but when he opened the lid, a dart flew out and narrowly missed him!  He truly has incredible reflexes.  
	Inside the chest were a vial of bilious purple fluid, an arcane scroll, which Baruk declared could be used to blind or deafen an opponent, and a coin carved with a sparrow’s head.   We then continued our exploration.  Two other rooms were quite plain (and empty) – I assume they were sleeping quarters for the cowled acolytes.  The final room on this floor was a large, fancy bedroom, with naught of value except some expensive-looking tapestries.  The half-elven sworder admired them (who knew he appreciated weaving?)  but finally decided against taking one, for they were heavy, and he was already bearing Solemund.  
	I was beginning to tire quickly due to the weight of my armor.  Fortunately Baruk suggested that we search the main storeroom, and I took this opportunity to rest as I kept watch.  Most of what we found was food, though there were other supplies such as tar and rope.  On checking the different crates for the taint of evil, I was surprised to find that only the corn was tainted!  Could this be the way in which this insidious curse was spread?  
	We finally found, at the end of a long hallway on the north side of the complex, a set of stairs going down into the darkness.  Baruk led the way, his eyes as effective here as they were in the dim tunnels of his mountain home.  It ended in a smaller storeroom, which held a few barrels of wine, water, and other supplies.  There was a door right next to the stairs, and a dark hallway in the opposite wall.  
	We explored the hallway first, which was quite narrow and about thirty feet long.  It led to a set of iron bars at its eastern end.  There was a door in the middle of its southern wall, and a trail of day-old blood seemed to lead from that door to the bars, though Girion could find few footprints.  Beyond the bars was a large room, which as far as Baruk could tell held several coffins.  But neither dwarf nor thief-catcher could find a mechanism to open these bars.  We thus turned our attention to the door in the southern wall.  The ranger from Roedran reported he heard guttural sounds beyond it, but I could not sense the presence of evil.  Drawing Aerbrand, I opened the door.  
	Again I was assailed by the cloying stench of rotting flesh.  This Simarul must be kin to Nuthon itself!  I saw this small room held several heaps of putrid body parts, all half-eaten and fly-ridden.  At the end of the room was a pedestal, on which a body was splayed.  We looked at each other, no one wishing to brave this stench once more.  Girion’s senses had yet to fail us.  But “there can be no honor without valor,” right, father?  I set out towards the pedestal, fighting nausea once again.  
	It was a short walk, for no sooner had I entered that the charnel mound closest to the door exploded, and several slime-covered tentacles reached out to grapple me.  At their touch, I could feel poison seeping into my skin, making it difficult to move.  As I struggled to free myself, their owner crawled out.  It was a creature out of nightmare, with a greenish, segmented body almost ten feet long, borne on countless, tiny legs.  Eight slender tentacles protruded over large mandibles.  By our torchlight its hide seemed translucent, and its viscera pulsated within.  
	By Tilsman’s mercy I could still move, and as I fought to bring Aerbrand to bear, Girion leapt to my side.  The monster scuttled away from his sword, but I heard Baruk’s harsh laugh as he used his short bow to plant an arrow deep in its flank.  Lando shouted for us to make room, but the creature assailed us with its poisonous tentacles.  The brave dwarf tried to shoot again, but was paralyzed while reaching into his quiver.  Girion and I attacked savagely until the beast lay in pieces, and its clear, viscous blood stained our swords to the hilts.  
	After ensuring Baruk was alive, we turned our attention to the room.  The body on the pedestal had been sliced open, as if to harvest its viscera.  The look of agony on its face suggested he had been alive at the start of the process.  I hope he is now safe in Terferos’s keeping.  The remains seemed to have belonged to local townspeople (by the mode of dress and the frequent brands on the half-eaten faces).  Disgusted, we returned to the small storeroom, bearing both Solemund’s corpse and Baruk’s unmoving form.  
	Though my body ached for rest, we still needed to find a way out.  We examined the last unopened door, next to the stairs we had used to come down to this place.  Segnarus heard bestial breathing from within.  As I approached, I knew there was great evil beyond.  Steeling myself, I reached for the door, but was stopped by Landotharan.  “Please, allow me,” the half elf smiled grimly.  Gratefully, I took a position to his right, while Girion drew sword and stepped to his left.  Segnarus climbed halfway up the stairs and readied his crossbow.  Lando pushed the door open.  
	Again, we were confronted with monsters best left to the imagination.  There were two enormous mastiff-like hounds, each with two identical heads!  Their fur was matted and filthy, and their yellow fangs were sharp as daggers.  Foul-smelling saliva dripped from their jaws.  The first one charged through the door and bit me, driving its teeth into my sword-arm through the links of my mail.  It tried to bear me to the ground, but somehow I resisted despite my weakened state.  Girion and Lando assailed it with their swords, and it turned on the ranger, biting deeply into his forearm and knocking him off his feet.  I attacked from its right flank once more, and the ranger used this respite to gain his feet, stabbing deep into the beast’s heart as he did.  But as it collapsed, the other two-headed monster leapt into the room.  It was met by Landotharan’s sword, which wounded it deeply between its necks.  As its slavering jaws strained for the half-elf, Girion and I attacked from the sides, and put paid to the beast.  
	We quickly checked our wounds.  Though mine were painful, they were otherwise clean and quickly bandaged.  But Girion’s arm was starting to fester.  Never had I seen a dog’s bite become infected so quickly.  I prayed to Tilsman and Barlam, for the health of a strong and just man.  And to our wonder, his flesh regained a healthy hue, and the wound bled cleanly.  As I finished bandaging him, Baruk finally recovered from the crawler’s poison, and we proceeded to explore the brutes’ kennel.  There was a large, open cage, obviously home to the now-dead beasts.  There were two large wooden chests.  One of them was open, and held a bag of gems and a well-knit cloak, which Baruk pronounced as magical.  The other one was closed, but Segnarus quickly opened it.  It was filled with many coins, and a finely braided rope, which the dwarf also perceived as enchanted.  Lastly, there was a lever on the wall, which the thief-catcher thought could open the iron bars at the end of the hall.  
We quickly stowed the coins, gems, and other items in our packs, and returned to the storeroom.  Landotharan once again shouldered Solemund’s remains as Segnarus pulled the lever and joined us.  Readying ourselves for the worst, we headed for the iron bars.  They were indeed open.  Our torchlight revealed a dozen wooden coffins around the walls –some of them open, some of them tied shut with ropes.  There were three corpses, spread-eagled and nailed onto crossed wooden beams against the north wall of the room, one of them a child.  A third cross was next to these on the floor, also holding a mutilated corpse.  Parts of their skulls were missing, and their innards hung out from horrible gashes on their bellies.  Next to the supine corpse was a table holding several bloody instruments such as those used by a surgeon – or a butcher.  
Overcome by horror (and perhaps fatigue), I went down on one knee and prayed.  “Holy Tilsman,” I cried.  “Please allow me to bring those responsible for such vileness to swift justice.”  And to this day, father, I do not know if what transpired next was in answer to my prayers, or a mockery of them.  For four of the coffins flew open, and vile, undead figures emerged, similar to the ones we had faced in the Calemd forest.  I saw Lando charge one bravely with his sword raised high, though he knew it had not been effective before.  Baruk readied a vial of holy water as another of the beasts assailed him.  And then the other two descended on me, their razor-sharp claws seeking my life.  
Though Aerbrand could harm them, I knew I lacked the strength to cut into their tough flesh.  Three of these monstrosities had almost killed us in the forest, and only Solemund’s faith had saved us.  Now we faced four of them, and our mightiest comrade was no longer.  Strength would not avail us.  Our only hope was faith.  My faith.  As bony claws hammered at my shield and tore at my coif, I reached for the simple wooden carving of the sword and scales of Tilsman that you gave me at my coming-of-age ceremony.  It has been the focus of my prayers since my exile, and I could part with it no sooner than I could with Aerbrand.  I raised it and ordered the creatures to flee – but there was no effect on their onslaught.   
Girion leapt to my side, holding an ornate dagger he picked up from the table, and attacked one of my foes.  I heard the dwarf and half-elf fighting for their lives, as I tried to fend my foes off.  We only had one hope.  I again invoked Tilsman’s might, and again was ignored by the vile monstrosities.  Segnarus doused my two foes with a skin of oil, as Girion continued to attack with his dagger.  And then I heard Landotharan cry out in pain, as his foe sank claws into his throat.  
Pain.  Death.  Dishonor.  I had no strength left to fight.  I felt weak and tired as never before.  Yielding to a superior foe on a tourney field is difficult, father, as you well know our Falconian pride.  Yielding to death’s embrace while fighting these horrors was – to my shame- easy.  Too easy.  For I had sworn an oath to bring those responsible for these atrocities to Tilsman’s justice.  I could not die here.  Flesh is weak.  But a knight’s strength comes from his heart.  
“BY ALL THAT IS HOLY: BEGONE, VILE THINGS!”  And as my words echoed throughout this chamber of death, the creatures cowered, and fled back to their coffins.  Segnarus cheered, and applied a burning torch to one of our oil-soaked foes, as it leapt screaming into its casket.  I turned to see that Baruk was still standing, if sorely wounded.  But the half-elf lay unmoving, the gashes on his neck bleeding profusely.  
As I fell on one knee, overwhelmed by both fatigue and awe at Tilsman’s mercy, Girion ran to Lando’s side.  After bandaging his neck, he painstakingly poured a healing draught into the sworder’s gullet.  Landotharan soon awoke, and was able to carry Solemund once more.  
Segnarus had been examining the room, and he found that there were several chutes leading upward behind the coffins.  He could make out the night sky at the other side.  As somehow I knew the undead monstrosities would soon overcome their fear and attack once more, we promptly started the painstaking climb up the dark tunnels.  The thief-catcher lagged behind briefly to set fire to the tar barrels in the main storeroom, and quickly ran back to assist in our escape.  
We emerged approximately fifty yards away from the priory, and for once Nelos was on our side, for it was still dark.  Smoke was pouring from the main doors, and the constables were more concerned with preventing the blaze from spreading than hunting down the culprits.  Next to our escape tunnel was a wheeled cart holding two more coffins, its two draft horses sleeping peacefully in their harness.  It seems these chutes were the acolytes’ means of smuggling corpses into their cursed lair.  We promptly unloaded the cart and climbed into it, bringing Solemund with us.  Segnarus took the reins, woke the horses, and drove them into the darkest alleyways of Tabat.  
It was dawn by the time we returned to the temple of Tilsman.  The acolyte on guard duty was distraught at our appearance (and I suspect, at our stench) and quickly led us to Sen Beldazar.  The priests ministered to our wounds, and while they prayed over us we fell into exhausted slumber, one by one.  
It was late afternoon by the time I awoke.  My wounds were healed, and my strength was back, praise the Judge of Judges.  I felt whole again until I recalled the events of the previous night, with its unearthly horrors, the beautiful priestess, and – worst of all- Solemund’s death.  I was surprised to find I was still clenching the wooden holy symbol in my hand.  
After my prayers, I joined Girion and the Sen for breakfast (for us—supper for him) while the rest of our friends still slept.  We then adjourned to his office to discuss the previous night’s events.  We told him of the horrors of the priory, and the statue of Simarul.  He stated he never heard that name before, but several powerful demons he knew of could match this description.  He grieved when we told him of Solemund’s death, and promised to inform the priests of Barlam.  
Next we showed him the letter we found in the priestess’s room, which he was able to translate quickly.  Here is a rendering as best I could copy it:

