# To Find a King (updated 06/26)



## Mortepierre (Nov 7, 2004)

As a long time lurker of these boards, I felt inspired to start my own SH after reading the excellent work of authors such as Blackdirge, Orichalcum, or Seravin. I’ll be very happy indeed if I can consider myself their equal one day.

This campaign knew its first incarnation in 1988, back in the days of AD&D 1E, and was based mainly on two modules: _To Kill a Kraken_ by Scott Bennie (from *I13 Adventure Pack*) and _C4 To Find a King_ by Bob Blake, as well as one accessory: _GAZ1 The Grand Duchy of Karameikos_ by Aaron Allston.

Ever since the “death” of 1E, I have been working on updating and expanding the original material to turn it into a full campaign setting. The 2E proved useful in this regard but not as much as I hoped it would and, for a time, I left the campaign aside to try my hands at other settings.

Then, in 2002, I acquired 2 accessories that sent me back running to my stack of notes: *The Book of the Righteous* (from Green Ronin) and the *Monsternomicon* (from Privateer Press).

The first in particular is a godsend when you are desperately trying to come up with a pantheon that doesn’t feel like an ersatz of something too widely known *cough* FR *cough*

Anyway, the new campaign began in 2003 and has been going on ever since (with a switch to 3.5E as soon as it came out). I feel I now have enough backlogs to write about it, hopefully regularly.

Readers will no doubt recognize names, monsters, items, etc.. borrowed from other settings. That’s because I like to pluck elements (new spells especially) that catch my fancy and “retrofit” them into my campaign. In this regard, I consider myself as having a debt toward Brian Moseley for his intriguing campaign setting (*World of Roil*).

We play with several house rules, some of which have a significant impact compared to “standard” 3.5E. Here are the most important:

For starter, druids and sorcerers are reviled. The former because of the war they waged on the kingdom centuries ago, the latter because their powers are viewed (by a majority) as proof of draconic or fiendish blood (except for elves whose sorcery is considered to be a legacy from their fey ancestors).

Wizards are rare, if only because the minimum score to cast spells is 2 pts higher than in the core rules (in other words, you need 13 in Int to cast 1st level spells). Moreover, at higher level, they all have to abide by the Arcane Covenant which forbids them from interfering with “what doesn’t concern them” (although no one beyond the wizard community seems to know exactly what _that_ means).

Clerics don’t have access to the full array of divine spells. They are restricted to spells from a limited list that all deities have in common. Beyond that, they _only_ have access to spells from their god’s domains (_all_ of them, contrarily to the core rules), though they are still limited to the special powers of 2 domains. The main consequence is that few clerics can pray for Cure spells (given they aren't on the "limited" list). As such, the demand for lay healers (= specialists of the Heal skill) is quite high.

What’s more, the different cults now have to contend with the Great Church for worshippers. The latter is the result of a relatively recent philosophical trend that advocates the veneration of the whole pantheon rather than of each deity individually.

People not familiar with the *The Book of the Righteous* need to know this is a world whose deities (the “Pantheon of the Tree”) are _all_ strongly aligned against Evil. At best, they are Lawful Good, and at worst Chaotic Neutral. Here, the enemy of all that is Good is personified by the forces of the Abyss, Gehenna, and Hell, with a special emphasis on the Deceiver. Fallen member of the pantheon, the latter is now the absolute ruler of Hell and forever seeks to bend all to his will. As he is associated with fire, that element has gained an evil connotation, except when used by the clergy of gentle Anwyn, goddess of the hearth.

Finally, the paladin is replaced by the holy warrior, a class whose special powers depend on the deity worshipped (in game terms, the paladin becomes the holy warrior of the Great Church) and whose alignment can vary between LG, NG, and CG (depending on the god).

A thread has been started in the Rogues Gallery to detail both the PC and the NPC they will face.

Numerical markers in the text are linked to explanatory notes that can be found at the end of a post.

*SPOILER ALERT*: I use published adventures in my campaign. Some old, some more recent. Reading this thread might spoil your surprise if you go through them later as a player. Moreover, one of the cults detailed in *The Book of the Righteous* has a big secret DM might not want their players to know. That secret plays an integral part in my campaign and, as such, will be slowly revealed in this story hour. Consider yourselves warned!