Dear Mistress:
It is with great pleasure that I inform you that the armies of Medore have begun their movement towards the great river.  These soldiers will soon be joined by more than half of Tabat’s garrisoned forces.  Although this is less than you and the others expected, it is all that I could safely commit without raising too many questions from the other council members.  
I have also received word from master Malathorn that our efforts are proceeding according to the Great One’s design.  He warns us to be discreet about our possession of the Heart of Tolem and to be prudent with its use.  The item’s disappearance has caused the undue attention of those who seek it to befall upon us.  A confrontation with them at this point would be unwise.  
I trust your dealings with Lord Saragorn in Cir are taking place without incident.  Do not hesitate to seek my aid if you so need it as I am always at your disposal.  I remain your loyal servant in the cause of our great master…  

Naranath

	Obviously this letter gave us much to speak of with the Sen.  First we showed him the black gem, which we now knew was the Heart of Tolem.  Beldazar was appalled at the palpable evil it exuded, and though he knows not its powers, he fears the temple’s wardings against evil will not work while the gem remains there.  He did know that this item was somehow tied to a long-dead, reputedly powerful necromancer named Tirias Tolem.  Warning us that many people would want this item for evil purposes, he encouraged us to return it to Murias as soon as possible, so that we could be rid of it.  
	We then told him of the evil taint on the corn… and confirmed our worst suspicions when he told us that this “Sarargorn” is a powerful merchant from Cir, who deals in foodstuffs, mainly corn!  Somehow, these demon-worshippers seem to be using the grain to spread their taint.  This led us to puzzle about the identity of this “Naranath.”  It seems he must be someone highly placed in Tabat’s ruling council – maybe Eltross himself?  
	At that point Sen Beldazar remembered to give us some interesting news: After we left for the priory, seneschal Lorem came to visit him.  The Sen had confirmed our story, and Lorem admitted he had noticed his master was acting strangely ever since his initial raid on the priory.  He also said he would stay in the Inn in the Hole for a day, in case we wished to speak with him, and would then leave Tabat.  
	Thus we are no closer to a solution for our curse.  We know a demon named Simarul, and its worshippers, are involved.  We know the taint is spread through the corn.  But to what purpose?  Who is this “Malathorn?”  And most puzzling, why are these conspirators so interested in the assault on the Kundrian forces at the fork of the Antarius?  As I cannot have your advice, I will be content in knowing I have your blessing.  Be well, father.  I hope we can meet again soon.


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## njorgard (May 28, 2003)

*Kalten Hawkshand*

For the few of you who are following our humble story hour, I am taking the liberty of posting some background info for each one of the main characters involved in "The Age of Blood".  We begin with Helfdan's character..... the paladin known as Kalten Hawkshand.

This essay was written by Helfdan himself (I could never write anything this good).  I hope he will forgive me for not asking him for permission before posting this.  It just seemed like a good idea...enjoy.  

-Njorgard
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Kalten Hawkshand 
(Pronounced Hawk's-Hand, NOT hawk-shand)


Kalten was born in the Archbarony of the Falcon, the son of a landed knight of modest means.  Although his upbringing was not particularly pious, he soon discovered his faith ran deeper than he ever knew.  For although Kalten was not war-like, fighting was a way of life for his people, as they were constantly under attack from the evil Black Nomads who rode like the desert winds from their stronghold in the Caliphates of Afalzim.    

Thus by the time he grew a beard, he was already skilled in the use of sword and spear, the only argument that Na' Aman's* dervishes understood -- or so was thought throughout the Archbarony.  It was on his first trip to the Baronial court that Kalten's life changed forever.  On his eighteenth birthday, his father sent him with a small retinue of men at arms to swear fealty to the Archbaron.  On their way, they encountered a band of desert raiders attacking a village, and desecrating the shrine of Tilsman, the Great Arbitrator.  The enraged knights attacked, and after a short but bloody struggle they killed or captured all of the raiders.  

Among the prisoners was their leader, a young Sheik named Hassan ibn Suleiman.  As his men prepared the ropes for execution, Kalten spoke to Hassan, and to his surprise learned that not all of the Jahad’M warriors were followers of Etigon, Father of Devils.  These were men such as himself, not the monsters he had imagined.  And as he was placing the rope around the sheik's neck, he became a Paladin -- for he realized that more courage was required for mercy than for vengeance; and that strength lay not in revenge, but in justice.  He thus released the nomads in exchange for a sacred oath of non-agression against the barony.    

Needless to say, his men were flabbergasted.  News of his actions, both in battle and afterwards, preceded his arrival to the baronial court, where notoriety was always negative.  Even his fathers' prompt arrival was not enough to protect him, as the old country knight had little understanding of the complexities of courtly politics.  

In the end: The Archbaron accepted his oath of fealty, for his selfless actions in defending the people.  But he condemned young Kalten to Exile, for sparing the lives of the enemies of the people.  Kalten did not understand this decision, and was bitter at first, not knowing what he would do.  He spent his last night in the Archbarony in vigil at the baronial chapel.  

With the dawn, however, he knew his course.  Even now he does not know whether he had a vision, or if the suggestion just appeared in his mind:  He would ride to Kundria and wage war against the orcs.  That was palpable evil.  He would purify his spirit in the fires of war, if he were worthy -- or die trying.

Thus he set out with nothing but his steed, sword, spear, and hauberk, and entrusted his fate to Tilsman and Morcandor.


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## njorgard (May 28, 2003)

*Girion Aleis*

Here is the background for another one of the main characters in the "Age of Blood".  He is the hunter/woodsman known as Girion Aleis.

(This background was written by Eloy himself - the one who initiated this thread.  Credit where credit is due.)

-Njorgard
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Girion Aleis

Girion was born at the Barony of Roedran, on the Hintanese Borderlands near Kundria. His father was Huntmaster for the Baron, keeper of the nobleman's hunting preserve. Girion learned the ways of the forest from his father. He was schooled in the use of the longbow, and learned to track game and survive in the woods. Living in the Borderlands meant being subjected to frequent Kundrian orcish raids, so Girion was also trained in the art of war. He learned to wield longsword, dagger or bow against the vile goblin-folk, and studied their foul language and savage ways. 

Soon, Girion became an expert tracker and warrior, and was assigned to the Roedran Border Guards as a scout. Unfortunately, Roedran was among the territories invaded by the Kundrians. The land was razed, the villages destroyed and Girion's family along with it. He returned from a scouting mission deep in the Kundrian lands to find his home burnt down. There was no sign of his father, sister and brother.  Their fate a gruesome one: either killed and eaten by the humanoid horde or worse, tortured and enslaved by the sadistic savages.
Distraught at the uncertain fate of his loved ones, Girion dedicated himself wholeheartedly to the war effort, seeking to avenge his family and countrymen and desperately searching for any clue as to their whereabouts. Eventually, he gave up hope of  ever seeing them again and came to terms with his loss. His despair receded at last, but his hatred of the orcs remained undiminished.

The remainder of the Border Guards were reassigned to the Hintanese Army, where Girion continued to serve as a scout. His distinguished service in the war got him assigned to Lord Erecos' elite troops in Medore, where he continues to serve with diligence and loyalty.

Alone and homeless, Girion has few concrete plans once the war is over. Perhaps he will wander the lands of the Empire he has served, or visit distant lands mentioned only in legends...


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## njorgard (May 29, 2003)

*The Origin of Baruk - Dwarven Fighter / Sorceror*

As written by Hakiman (who plays Baruk in the Age of Blood)...

-Njorgard

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The Origin of Baruk

It is cold. That is the first thought that hits me. The second? Pain. Pain in my head, and the sticky feel of congealed blood crusting on to my face. I open my eyes, and see that I am in the shade of a tall, cold granite rock shading me from the bright mountain day. I look around me and notice the snow capped mountains surrounding me. I myself am in a Valley, long grass slowly blowing in the cold breeze, though I know that if I stood in the sunlight, the sun would feel warm to my skin. That in itself is not peculiar, since Spring is always that way here in the mountains of, of...? Damn! I cannot seem to remember the name!

Slowly I stand. The pain causes me to wobble for a moment, but soon I am on my swaying feet. I turn around and, just a few feet from me I see the author of my headache. Anger fills me, and for just one moment, I can almost remember him. There was, ...fight? I seem to recall ducking under the Bugbears club, chopping into his chest and suddenly, just as he is falling back, one powerful last heave that would have crushed my scull like an egg had I not swerved, yet all goes black. Apparently I did not swerve fast enough. I hope my companions...? Companions? I do not think I was alone! Maybe they can help me! Quickly, I draw breath to call out their names and ...Names? What are their names, and for that matter, just how many were there?

Panic now swells in my chest! I run out into the sunlight, the bright glaring yet warm sunlight and at first, I see nothing. Gradually, as my eyes get used to the glare, I notice two more of the Bugbears. Damn! How is it I can remember what those brutes are, yet I cannot even remember my, remember my...name? My name? What is my name? What IS my NAME??!!! I CANNOT REMEMBER MY NAME!!!!!!!!!

Suddenly, I realize that I am shouting. Must control myself. The mountains of, of, of wherever I am are full of the enemies of the Dwarven people. Dwarven People. I, I KNOW the Dwarven People, because, because, because I am a Dwarf!!! Elation fills me for a moment, for I have just recovered, REMEMBERED one tiny bit of my past! I AM A DWARF! A Proud member of Clan... Clan... Damn! I almost had it! Well, If I keep screaming like an effete Elf, I will surely end up on some Nastie´s menu tonight, so I had better get a grip of myself. If I end up eaten, then I will truly NEVER find out who I am.

It is then that I see them. Two Dwarves. Two dead Dwarves. I go to the first one. He is a middle aged Dwarf with a strangely familiar brand on the cheekbone. Somehow, I know I have one just like it as well. He has been stabbed by a crude stone and stick spear. He did not live long, but he did live longer than the headless Bugbear lying next to him. Headless possibly due to the powerful and heavy looking Dwarven Greataxe lying next to my former comrad. Then, I look past him, and see another. He lies atop the last Bugbear, a broken sword in his hand, yet with just enough blade to slit the monster´s throat. Bugbears should have known better than to approach a mortally wounded Dwarf, especially one touched by the gods with the Rage! I smile briefly, until I see the Old Dwarf´s face. A great, overwhelming sadness fills me, an almost panic like desperation seizes my heart, for this Dwarf at one time meant EVERYTHING in the world to me! He was.. He was.. DAMN THE BUGBEARS! They did not even leave me the memory of my... of my..DAMN THEM ALL TO THE SEVEN PITTS OF HELL!!!!

I do not know for how long I shouted, for shout I did! I gave vent to my anger, my rage and my sorrow! I do know that once again, the cold brought me to my senses. The cold and the howl of foul wolves. I may not remember my comrades, but I will not allow them to be the meal for some tick infested mangy wolf! Diligently, I gather what brush I can and build them a Fire. A funeral Fire, so that their bodies may not be desecrated by foul beasts. Far better if I were able to build them a rock cairn, but my foolish yelling has now made this impossible. As for their fine, magnificent weapons? Would that I could bury them with their proud owners in the Cairn, but alas, that is not possible. With a brief prayer to whatever gods I pray to, I ask for forgiveness as I cast their weapons into a deep crack in the earth I noticed in the fading sunlight. Somehow, just by the smell of the air in the crack, I can tell it is deep. Reverently, I drop them, one by one, into the crack: the Falchion, the Great Dwarven axe, some daggers and even a powerful mace. I only keep my two axes, and the pack that was strapped to my back when I awoke. Everything else, everything I did not KNOW if it was mine or not, I returned to the depths of the earth. Returned To The Depths of The Earth. Somehow, that sounds right. I seem to know that I come from The Deep. And whether what I am doing is accepted doctrine among my people or not, I do not know, yet somehow I am certain that it is as close as I could manage, even with my memories intact.

A growling sound makes me turn, just in time to see a fierce wolf leap at me, for the jugular! Quickly, without thinking I stretch out my hand and to my amazement...darts of FIRE shoot out of my fingers incinerating the foul beast! Two more atack me, and again, fire comes to my aid! The rest of the pack flees! They flee like the mangy currs they are, and elation once again fills me! I know that my companions and I are not typical among my people, and that the Brand on our faces marks us as different. Respected by some, feared by most. I will have to be carefull!

Slowly, thoughtfully I return to the pyre. Just as I am about to light it, I notice the Ring on the Old Dwarf´s hand. Tearfully, desperate for SOME memento of the unremembered Dwarf who obviously at one time meant so much to me, I take his ring and put it in my pocket. Then, I light the brush and for hours watch the flames consume my former companions. Behind me, the rending sound of flesh being torn from the bones is ignored for I know the wolf pack has returned, and they too, are disposing of their fallen comrades as is their custum. Some must die, so the others may live. I killed three of their number, those three will now feed the rest which will now leave me alone.