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## Mortepierre (Nov 7, 2004)

Introduction:

The campaign is based in Drachenhold, a feudal monarchy. This country is divided into 5 provinces:
- the duchies of Cygnar, Karameikos, and Pellham (home to Widdershin, the capital)
- the prelacy of Menoth (where the Great Church holds sway)
- the principality of Suress (mainly populated by elves)

The population, while predominantly human, counts sizeable communities of (sundered) dwarves, (forest/stone) elves, and (lightfoot) halflings. The humans themselves are divided into 3 ethnic groups: the native Traladarans, the Russ who invaded from Orgoth and were later assimilated, and the Drachens who conquered the kingdom long ago. The latter remain a minority but a strong one due to the preservation of their original bloodlines.

_Sundered Dwarves were originally described in the *PHBR6 Complete Book of Dwarves*, while Forest/Stone Elves come from *Moon Elves* (Dark Quest Games)_.

Drachenhold has a roughly oval shape. To the north-east, it is bordered by the Wild Coast and the Peaks of Flame, a region literally crawling with monsters (humanoids and giants mainly). The Ultanic Ocean lies just east of that area, as well as along the kingdom’s south-eastern frontier.

To the north lie the territories controlled by the Five Nations barbarians, currently at war with the kingdom after the latter seized half their lands through a series of bloody battles. Beyond the barbarians, one can find two “free cities”. Corvis, which the kingdom has an alliance with, and Freeport, whose “privateers” are the bane of Drachenhold’s merchant ships.

To the west and the south, Drachenhold is protected by the Wyrmsteeth Mountains and luckily so! Indeed, but a few dozen miles west as the crow flies stands the Desolation of Toruk, lair of the Wyrmfather. No one alive remembers seeing him leave his demesne since he woke up, centuries ago, in the aftermath of the Cataclysm. But all dread the day he will turn hungry eyes to the east…

To the south, through the Pass of Valsag (sole natural passage through the mountains), lies the Empire of Orgoth (mother country of the Russ) whose Tsars have tried to conquer Drachenhold for as long as the two existed. Now, a land under the sway of the evil Markovian Heresy.

Drachenhold is led by King Gerdant of House Werax, an aged man whose brow is perpetually creased by the weight of his problems. His two eldest sons died 2 years ago during the latest Orgothian invasion. Immediately after that tragedy, his last son disappeared and all clues pointed at a kidnapping by revenge-hungry Five Nations barbarians. Since no ransom was ever demanded, Prince Rath is now presumed dead. This leaves Gerdant with only one heir, Princess Juril. Unfortunately, by law and tradition, no queen has ever ruled the kingdom alone and the king knows there is no shortage of pretenders to the throne waiting for an opportunity. Furthermore, he has had to face two coups during his reign, one only last year by his own half-brother, Prince Rulkar!

Provinces in the kingdom are growing more restless by the day, some even hoping for independence, and the Great Church is pressuring the king to declare all other cults obsolete.

If Drachenhold is to endure, Gerdant knows he will have to find a worthy successor. A man who will marry his daughter, tame his rebellious vassals and restore order in the kingdom. In short, he has.. *to find a King!*


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## Mortepierre (Nov 7, 2004)

*Prelude - part 1: The Third Way*

Drachenhold - Duchy of Karameikos
398 AC - Somewhere on the front line

“Eirak..”

He could feel a gauntlet hand shaking him gently. Well, as gently as a farmer would carry a sack of grain but at least it wasn’t a bucket of cold water...

“Come on sarge, wake up.”

He grumbled. “T’is better be worth it _corporal_..”

“Sah! Corporal Kergor, first platoon, beggin’ to report, sah!”

Groaning, Eirak grunted once more for good measure and then forced his eyes open. He blinked in surprise.

“T’is not even dawn yet, durn it!”

Corporal Kergor was standing at attention, not two feet away, rigid as a picket in the mud of the trench where Eirak had been trying to get a few hours of sleep before the next assault.

He stood up wearily, grabbed his helm, put it on and turned to face his subordinate. “Well?”

“Sah! Sentinels spotted a contingent o’ fresh mea.. er.. troops approachin’ from the east, sah!”

“Reinforcements?”

“Sah! Is the sergeant askin’ for this soldier’s opinion?”