Morning touches the horizon, and just as the final flames die out from the pyre, the first rays of sunlight illuminate the heavens. A final prayer to the now smoldering ashes, I turn and head...head.... I head south, down from the mountain. I do not know who I am, nor where I must go so one direction is as good as any. My friends bodies are now safe, as are their weapons. That I know for sure. I also know that I will need all my strength and wisdom to survive, and maybe, just maybe, if the gods have any mercy upon this wretched Dwarf I might, perhaps, find out who I am, where am I from and what I must do. I look up at the bright, beautiful dawn and begin my journey.

The Begining...


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## njorgard (May 30, 2003)

*Segnarus Mank*

This is the background of the thief-catcher known as Segnarus Mank as written by Miguel Sosa (who plays Segnarus in the "Age of Blood" campaign.

-Njorgard
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Segnarus Mank

Segnarus was a junior investigator in the Tromos town guard. While in the middle of a murder investigation, he followed the prime suspect south. A dangerous man called Marcus Alstat. He finally found Alstat who had joined the Hintai army in the deep south, fighting against Kundria. There, Segnarus confronted Alstat in front of his superior officers. When the evidence was presented, the officers arrested the suspect right then and took him away. Segnarus never found out what happened to Alstat, but he assumes that he was executed for his heinous crime.

The officers of the army strongly suggested (i. e. he was forced) that Segnarus had to enlist, saying that he had cost them a soldier, so it was his duty to his country to replace him. In truth, they saw a great opportunity to get his abilities and experience. Segnarus was used as an advanced scout and military police.

Segnarus is very law abiding. He feels it is always his duty to uphold the law and will do whatever possible to bring a criminal to justice. He is not overly concerned with wrong or right, good or evil; He just wants to do his job. He is patient and is driven by wanting to set things “right”.

Although not particularly religious, he does pray to Gamenot for wisdom and help to be fair in judgment. His strong points are his patience, quickness and almost unmatched skill with the short swords. His undoing may be his single mindedness to the point of carelessness when attempting to right some wrong.

There's nothing that he enjoys more than a man hunt. The thrill and challenge get him in a permanent high, and his moods improve. He dislikes animal hunting though, unless it is against a clever and dangerous beast that is capable of defending itself.  He is idealistic about the Hintai Empire. He feels that it is it's duty to help civilize the rest of the world, especially as far as law and morals.

He has a greater than usual dislike against barbaric humanoids, and this can sometimes show through as a prejudice against half-humanoids such as half-orcs, half-ogres and such. It takes him particular effort to dismiss his initial prejudice against them.  His father and mother are both peasants/farmers in Tromos. He has five brothers, two older and three younger. The firstborn, Gevron,  is a member of the Hintai Army; The second eldest, Kendricks, helps his family in the farm. Kendricks resents Gevron and Segnarus. He feels that they too should be helping the family instead of running into what he calls are silly adventures. Of the younger three brothers, two (Pau and Jon) are still children, and the third (Klin) disappeared a couple of years ago. Segnarus went after Klin but could find no trace of him. The family believes that Klin had gone join the army, following the footsteps of Gevron, but they have no news of him which is worries them. Segnarus learned many lessons during his man hunt for his brother and he is heartbroken that he could not find Klin. He sometimes refers to Klin as the one who got away.

A sixth brother, Yamakur, was killed fighting in the Kundrian wars. He was the second born.

His father, Gevron  Mank,  is proud of Segnarus, and he was very happy that he actually decided to stay in Tromos rather than join the war effort. He still has not heard the news that Segnarus was drafted by the army in the last expedition. He still believes that Segnarus is in a very long man hunt since in the past some hunts have gone on for many months.

His mother, Yessenia, is a little more critical of Segnarus. Like Kendriks, she too resents that Segnarus is not helping with the family farm. She also is very bitter at the loss of Klin, and Segnarus' inability to find him is another brick in the wall that separates them. Kendricks, of course, is Yessenia's favorite. Segnarus was a member of the Tromos town guard, and now is a member of the militia. He looks forward to the day when he will go back to Tromos to see his father and friends.

He sometimes dreams about finding Klin and having the hole family reunited. Whenever he has time he spends some of it looking for clues of his missing brother. He has sworn not to rest until he finds out his brother's final whereabouts.


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## njorgard (May 31, 2003)

*Landotharan Silvermoon*

And now it is time to tell the tale of one fierce half-elf known as Landotharan Silvermoon (played by Josue Silverio)...

-Njorgard
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Landotharan Silvermoon

Landotharan is the second son of  the Elven Eldritch Lothardain the wise and his wife the human ranger Celeste Waylander.  He and his brother Eithnelle were born in the Keltoi Forest, located within the lands  of Tanduur - northeast of the dreaded Kundria.

Since his early days he dreamed about traveling the places where his parents adventured and fought together, but in a different way they did.  As any member of his family (father’s side) he was expected to be trained in the arcane arts.  Despite this, his mother offered to train him in the arts of close and melee combat first.

He was trained as a warrior and soon became skilled in the use of the blade and the bow.  As with any youngster of his tribe, the training did not consist of mere sparring with dummies....no.  His skill was honed and sharpened by pitting himself in brutal combat against all the creatures who constantly invaded his homeland ... most of them from the south of Kundria.

In one of those skirmishes his party was ambushed.  The adults were slaughtered and every member of Landotharan's young contingent was sent to Kundria to be sold off as slaves.

For the last 2 years Landotharan has been a slave.  He has known the depravity of the Kundrian taskmasters and he has felt the merciless sting of their lash ... working as a peasant and forager, each day cursing his fate and waiting for the moment to exact his revenge.  Hidden well beneath this all-consuming rage, however, lies the ever-present thought of his family and the smell of the flowers carried by the cold breeze of the Keltoi forest.

Three months ago Landotharan's fate changed radically. The Kundrian post was invaded by a large assault party lead by Captain Theodus Orcslayer, swordmaster from the city of Medore.  Landotharan and his comrades were finally rescued from slavery.

As expected, Landotharan did not return to his lovely homeland.  Instead, he prepared to unleash all the anger he has accumulated during his years of slavery.  He has vowed to bring the sword to the lowly orcs who enslaved him.

Landotharan sent messages to his father telling him of his whereabouts and promissing that he will return to his home ... in time.  But for now, he will fight with the Hintaneese army as a token of gratitude for his rescuers.


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## njorgard (Jun 2, 2003)

*Solemund the Cleric*

Solemund was a short-lived NPC cleric that joined the ranks of the company from Medore for a couple of sessions.  He was a loyal servant of the deity known as Barlam, the embodiment of physical strength and indomitable will.

For a while, it seemed that Solemund would become a permanent addition to the party.  However, as the dice would have it, (and much to the chagrin of the players) he met an unsavory end at the hands of an evil cultist.

Here's his backround....

- Njorgard

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Solemund hails from the outskirts of Tabat. He is the son of a humble farmer named Eulemund, who died defending his farmstead from orcquish raiders when Solemund was only a child. Since he lacked the strength to work his father's land (Solemund was merely 7 years old at the time), Solemund's upbringing was entrusted to a wandering priest named Ortrond. The Council of Tabat confiscated Eulemund's land and sold off the title to the local Merchant's Guild.

Ortrond was a deacon to the dwarven high priest Thaldorf, who instructed Ortrond to take the boy to the city of Leriond. Once there Menethos, Prelate of Leriond, would begin the boy's indoctrination into the faith of Barlam. Otrond complied with Thaldorf's request and Solemund spent the next 12 years preparing mentaly, physicaly, and spiritualy to undertake the duties of Barlam's faithful.