Eirak sighed. “Oh come on Kerg.. at ease man! Ye know I’m always jumpy when I don’t get me beauty sleep.” He winked.

The two soldiers exchanged a chuckle and Kergor grinned. The corporal rubbed his beard a moment before answering. “Dunno, sarge. Took a good look at them meself. Their chin looked way too _bare_ to me. Replacements more likely.”

Eirak sighed again. He hated this part of the job. “A’right, get them assembled and give me a minute to put on me _official_ face.”

Kergor grinned like a cat about to eat a mouse. “Sah!” He saluted and left.

Finally alone, Eirak rearranged his scale mail and straightened the brown and white tabard that marked him as a soldier from the Iron Badger battalion. Well, _formerly_ brown and white, that is. Presently, in-between the mud and the gore, an observer would have been lucky to discern there had once been more than one color displayed.

Of course, given his squad had spent the last two months liberating the duchy from an Orgothian invasion, hygiene hadn’t exactly been their top priority.

_If we win, there’ll be time enough to clean up before paradin’ through Widdershin. If we lose.. well, it won’t matter anymore then._

He drank once from his belt flask, letting the whiskey warm his throat before settling in a stomach that hadn’t eaten anything worth naming in three days. He knew he would regret it in a few hours but, right now, he needed the kick.

As ready as he could be, he made his way to the new recruits.

**

“I’m sergeant-major Eirak Delkilar, first squad, second company o’ the Iron Badger battalion. In case some o’ ye axelin’s don’t know, we’re not just _any_ unit. We’re the one and only fully dwarven unit of this here army. Some o’ our brothers serve in other battalions but this one is ours and ours alone. Those who preceded ye in it bought the freedom o’ our folks back home with their blood. See that tent on the hill back there?” he pointed northeast.

“That’s where ol’ Steelbelly is. _Lieutenant-colonel_ Steelbelly to ye! See that flag right next to it? That’s _our_ standard, and all the medals danglin’ from it were earned by yer predecessors on countless battlefields. No enemy has ever captured it before and none ever will as long as ye remember there’re but two ways out o’ this unit: head held high or feet first (1). Those men in plate armor guardin’ the standard live and die by that creed. They’re the Defenders.”

_.. and one day, Terak willin’, I might just be worthy o’ joinin’ them._

“I don’t care if you think ye’re Aerix (2) himself reincarnated, here ye’re nothin’ till I decide otherwise. I’ve only three rules, so listen well ‘cause I won’t repeat meself!”

He cast the gaze his men had dubbed _Mormekar’s kiss_ over the five young dwarves standing at attention in front of him.

“First rule: whatever order I give, ye obey. If I say *jump!*, you jump. No but, if, when, or why. You jump, period. If ye don’t, that burnin’ sensation down yer arse will be me foot helpin’ ye along!”

He could see several of his men nearby wincing in remembrance and had to fight to avoid cracking a smile.

“Second rule: we retreat *only* if ordered to. I’ll deal personally with the first man I catch breakin’ rank or - Terak forbids - runnin’ around like a headless gobber.”

Four of the recruits had the good sense to turn crimson at the suggestion they could be cowards. One, however, blanched. Eirak marked him mentally as someone to watch.

“Third and final rule: no one, I repeat *NO ONE*, dies without me express permission. Break that rule and I’ll make ye wish ye had stayed alive.”

He remained stony-faced while he watched them wonder silently if he had been serious about that last statement.

_Good. As long as there is doubt in their mind, they’re bound to remember._

“Sarge!” came the cry behind him. “Scouts report they’re comin’!”

He swore under his breath. “A’right axelin’s, time to earn yer beard.” (3)

**

He cast a quick glance around him. All along the front line, as far as the eye could see, torches were being lit and planted into the ground, except in a few locations.  He marked those as the areas defended solely by his battalion or one of the elven units from Suress. With a full moon gracing the night sky, the pointy-ears would be seeing as in full daylight. For dwarves such as himself, the dark of the night had already turned into a world painted in hues of black and white. Not at a long range, unfortunately. Living aboveground had dulled this particular gift of their race, but it would be sufficient to do what they excelled at: melee combat.