Solemund's first assignment was to become a baptism by fire. Ortrond, his old mentor, had been taken hostage by a contingent of Kundrian soldiers. These forces were entrenched several miles north of Leriond (within a region of treatcherous swamplands known as Horkas). Solemund and a small band of Hintaneese soldiers ventured into this territory only to discover an empty Kundrian encampment where evidence of a brutal melee between the enemy soldiers and their Hintaneese captives remained. A mortaly wounded Ortrond stagered across the landscape to where Solemund and his men stood. He reached over to Solemund and whispered in his ear "Your task is complete...tell Menethos these orcs will not return." Having said this, Ortrond handed a small cast iron buckle to Solemund, exhaled for the last time and colapsed. Angry and saddened by his mentor's death, Solemund carried Otrond's corpse over his shoulder for many miles back to Leriond. There, it received a hero's burial.

Solemund is a young man who has been tempered by a harsh life and wisened by an old soul. He tries to show compassion and good will whenever he can...as if to compensate for what he lacked during his youth. Both Menethos and Ortrond saw in him the potential to become something greater than they were. Solemund knows as much, and he tries to live up to these expectations.


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## Helfdan (Jun 4, 2003)

*Part 5*

Well, here at last is the next installment in Kalten's journal.  Enjoy!


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Part 5:  The Fight for Tabat