*“LOCK .. AXE!”* he yelled. Immediately, he heard his command being repeated along the line by his deputies. Quickly, he attached his own waraxe to his right-hand gauntlet through a series of small but sturdy chains. The soldiers of his battalion were famed for being well-nigh impossible to disarm, and rightly so! After all, no one had ever seen a badger lose its claws half-way through a battle...

“Sarge?”

He looked left. Corporal Kergor was standing at attention but with a worried expression on his face.

“What’s the matter, corporal?”

“Sah! I’m sorry to report Battle Chaplain Thundrin won’t be available to perform the Prayer. He hasn’t recovered yet from yesterday’s wound. T’is up to ye, sarge.”

He started to grumble but, after watching every soldier within earshot turn an expectant face his way, composed himself. He climbed out of the trench, put his shield down, closed his eyes, and mustered as loud a voice as he could.

*“TERAK, BATTLE-FATHER, STEEL OUR HEARTS THAT WE MAY HONOR YE THROUGH OUR VALOR.”* He laid his left hand atop his right vambrace.

*“MORMEKAR, GRIM WANDERER, IF WE SHOULD FALL ON THIS DAY GUARD OUR SOULS ON THEIR WAY TO YER SON’S HALL O’ JUDGMENT.”* He touched his shield with the tip of his waraxe.

*“KORAK, SOUL-FORGER, HARDEN OUR WEAPONS THAT THEY MAY SHATTER THE BONES O’ OUR ENEMIES.”* In one smooth motion, he struck the ground in front of him, sending mud flying.

*“RONTRA, EARTH-MOTHER .. A CURSE UPON YE FOR TURNING YER BACK ON US!”* He spat on the ground, an action he could hear his men imitating. The familiar anger filled his heart. He used it to strengthen his resolve (4).

On a sudden impulse, he added *“WE ARE DWARVES! WE WILL NOT GO DOWN QUIETLY!”*

The last statement elicited loud roars from the entire squad and many axes were raised in defiance before striking the ground symbolically.

Eirak picked up his shield and allowed himself a grim smile. _That_ was the part he liked about his job.

Then, his eyes registered movement in the night. *“STAND FAST! HERE THEY COME” * He jumped down in the trench and readied himself.

**

They had been fighting for a good hour already, both sides neither giving quarter nor expecting any.

The Orgothian soldiers knew this was their last chance. For the past month, they had been slowly repulsed throughout the entire province till they stood with their back to the Wyrmsteeth Mountains, surrounded on two sides by Drachenhold’s army and on the third by the sea. But no help would come from that direction as warships bearing the flag of the Dragon Fang battalion, the king’s own, patrolled ceaselessly. And everyone knew that Drachen sailors could sink anything the Tsar dared send their way...

The Pass of Valsag had been retaken by the Lion Claw and Border Guard battalions three days before, cutting off the only possible escape route through the mountains.

On the other hand, Drachenhold’s soldiers weren’t in much better shape. The Karameikan regiment had sustained heavy casualties during the initial phase of the invasion and, though the other provincial regiments had scrambled to the rescue, it had still taken them two full months to break the siege of Korsk (5) and reconquer the duchy. And every inch of ground had had to be paid in blood along the way.

Both sides knew that, today, someone would have to break.. and be slaughtered.

**

Eirak blocked a spear thrust, taking care not to deflect it into the soldier fighting next to him. In one powerful chopping motion, he sundered the haft of the spear with his waraxe and, when the Orgothian soldier was carried forward by the momentum of his charge, sliced through his belly with the reverse blow. Blood sprayed all over, momentarily blinding him. He heard the voice of Kergor yelling a warning a second before something hard connected with his helm and sent him flying to the ground. Dazed, he tried to stand but had to wait a few seconds before his limbs responded to his will once again.

By the time he got up and his vision cleared, it was over. Kergor had stepped in front of him and taken the brunt of the next attack from a great brute wielding a two-handed maul. The corporal, half his face caved in from the blow, collapsed at Eirak’s feet.

Eirak growled and quickly closed the distance with the Orgothian, forcing the latter to backpedal to keep the dwarf within the maul’s reach. Unfortunately, mud and blood had combined to turn the battlefield into a slippery mess. The enemy soldier lost his footing and fell on his back.

Eirak didn’t give him a chance to get up. He took two steps forward and struck hard, severing the Orgothian’s left leg at the thigh. Instead of finishing him off, he then retreated to his former position while the enemy soldier was bleeding to death, yelling all the while as if he was being dragged to Hell. The commotion this created prevented other enemies from stepping forward immediately into the breach, affording Eirak a precious few seconds to catch his breath. He grabbed Kergor’s body and dragged him back into the trench while soldiers were creating a shield-wall behind him to buy him a minute of peace.

“Sa.. sarge..”

Eirak blinked. He was still alive?! “Shut yer mouth Kerg, and keep yer strength. T’is ain’t over before I say so”

“Sar.. ge”

“Durn it, man! Since when do ye disobey me orders like a first year axelin’?” He sighed. “A’right, what is it now?”

“Per.. mis.. sion.. to die.. sah...”

Eirak’s vision blurred as he watched the closest thing he had to a friend expire at his feet, a familiar grin etched on what remained of his face.

“Sergeant!”

He whirled around, doing his level best to fight off tears he hadn’t thought he could still shed. He half-discerned corporal Darrek standing grimly at attention, doing _his_ level best not to meet his eyes.

He forced steel into his voice before answering. “Report!”

“Sah! Lieutenant Kelbar sent me to warn ye the Raven Wing companies on yer right flank are retreatin’. They’re bein’ replaced by troops from the Fiery Death battalion, sah!”

Eirak stifled a curse.

_Elves .. as if things weren’t bad enough already._

“A’right, corporal. Give the men the usual warnin’. Ye know the drill (6)”

“Sah!” Darrek saluted and left.

Eirak bent and quickly arranged Kergor’s corpse as was proper, right hand on his chest and left hand over it, touching the right vambrace. As he did so, he noticed a silver key tucked inside the left gauntlet. He didn’t know what it opened, but didn’t want to leave it on the battlefield. In the confusion, someone might steal it. So, he pocketed it.

Shouts from soldiers drew his attention back to the battle. Apparently, the Orgothian troops had regrouped for one final assault and were even now advancing on them, forming a shield-wall bristling with spears.

He yelled *“CLOSE .. RANKS!”* and stepped forward to take his place once again among his men.

“Maal’s infinitesimal mercy!”

The curse had come from his right and had been uttered by a voice filled with fear. He turned and silently repeated the oath. An elven battlemage was floating above the ground some distance away, apparently impervious to enemy’s arrows, and preparing a spell.

A spell aimed at the Orgothian troops.

The same Orgothian troops that were less than 20 feet away from them and closing fast...

He had only time enough to yell *“TAKE COVER!”* before they were all suddenly engulfed by an ice storm.

Hailstones the size of a pigeon’s egg pounded them relentlessly for several seconds, while an intense cold seeped into their bones, freezing them to the marrow.

**

“Sergeant”

A voice, cutting through the darkness. The kind of voice that expects instant obedience.

*“Sergeant!”*

The voice, stronger this time, accompanied by a strange noise.

He dimly realized the noise was made by his teeth chattering.

By a supreme effort of will, he managed to open his eyes and immediately spat blood. He was lying on the ground amidst other soldiers from his squad. Unmoving soldiers for the most part...

_That pointy-eared bastard! I’ll-_

“Sergeant-major, can you hear me?” 

A large shadow fell over him. Light was filling the horizon. Dawn had come, finally. He raised his head and squinted. A horseman was standing there, others - at least two squads - behind him. He thought he saw a flash of gold at the level of the cavalryman’s head.

He grunted once.

The man chuckled. “I will take that for a yes.” His voice turned serious again. “You are to assemble your men and retreat. We will replace you here. The enemy is routed anyway. We just have to mop up what is left of them.”

There had been a hint of bravado Eirak didn’t much care for in that last statement. For a second, he felt tempted to tell the human that overconfidence often breeds disaster and to warn him Orgothians seldom allowed themselves to be butchered without a fight. But then, he remembered the same human was probably part of those who continued to turn a blind eye to the kind of _mistake_ the elven battlemage had just made. So, he nodded once and remained silent.

The cavalry unit rode past as he was picking himself up.

He spat to clear his throat. *“PLATOON COMMANDERS, REGROUP YER MEN! WE’RE OUT O’ HERE”*

**

When he woke up in his bunk, night had fallen again. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged. He actually felt strength coming back slowly into his limbs.