	My father, once again I find some time in which to write you of my travels in the war-torn Hintaneese borderlands.  I hope these missives reach you, so that you know I remain sound, if rarely safe.  I pray to Tilsman, Keeper of the Covenant, that you are well and that our household prospers.  As I previously wrote, we had made a harrowing escape from the accursed priory at the edge of Tabat.  Though we routed the demon-worshippers within, and recovered an evil gemstone known as the Heart of Tolem (the price for Murias’s assistance in entering), we lost our comrade Solemund, priest of Barlam and mightiest of our company.  
	The next afternoon, fully recovered, Girion, Segnarus, Landotharan and myself gathered to discuss our best course of action with Sen Beldazar at the Keeper’s temple.  Baruk had yet to recover from his wounds, and was resting under the watchful eyes of the priests (who did not want him to behave as Lando had, when they cared for him).  The mysterious letter found at the priory gave us some answers, but more questions.  Clearly there is a conspiracy by worshippers of the crow-headed demon, Simarul.  There is a curse of uncertain consequences, which is spread by the consumption of local corn.  A wealthy grain merchant from Cir, one Saragorn, seems to be involved.  And one of the villains, named Naranath, seems to have great influence in Tabat’s ruling council.  Most worrisome of all, the conspirators strongly support the attack on the Kundrian forces at the fork of the Antarius.  
	As we discussed our options, one of the acolytes announced there was a person named Morbazzan asking for us.  The Sen told us he was a mysterious figure, known to practice the arcane arts, reputedly with considerable skill.  There were many rumors about him, but the only fact Beldazar knew for certain was that he was acquainted with our friend Solemund.  He was allowed to join us.  On first impression he was reminiscent of the departed Barlamite – young, shaven-headed, ascetic.  But he was tall and spare rather than muscular, and had several odd tattoos on his scalp.  He appraised us with an intent gaze on his coal-black eyes, but I could not feel the taint of evil within him – and he seemed to be free of the corn’s curse.  
	Morbazzan curtly asked Beldazar to let us speak in private, and the Sen reluctantly agreed to give us a few minutes.  I found his distrust of the Sen quite strange, but was curious as to his motives.  He promptly asked about Solemund, and was deeply saddened to hear news of the priest’s passing.  Apparently they had met at Barlam’s monastery, where he had been raised to be a monk.  However, while translating ancient texts he had developed an interest in the occult, and soon left his church to pursue arcane matters.  He seemed intent in learning about Solemund’s mode of burial, of which we were ignorant, as we had spent most of the day in sleep after our ordeal.  
	At that time Beldazar returned, announcing that the barlamite had been buried among the fallen priests of Tilsman (which is not unusual, as the priests of these gods are usually in good terms).  Girion then spoke a question we all shared – whether there was a risk of our friend rising as an undead creature, given what we had seen in the defiled priory.  Morbazzan insisted that the body should be burned, despite Beldazar’s assurances that he had been consecrated.  In the end, the Sen agreed to take us to see our friend’s grave.  Only Segnarus decided against joining us, for he wished to ask questions around town regarding our suspicions.  
	The cemetery was outside town, amidst an olive garden.  As we crossed it, we noticed several of the tombs stood open.  Girion swiftly cast for sign, and promptly determined that their occupants had dug their way out!  We quickly made our way to Solemund’s grave, as Morbazzan uttered arcane words.  He informed us he could see no magic within our friend’s tomb, but all the open ones radiated necromantic energies, as did a half-dozen closed ones – all of which were freshly dug.  Could it be it was the accursed corn that made dead men arise as monstrosities?  This time, when the wizard suggested the tainted corpses should be burned, Beldazar agreed, and summoned his acolytes as we paid our final respects to Solemund’s memory.  
	Segnarus met us on our return to the temple.  The swarthy thief-catcher had learned that Eltross himself had forced the decision to send Tabat’s forces to join those of Erecos in the attack on the Kundrian forces, despite strong objections from the rest of the council.  This certainly seemed to incriminate him.  Thus we decided to head back to the Inn in the Hole, where seneschal Lorem had agreed to meet us.  Hopefully he could shed some light on his master’s role in this affair.  
	We reached the tavern as the sun set over Tabat.  The patrons within seemed to be the same ones we saw on our last visit, two nights past… was it possible they never left?  A plain-faced wench with an ample bosom led us to a table, and offered to bring us food and wine, which we gratefully accepted (with the stipulation that no corn should be served).  The innkeeper promptly came to us, with a written message from Lorem, asking us to wait in the inn if we wished to speak with him.  
	While we awaited this meeting, Morbazzan examined a platter of corn, and announced it was enchanted with “abjuration and necromantic” magics.  Our perplexed expressions made him smile, as he deduced we knew nothing of such matters.  The wizard could best explain it as a “poison for the soul” – a ghastly curse indeed.  He then surprised us by sharing his wine with a jade-colored toad he kept as a pet of sorts.  
	At that moment Lorem walked into the inn, and joined us.  He announced his intention of leaving the town by dawn, but wished to hear our tale first.  He seemed pensive, but not entirely surprised, on hearing of our findings.  For he had noticed that Eltross (whom he no longer referred to as ‘lord’) had changed since the initial raid on the priory – he was more introverted, very secretive, and strange sounds were often heard from his chambers.  The former seneschal attempted to hide this, to keep order in the household.  But after our conversation in the keep (and after confirmation by Sen Beldazar) he decided he could not be a part of this situation, and resolved to leave the town.  
	We asked if he could help us enter the keep, as we had a strong suspicion this “Naranath” who wrote the letter might be none other than Eltross himself.  Lorem informed us that at the height of the Kundrian wars, Tabat was a frequent target for orcish raiders.  Thus the townsfolk had dug a network of tunnels so that they could hide and move about unseen.  The seneschal knew of one of these underground passages which led directly to the Lord Constable’s dungeons.  He offered to show us the entrance if we would wait until after he left (at dawn the next day) to enter the castle.  Once we agreed, and thanked him for his help, he left the inn with Girion and Segnarus, to lead them to the tunnel’s entrance.  
	Whilst they were gone, Morbazzan, Landotharan, and I discussed another difficult matter – the Heart of Tolem.  The wizard was intrigued by this item, and questioned the wisdom of giving it to criminals such as Murias and his unknown patrons.  Though there was some truth to his words, I felt he also wished to learn more about the artifact.  But I had given my word to the dwarf that we would deliver the vile stone as payment for his aid in entering the priory.  And as you taught me, father, a knight speaks truthfully, or not at all.  After a long discussion we reached a compromise: we would spend the night at the inn, so that Morbazzan could prepare certain incantations that would allow him to learn more about the Heart of Tolem.  But we WOULD give it to Murias once the wizard completed his investigations.  
	Soon our friends returned with the location of the tunnel entrance, and a key that would let us into the dungeons.  After my first good night’s sleep in several days, I arose with the dawn for my prayers and sword practice.  I joined my friends for breakfast, to learn Morbazzan was locked in his rooms examining the Heart of Tolem.  He joined us close to mid-morning, looking rather harrowed.  He would not tell us the details of his work, but he found the black gemstone was certainly powerful, and it seemed to allow some sort of control over undead horrors.  
	Again he warned us of the obvious, that the stone could be quite harmful in the wrong hands.  This ignited another argument as to the best next course of action.  Segnarus pointed out our situation was precarious, as we were being sought for questioning regarding the fire at the priory.  I hate to admit, father, that I was at that time close to losing my temper, for Morbazzan again insisted that we should keep the evil stone, despite our promise to Murias.  But fortunately the matter was put to rest when the smuggler himself walked into the Inn in the Hole.  
	The grizzled old dwarf requested some privacy, which the hostler provided by ordering all other guests to leave the common room post-haste.  He joined us, and announced the purpose of his visit was to “conclude our business”.  Murias did not bother to acknowledge Morbazzan’s glare, as he named our payment for the stone: one thousand gold lions, his aid in leaving Tabat unseen, and our safety (insofar as he could) until the next morning.  The wizard could control himself no longer, and asked Murias if he knew the evil priestess’s name.  The dwarf asked why we wished to know, and Morbazzan answered “revenge”, as I blurted out “justice”.  
	“Justice?”  The smuggler smiled.  “In that case…  Let me ponder on this”.  But any pondering by Murias was cut short as Segnarus tried to get some information from him in his clever way.  
	“My friend, I do not ask WHO your patrons are…  But can you tell us anything of their motives?”    Murias seemed amused by the question.  He would only say the item was going to the right hands.  Concerned that this discussion would continue without resolution, I quietly handed the sack holding the Heart of Tolem in its glass case to the smuggler.
	“You have done the right thing, friends – and saved your own lives by doing so.”  He then handed us a key such as those used in the inn.  “I will consider our business concluded once I leave this tavern.  Remember, I can only guarantee your safety until dawn.  Oh, and about justice…”  He quickly scribbled a note for us, and left.  It only said “the constable.”  
	The innkeeper let his usual customers back into the common room (and I must say they did not seem the least bit surprised or offended by the forced interruption in their libations – these dealings may not be very rare here.).  He then pointed us to the room where our reward awaited us.  Therein we found another note – which read “for your trouble” – a chest full of gold lions, and five glass vials filled with a clear, viscous liquid.  Morbazzan, who was skilled in alchemical as well as arcane matters, quickly examined the liquid.  He announced it was a strong purgative, enchanted with “abjuration” magic (Which he quickly explained meant it was protective in nature. Truly, this man speaks of matters completely unfamiliar to me, and which seem somehow—unwholesome.  But he soon proved his worth and courage, as you shall see).   He stated they did not seem to be harmful, but there was only one way to know their true purpose.  
	I thus took one of the vials and emptied it in a single, long draught.  Instantly I was overcome by simultaneous bouts of coughing and vomiting, my muscles went rigid, and I lost consciousness.  I awoke (after a few minutes of convulsions, as my friends told me) to see Lando in the same condition.  But as sick as I felt, I was elated, for I could not longer see the insidious taint in the half-elf or myself.  Segnarus and Girion promptly drank their own vials, braving the ill effects gladly.  As I offered a prayer of thanks to Great Tilsman, I could not help but wonder at the fact that Murias’s patrons could revoke a curse that resisted Sen Beldazar’s efforts…  
	With the curse, and the Heart of Tolem, gone, there was no further reason for argument.  We decided to get some more rest, as we intended to face Eltross that very night.  The innkeeper sent a stable boy to fetch one of the acolytes of Tilsman, to whom we entrusted the fifth vial of antidote (so that Baruk could be cured) and a note telling the Sen of our intentions.  
	As soon as Nelos covered Tabat in his dark shroud, we girt ourselves for battle, and headed for the hidden tunnel entrance.  Murias had been true to his word, for there was no sign of the city watch.  The ranger and thief-catcher led us through winding streets to an old, unassuming, and seemingly abandoned stone and mortar house.  Segnarus opened the door, but all was dark within.  As Girion prepared a torch, Landotharan impetuously entered the room, trusting to his elvensight.  And almost immediately we heard his scream of pain, as well as the bestial growls of his unseen assailants.  
	The ranger’s torch flared to life, and we could see Lando swinging his blade wildly, but we could not see his foes!  As we entered, a gash appeared along Segnarus’s arm, and he blindly riposted with his twin short blades.  I could see nothing but the half-elf fighting for his life, but there was palpable evil in this bare stone room.  Suddenly, our foes were visible: two gaunt, skeletal creatures that could have been cachectic, hairless monkeys except for their horns, batwings, and skeletal tails.  Morbazzan reacted quickly, chanting arcane words, and two crimson eldritch balls slammed into one of them.  Segnarus and I pounced on the closest one, and it screamed as Hintaneese and Falconian steel cut into its tough hide.  It started to cast a spell, but we assailed it again, until it exploded in a flash of brimstone.  
	The other beast stepped back from us, made mystic passes with its claws, and vanished.  We could not find it, but soon discovered an open trapdoor, with a crudely-carved stairway leading into darkness.  Lando led the way, again trusting to his unnaturally keen vision.  He was followed by Segnarus (once more bearing his eldritch torch), me, Morbazzan, and Girion at the rear with another torch.  After descending over forty feet into the darkness, we came to a wider passage, roughly six feet in height (which made the wizard and myself crouch, to Lando’s amusement).  The passage seemed to be quite long, for we could hear a howling wind.  I joined the half-elf in the vanguard as we marched into the darkness.  
	The tunnel seemed endless, and we would quickly have become disoriented if not for the fact it traveled in a straight line.  At irregular intervals, there were up-sloping side passages, all leading to boarded-up entrances.  It seems the townsfolk have not needed or used these tunnels in some time.  After walking for the better part of an hour, Lando and I simultaneously tripped on an unseen obstacle.  We heard metallic sounds from the corridor ahead, but these only lasted a few seconds.  By our torchlight we saw that we had broken a thin tripwire – a bad omen, to be sure.  
	With growing dread, we slowly advanced, weapons at the ready.  At the edge of our torchlight we could see that the passage opened into a large room.  The ranger from Roedran whispered: “Careful! I hear some sort of large creature ahead.”  Somehow his wilderness-honed senses could identify the sound of heavy footsteps and bestial breathing despite the howling wind and echoes.  
	Praying to Iolanthes for courage, I stepped into the room, my kite shield in front of me.  I could now hear the bestial grunting myself, as by Segnarus’s  enchanted torch I saw I was in a much larger room, at least ten paces to a side, with a ceiling as high as three tall men.  The main passage continued on the opposite side of the room, but our attention was drawn to two great portcullises on the walls to our left and right.  They stood about half-way open, and to our horror, their respective occupants must have caught our scent, for they growled fiercely and stepped into our light.  