_Wait.. somethin’ ain’t right here._

While he could hear voices and noises outside his tent - the usual background noise you come to expect from any military camp - he didn’t hear what he most expected. When soldiers win a war, even one that cost them dearly in terms of casualties, they celebrate. They get drunk and thank the gods for having been granted one more day of life. In short, they make a lot of noises. But, here, the noises and voices were kind of muted as if the soldiers didn’t have any reason to be merry. Indeed, it felt more like a wake.

He got up quickly.. and almost fell to the floor when a wave of dizziness overtook him. He grabbed the nearest pole and used it to steady himself while the sensation passed.

Groaning, he reached for his armor only to find out his shield and waraxe were gone. Cursing, he searched the tent but couldn’t find them.

“If ye’re strong enough to swear, ye’re strong enough to come with us sergeant” stated a voice from outside the tent.

Eirak opened a flap and stepped out, coming face to face with his direct superior, lieutenant Kelbar. The latter was grim-faced.. as were the two Defenders accompanying him.

_Two Defenders just for me?! You’ve got to be kiddin’_

“Sah!” he saluted.

“Ye’re to come with us without delay, sergeant. We waited till ye regained consciousness but this can’t wait any longer” and with that, the lieutenant turned and left while the Defenders moved to flank Eirak. Having no other option, he followed.

On his way to who-knows-where, Eirak noticed soldiers nearby stopped whatever they were doing to look at them. No, correction, they were looking at him! Some few displayed expressions of pity. Most had anger in their eyes. He even caught a few elves smirking openly.

_T’is lookin’ better and better by the minute..._

“Sah, could I at least know where ye’re takin’ me?” he asked.

Without stopping or turning, the lieutenant answered “To yer court martial, sergeant. Where else?”

Eirak’s heart skipped a beat.

**

Eirak was standing in a circle formed of members of the Defenders, elite soldiers all. Half were facing inward, watching his every move, while the other half were facing outward, probably watching for trouble. Not that he expected any given the trial had been set some distance away from the main camp. Torches had been positioned around him to form a smaller circle to which he was confined.

A large oaken table stood about 6 feet in front of him. Behind it sat three persons: lieutenant-colonel Steelbelly, with their battle standard at his back, captain Solmin, his company commander, and a human. The latter was tall and sinewy, the mark of a Drachen. He was in his early thirties, and wore a spotless full plate coated in silver along with a midnight-black cloak. His hair, beard, and moustache - all cropped short - matched the color of his cloak. Combined to his aquiline nose and piercing green eyes, they lent him an air of confidant authority. Even if Eirak had never seen him before, the golden scale-shaped pendant he wore would have betrayed his identity: Earl Saladar, Lord High Justice of Drachenhold.

_Uh oh! I must really have stepped on the wrong foot this time._

Eirak’s shield and waraxe had been laid out on the table, in front of the lieutenant-colonel, to await the result of the trial as was customary.

Captain Solmin stood up, took a scroll and read it. “Sergeant-major Delkilar, you stand accused of dereliction of duty. Namely, you abandoned your post in front of the enemy. How do you plead?”

_What the..! T’is got to be a nightmare!_

He had to swallow twice before words accepted to form in his mouth. “Not guilty!”

Solmin seemed to sigh inwardly, as if he had expected as much. Steelbelly’s face was inscrutable, a frown etched into it. Saladar was looking annoyed, though Eirak got the distinct impression it wasn’t at him but rather at the whole situation.

_What’s goin’ on here?_

Solmin threw a side-glance at the other two before continuing. “Thus, you deny that your actions led to the death of Crown Prince Wolfgang and Prince Kaul?”

Eirak gaped, unable to believe what he had just heard. Then, he remembered the flash of gold and pieces started to fall into place.

Just like the King, the Crown Prince’s helm was customarily adorned with a golden crown (though less elaborate than the King’s own). The cavalry officer who had told him to retreat must have been Prince Wolfgang. And where Wolfgang rode, his brother Kaul was never far behind. Given both were dead, it wasn’t hard to guess what must have happened. They had probably ridden forth, ready to _mop up_ the last Orgothians.. and had fallen into an ambush, or something like that.

Small wonder he was on trial! The King must have been beside himself with anger and grief. To lose two of his heirs on the same day...

_Durn it! If only I hadn’t been half-stunned from that thrice-damned ice storm. If only I hadn’t been facin’ the risin’ sun. If only-_

Solmin’s voice broke his reflection. “Sergeant-major, we are waiting for your answer.”

“I.. not guilt.. er.. I mean, aye”

He finally understood the look on their faces. The King must have demanded someone to blame for the whole mess, a scapegoat as it was. And that someone was to be him...

Saladar must have been the one receiving the order from the King and, as a nobleman, was duty bound to carry it out, no matter how unfair it was.

Steelbelly was probably smoldering inwardly, furious that one of his men had to take the blame and even more furious that his battalion’s honor would be sullied because of it.

Which left only Solmin. As commander of Eirak’s company, it had to be him who had singled him out. That would explain why the man wouldn’t meet his gaze squarely.

_Eh.. but wait a minute.._

Eirak cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was steady again. “Sah, I didn’t desert me post with me men, I received a direct order to do so.”

Saladar looked at him intently. “Can you prove it, sergeant-major?”

Eirak thought for a minute before replying. “Well, the _officer_ who gave me the order could confirm it but I’ve got a feelin’ he won’t be showin’ up as a surprise witness, right?”

The silence that followed was confirmation enough.

“Then, surely, one of me men must have heard-”

“They have been interrogated already, sergeant. Alas, none of them can corroborate your version. Either they had been knocked unconscious during the.. ah.. unfortunate _accident_ that occurred just prior to that or they didn’t survive their wounds. Well, at least those men who would have been close enough to hear the officer give the order.. if he actually did, that is...”

Eirak gnashed his teeth in frustration.

_Well, only one thing left to do then._

He locked gaze with Steelbelly and said, loud enough for all to hear: “On me beard, that’s how it happened, sah!” Then, he stood at attention, the living incarnation of righteous indignation.

Steelbelly turned crimson while Solmin looked about ready to die of embarrassment. And then.. the silence was shattered by Saladar’s laughter.

The Earl turned to his fellow jurors. “Gentlemen, I believe he got us there. Indeed, how do you refute the word of a man whose entire military life has revolved around the concept of honor?”

Saladar stood up and slowly walked till he stood in front of Eirak. By the time he spoke again, all mirth had left his eyes and his voice would have given the shivers to an honest man. “Understand this, sergeant-major, I don’t like this.. ah.. travesty any more than you do. That said, my.. _our_ first duty is to the King.”

“And here I thought yours was to Justice and Truth.” The words had escaped Eirak’s mouth before he even realized he had pronounced them.

_Me and me big mouth._

Saladar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t be daft man! You know as well as I do that the word of the King is law. And, right now, the King grieves for his sons. Any father would. More so any father whose constant duty is to keep our kingdom in one piece. The King wants a culprit, so we will give him one.”

Saladar marked a pause for dramatic effect before adding “Or.. you could do the smart thing...”

“M’lord?”

“You have served in this battalion for some 20 years, I am told. That is two decades of exemplary service, judging by your decorations. Correct?” Saladar didn’t bother to wait for his answer before continuing. “Normally, the only way for one of you stout folks to retire is to either reach the end of your enlistment term or die in the line of duty. What if I told you there was a _third_ way?”

Eirak raised an eyebrow interrogatively.

“Resign”

“What!? Never!” Eirak felt indignant at the very suggestion.

“Very well then. You _will_ be convicted - my word on it. Being a soldier, the only penalty is - of course - death by hanging in front of your regiment. Your shame will sully the honor of your squad, not to mention your entire battalion.” He looked meaningfully at the battle standard proudly displayed behind a somber-faced lieutenant-colonel Steelbelly.

Eirak felt the world shattering under his feet.

“Wha.. what’s the alternative?”

Saladar smiled benignly. “I already told you: resign! Basically, you recognize you did not do the right thing at the right time. Oh, I am not asking you to lie. After all, you _were_ heavily-wounded at the time, no? We will just state you weren’t fully coherent when you ordered your squad to retreat. By resigning, you shoulder the blame and avoid passing it on to your unit. Once you are a civilian, you will not depend on the code of military justice anymore and I will graciously pardon you as, say, a gesture of goodwill given your otherwise pristine career in the service of our nation. As Lord High Justice, that is my privilege. The King will not be happy but I can deal with that.”