	We saw twin monstrosities straight out of a child’s nightmare.  They were perhaps eight feet tall, perhaps more.  Their forward stoop, with arms dangling past thick claw-footed legs to the ground, made it hard to tell.  The hairless green skin moved upon their bodies.  Their heads were each a gash of a mouth, a yard-long nose, and two eyes which were black pools, without pupil or white, eyes which drank the feeble torchlight and never gave back a gleam.  I could hear the shock in Girion’s voice as he whispered: “Trolls…”
	But for all their great size, they were quick as lightning, and soon Lando and I were fighting for our lives.  My foe raked me viciously, drawing sparks from my shield and cuirass.  I could hear Morbazzan chanting as I struck back, but its hide managed to turn Aerbrand’s edge.  Suddenly, a large black and crimson wolf, smelling of brimstone, appeared beside me, and attacked the beast, only to be mauled to pieces by the dagger-sharp claws.  I took advantage of this momentary distraction to press my attack, and thrust my sword deep into its vitals… only to see the wound begin to close as soon as I withdrew my steel!  
	Father, I knew as I fought that I was vastly outmatched.  This horror would not be bested by steel alone.  My only hope lay in my friends, as even as I traded wounds with the troll, Girion shot grey-goose shafts over my shoulder, and Morbazzan flung eldritch orbs of acid, which seemed to truly hurt the beast.  And then… disaster.  For Landotharan cried out, as his foe savaged his neck with wicked claws.  The half-elf fell to the earth, nearly dead.  
	Screaming a battle cry, I ignored my foe and leapt at Lando’s to keep it from finishing my friend.  Morbazzan rushed to the half-elf, to bandage his wounds as best he could.  The troll reared and struck at me, its claws tearing my face and almost ripping my helm off.  While it was thus engaged, the thief catcher struck from behind, driving his right-hand sword deep into the massive chest.  The creature roared, and collapsed, but already its wounds were beginning to heal.  But the wizard was ready for this, and used his eldritch acid to ensure the fallen beast would not rise.  
The other monster again savaged me, its claws ripping through my mail as if it were linen.  Only my gorget saved my life. But now the fight was more equal, as Segnarus and I pressed it with swords, while Girion punished it with arrows.  The beast, maddened with pain and fury, flailed around itself wildly.  Its right claw bounced off my shield, but its left caught Segnarus full in the chest, and the wiry thief-catcher crumpled.  
Girion then dropped his bow, and whipping his blade out on the run, ducked under a swiping claw and gave the beast a fearsome slash along its ribs.  As the monster turned from me to savage the ranger, I had a moment’s respite, perhaps my last.  Aerbrand gleamed in the torchlight as I raised it, and by Morcandor’s might struck the troll’s head from its massive shoulders.  Morbazzan used fire to make sure the beast joined its brother in whatever hell awaits such monsters, as I checked on my fallen comrades.  
Landotharan and Segnarus were both grievously wounded, and even my prayers could only staunch the flow of blood and help them regain consciousness.  They each quaffed a healing draught, and were able to stand once again.  It was when I helped them up that I noticed the seriousness of my own injuries – going on would be difficult in our present condition.  Girion and Morbazzan returned from exploring the trolls’ nests, where they found the remains of prior victims – two of them warriors, the third a wizard and a worshipper of Etigon, Prince of Lies and Father of Devils.  Once Morbazzan collected several enchanted items from them, we quickly conferred, and decided to head back to the temple of Tilsman, to inform Sen Beldazar of what we had found thus far.  
The acolyte on guard duty was stunned at our bedraggled appearance, and promptly ushered us into the temple and summoned the Sen.  Once we knew Baruk was safely recovering from the curse, we told Beldazar what we had learned, and about our battle with the trolls.  The priest was surprised, and outraged, at these creatures’ presence, for they obviously implicated Eltross in the ghastly events taking place in Tabat.  He quickly prayed to the Judge of Judges over us, and soon our wounds were all but healed – even Lando and Segnarus were ready for battle once again.  We were then surprised when he offered to join us for our assault on the keep.  
He explained that he felt a danger such as this required his personal intervention.  I assessed him – a man of medium height and build, well into his middle years, but still hale.  His gray hair and beard were short but scruffy, but his black eyes showed only wisdom and determination.  I argued against his joining us, as I was concerned for his safety, and what would become of Tabat if none of us survived.  But Segnarus, ever the lawman, swayed the vote with a convincing argument: if we came through this alive, we could need a witness against Eltross, and who would be more trustworthy than the Sen himself?  
Once we had agreed, Beldazar sent a courier with a note to the head of the council at Leriond, and instructed his assistants to start an investigation if he did not return by morning.  He then donned an ornate, yet functional breastplate and belted on a sword – and what a sword it was!  I have heard of this blade since my arrival in Hintai: Renmemnion, the Sword of Tears.  Legend says it was forged by angels and quenched in the tears of a saint.  Its appearance lends credence to the legend, for it is made of a yellow metal I have never before seen.  
It was well past midnight when we made our way back to the tunnel, and the chamber where we fought the beastly trolls.  We found naught but festering corpses, and continued on our way towards the keep.  A few minutes later the passage ended in a set of stairs, climbing upwards.  These led to a heavy iron gate.  Its lock quickly opened with the key Lorem had provided.  There were more stairs beyond, leading to what could only be the castle dungeon – complete with a rack, several cells, and a desk.  Sitting at the desk was none other than Tobias himself – whom Segnarus had assured us had been hanged the day after we brought him in!  But he was obviously un-dead, for he was pale as a corpse, and pieces of his flesh were missing, as if carrion birds had feasted on him.  If there were any doubts as to his allegiance, they were put to rest by the pair of skeletal, horned-and-winged creatures which flanked him.  
“I have been expecting you,” he said in a croaking voice that somehow held the same arrogance it had in life.  “I am what I became when you left me to die.”  His tone was accusing.  “But I have to thank you for this, for I have found Simarul’s Light, and it will burn you all!”  With these words, he gestured, and the eight cell doors flew open.  From each emerged one of the undead monstrosities we had fought in the Calemd forest, and again in the priory.  An unholy red light shone in their eyes, and their claw-like hands were poised to strangle and maim.  The dead traitor laughed: “Give me a good reason to allow you to live.”  
Our answer was swift.  Girion’s recurved longbow and Segnarus’s crossbow fired as one.  The quarrel missed its mark, but the arrow sank deep into the flank of one of the winged demons.  Morbazzan started chanting a spell, as Lando and I blocked the doorway so no more than two of the vile corpses could attack us at once.  As their claws reached for our necks, Sen Beldazar spoke:  “By the Holy Power of the Lawgiver, I destroy you!”  And at his words, five of the vile creatures crumbled to dust.  Thus is Tilsman’s power revealed in a man of faith.  
Enraged, Tobias hurled the desk to shatter against the wall with inhuman strength, and drew his long and short swords.  I invoked the power of Tilsman, and though the remaining corpses were not destroyed, they cowered from us, and gave us room to fight.  Sen Beldazar called on the Keeper once more, and the remaining clawed corpses were destroyed.  As the ranger and thief-catcher plied their bows against the approaching winged demons, a revolting, vaguely humanoid blob of pale flesh appeared next to Tobias, summoned by Morbazzan.  As the creature attacked, the wizard sent a brace of eldritch bolts to slam into the undead bandit.  
But then my attention was drawn from the demons, and the betrayer, to a new combatant who entered the fray from the castle above.  The tall, lithe body clad in light chain mail, the wild mane of lustrous black hair, and the pale, lovely countenance could only belong to Solemund’s slayer!  Ignoring the demons’ claws, I charged into the room, Aerbrand flashing in the torchlight.  The priestess was hard-pressed to parry my furious onslaught with her short sword.  As I pressed her back, she managed to complete an incantation, and her free hand glowed with an unholy radiance.  But as she reached for me, death in hand, I swung Aerbrand in a great arc.  The priestess fell, her throat torn open.  “JUSTICE!”  Somehow, I now knew my friend’s shade could find peace.  
Turning back to the battle, I saw Segnarus and Girion in bitter struggle with Tobias, as Lando and Sen Beldazar fought the demons.  As I approached the undead traitor, the Sen spitted his foe on the Sword of Tears, and it vanished in a burst of fire and brimstone.  Simultaneously Morbazzan hit the other creature with his magical missiles.  Wounded badly, the creature moved back from Lando’s greatsword, and vanished into thin air.  Finding himself alone before us, Tobias shouted: “Master!”, and to our amazement jumped to the ceiling, and crawled rapidly along it as if he were a monstrous spider.  
I charged up the stairs after him, coming to a narrow hallway which promptly turned to the left.  I could no longer see Tobias as we reached the keep’s   main entrance.  A great set of stairs led to the second floor, with its balcony and living quarters.  We rushed up the stairs, and started opening doors as fast as we reached them.  The first one led to an ornate guest room, now empty.  The second door opened to a lavishly-decorated meeting room, also unoccupied.  Turning a corner, we reached a large wooden door.  Segnarus warned he heard people moving within.  
Opening the door, we saw that Tobias was indeed within, with two more of the skeletal winged demons.  With them was a tall man holding a battle axe, whom we recognized as Eltross.  “So you finally come to realize what has passed,” said the erstwhile constable.  “But it is too late, for you shall die within these walls.”  
At that, one of the demons spoke eldritch words, and a sheet of flame spread from its claws to singe us.  Lando leapt into the room, greatsword held high, but Tobias and the winged demons held him at the entrance, and the rest of us remained behind him.  Girion and Segnarus sent their arrows into the room, as the half-elf was assailed by three foes at once.  
Landotharan lay about fiercely with his massive blade, weaving through his foes until he made enough room for me to join him.  Morbazzan summoned another of his blob-like fiends to keep Eltross busy as we struggled to force our way into the room.  As Lando hacked at one of the demons, Segnarus rolled in with a brilliant display of acrobatics, and put paid to the other one with his twin blades.  I used this opportunity to press Tobias, wounding him deeply with Aerbrand.  But the undead villain laughed, quipping: “That almost hurt!”  
Tobias then riposted, wounding my sword-arm while I was distracted by another sheet of fire from the remaining demon.  But before he could finish me, Morbazzan hit him with his magical missiles, and as he growled defiance, Landotharan skewered him on his greatsword.  Incredibly, the traitor was still alive, and began forcing himself up the blade so that he could strangle the half-elf.  But Girion the ranger was prepared, and put an arrow through his left eye, sending the betrayer to hell for a second time.  As Morbazzan’s spells and Lando’s steel finished the last winged demon, we turned our attention to Eltross.  
I reached him first, and wounded him sorely with Aerbrand.  But the villain smiled, and to my horror, he reached up ant pulled the skin off his own face!  Beneath was a gray oval, featureless except for burning crimson eyes.  So this was Naranath.  Then we were again surprised as he seemed to convulse, and suddenly he transformed into… me.  We were identical, down to armor, weapons and wounds.  He fiercely attacked, and I quickly saw a difference… he was more skilled than I.  
As we fought sword-to-sword, I could hear my friends discussing the situation.  They had no way of telling us apart.  Morbazzan cast a spell, and a spray of multi-colored light enveloped us.  I assume he meant to incapacitate us both, but only I was stunned, and the creature was free to attack me!  Thanks to Tilsman’s graces, the effect was brief, and my armor protected me from Naranath’s assault.  Somehow Sen Beldazar was briefly able to tell us apart, and healed my most serious wounds, but our foe quickly dealt their equal.  Though I was giving as good as I got, I knew I could not whistand such punishment much longer, and there could be only one outcome.  
At one point Segnarus seemed to be able to tell us apart, and wounded the vile doppelganger, but soon the melee whirled us around and he no longer could see a difference.  Then Morbazzan hit upon the solution: he started asking questions only I would have the answer to.  The creature somehow tried to read my thoughts, but was not always successful, Tilsman be praised.  My friends were thus able to help, and we drove the creature back.  Until Lando made an apparent mistake: when the monster was unable to answer one of their questions, the half-elf grappled him!  
Predictably, the monster transformed into Landotharan’s twin, ornate breastplate and all.  It was impossible to tell them apart as they wrestled, trying to strangle each other.  But if it worked for my friends…  “Who freed you from the orcish slave masters?” I asked.  Fortunately only one of them knew of Theodus Orcslayer.  I drove my shield between them, and plunged Aerbrand to the quillons into the chest of the monster – and to our surprise, he melted away, leaving only a gray puddle and the lingering stench of sulfur.  
We stopped to catch our breaths in stunned silence, only to be horrified by what we saw in the room.  It was an extravagant chamber, with numerous tapestries and other ornaments.  Chief amongst these were the Lord Constable’s arms—a magnificent suit of banded armor, untouched on its stand, and a shining axe engraved with runes.  Beldazar identified the weapon as Brandarum, the horn of battle.  But our distress was due to an emaciated figure we discovered, chained to the floor like an animal.  It was none other than the real Eltross, but he had been flayed, and somehow kept alive!!  The fiendish doppelganger, Naranath, had used his living skin to complete his disguise, and continued to torture the unfortunate man.  I covered him with my cloak, as Segnarus freed him from his manacles.  Sen Beldazar examined him, and to our relief said that Eltross could recover in time, if properly cared for.  
The sun was rising over Tabat once more when we left the keep by its main doors.  It was a beautiful sight, and I said a prayer of thanks as I carried the Lord Constable to Tilsman’s fane.  As Segnarus predicted, Beldazar’s word was enough to guarantee our safety, and the captain of the guard placed himself at the Sen’s disposal until the council could be convened.  
After we had rested, there was another surprise.  As a reward for our role in these matters, Sen Beldazar entrusted us with the Blessed Sword of Tears!  I think he expected me to bear it, but somehow, it seems wrong for me to wield any blade save your Aerbrand, father.  Thus Girion the ranger accepted Renmemnion, and I am sure he will be more than worthy of it.  
Thus, though we still have to find the source of this accursed corn, and to elucidate their true motives, I believe the township of Tabat is safe for the present.  Their lord has been saved, and our friend Solemund has justice at last.  I wonder, father, if this hideous cult is the reason I was compelled to cross the world, rather than the kundrian raiders.  But who am I to question Tilsman’s wisdom?  I believe our next step is to seek out this Saragorn in Cir, but Segnarus hopes we can gain better information from Tabat’s ruling council, as we are now in their good graces.  Be well, father, and pray for me.  I will write again as soon as I am able.    

____________________________________________________

Credit where credit is due:  The description of certain monsters was taken (almost) verbatim from Poul Anderson's Three Hearts and Three Lions (without permission).  He was the first to describe them as such, and no description of mine could do them justice.


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## njorgard (Jun 5, 2003)

*The Blessed Sword of Tears*

The Sword of Tears

Sen Beldazar begins to unfold a beautifully ornamented piece of silken cloth before your eyes. As he removes the silvery strings tied around the fabric, you can see that the object wrapped around it is about seven hands in length. Finally, the cloth becomes undone and falls to the ground revealing a magnificent sword. The weapon appears to be crafted out of some mysterious yellow-hued metal which you fail to recognize. Both the hilt and the blade seem to have been wrought from a single peace of this ore, as if its maker was somehow able to shape the silhouette of the weapon without pouring the molten metal into a cast. The hilt guard is concave and has unrecognizable eldritch runes chiseled unto both sides.

Beldazar grasps the weapon and begins to speak:

"My friends, the bravery and selflessness you have shown during these last few days is worthy of the highest praise. And for that, I would like to reward you on behalf of the Great Steward of the Covenant with a mighty gift. Behold…the Sword of Tears! Our temple's most cherished relic…"

The Sen lifts the sword over his head with both hands. As the morning sun hits the perfect blade, the reflected light makes the sword shine like a finely polished mirror. For a few moments, the other clergymen are taken in awe of the splendid sight. Beldazar then places the sword on top of stone pulpit and covers it with the silken cloth that was originally wrapped around it. He turns to the party and addresses you:

"Tilsmanic scripture tells us that some 200 years ago, a farming village, not too far from where we are today, fell under the influence of a vicious vampire known as Barnardus. Using the foulest sorceries, the vampire blighted the land and brought the village to the brink of starvation. Barnardus also used his dark influence to intimidate the nearby settlements with threats of pestilence and death to those who would come to the village's aid.

Several years passed and the vampire's hold on the land remained unchallenged. Then, as if by providence, the warrior-hero known as Galanan came to these lands. Witnessing the villager's broken spirit, Galanan prayed to Tilsman for guidance. He was given a vision where an old man riding a pale-white horse stood before him. In the vision, the old man told Galanan that he would spare the village from the vampire's blight if he could gather a thousand tears from those truly pious among the villagers. Galanan's reply to the old man's request was this –

"Oh Great Keeper…if only these people had that many tears left in them to shed! Let me be the one to cry for them." 

It is said that Galanan wept for three days until a celestial messenger from Tilsman appeared before him. The messenger wielded a read-hot piece of metal which he doused in Galanan's tears. When the messenger retrieved the metal, it had taken the shape of the beautiful sword you see before you…pristine, unblemished. The messenger referred to the weapon as Renmemnion, the Sword of Tears. With it, Galanan went on to defeat the sorcerous vampire and become one of the greatest heroes remembered by our faith.

When Galanan died, many years later, it is said that a copious rain that lasted for three days fell upon the land. Ironically, the rain brought and end to a great drought that had stricken these parts during those days. Many believe that the rain was the host of Tilsman weeping Galanan's death. I now give Galanan's sword to you. Use it wisely and honorably."


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## Alejandro (Jun 5, 2003)

Great update! I love how your story is turning out. Kepp writing, Helfdan!


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