Saladar walked back to his seat but, halfway there, stopped and turned around. “Oh, and the best thing is that you get to keep your precious beard (7)” he added genially.

“Of course, this little.. ah.. _transaction_ stays between you and us” he finished, once he was seated. “Well?”

Eirak could feel knots forming in his stomach but knew he was cornered.

_Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Durn it!_

“I accept” he snarled.

**

Eirak stood outside the army camp. The road to Korsk stretched out in front of him, filled with refugees who were slowly returning to villages that had been pillaged by the invaders.

He had been able to keep his armor and his waraxe but had had to exchange his steel shield for a wooden one, an _unadorned_ one.

He sighed.

Soldiers he had campaigned with for years had spat on his path while he was leaving. _Spat!_

He laid his left hand on his right vambrace.

_Battle-Father, give me strength._

“Hello there!” came a cheerful voice behind him.

He whirled.

A forest elf was standing a few feet away, leaning casually on a longbow. He wore the brown and green garb of a forester and a friendly smile on his face.

His elven face.

His cursed pointy-eared face.

Eirak growled and unsheathed his waraxe. He took a step forward.

The elf backed off hastily while raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

“_Sherth!_ Calm yourself, friend! I come in peace, no blood to spill save in answer.”

Eirak barely restrained himself. “Speak quickly or begone!”

The elf’s smile returned. “My name is Aniel, and my little finger tells me you have a silver key in your possession.”

_Kerg’s key? Durn! I had forgotten about it._

“If you do” the elf continued “I have a proposition for you. A lucrative proposition at that.”

Alone, jobless, and penniless, Eirak gave the only possible answer. “Start talkin’..”

**********
(1) Hence the Iron Badger’s motto: “Give me honor, or give me death!”

(2) Son of the wargod Terak, the greatest mortal warrior who ever existed.

(3) Sundered dwarves have lived in perpetual shame ever since the Cataclysm forced them to leave their underground home to become wretched refugees in the World-Above. As such, they stubbornly refuse to grow a beard. Only by joining the military do they regain (in their own opinion) a shred of honor and earn the right to a beard again. Thus, it is relatively easy to judge how long a particular dwarf has served based on the length of his beard. More so given they have taken the habit of braiding their decorations in it. Once they leave the army, they can retain their beard but must keep it at the exact length it was at the time.

(4) When the Cataclysm brought their cavern-home crashing down on them (literally!), the ancestors of the sundered dwarves became convinced Rontra, goddess of the earth, a deity they had honored above all others (save Korak), had betrayed them. Since then, they have refused to worship her in any way and, indeed, continue to curse her name to this day.

(5) Provincial capital of the Duchy of Karameikos.

(6) Ever since the dwarves fought on the side of the humans during the Forest War, the elves of Suress (especially the forest elves) have borne them a grudge. Even though the two races are now part of the same kingdom and, supposedly, fight on the same side, it’s not unheard-of for elven units to target _mistakenly_ dwarven units in the heat of battle. Of course, the elven officers always apologize afterwards but the damage is done. Usually, army commanders don’t make those units fight side by side unless they have no other choice.

(7) It is customary for dwarves serving in the military and earning the death penalty to shave their beard in shame before their execution is carried out.

**********


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## Herremann the Wise (Nov 8, 2004)

Mortepierre,

Now that's a way to start a story! Well written and described.

I look forward to reading more with the possibility of Saladar one day feeling the impact of Eirak's axe penetrating the bridge of his nose.
I love revenge stories.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## BLACKDIRGE (Nov 11, 2004)

Nice start!

You really have some serious talent.

I look forward to more.

Blackdirge


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## Mortepierre (Nov 11, 2004)

Herremann the Wise said:
			
		

> Mortepierre,
> 
> Now that's a way to start a story! Well written and described.
> 
> ...




Thank you for the compliments!

The fun part about Saladar is that, in his opinion, he was _really_ doing Eirak a favor. Of course, our grumpy dwarf didn’t quite see it that way and when they met again later on (in a few chapters) he was sorely tempted indeed to “greet him with extreme prejudice” as the player himself put it at the time. But that is a story for another day...   



			
				BLACKDIRGE said:
			
		

> Nice start!
> 
> You really have some serious talent.
> 
> I look forward to more.




Gosh! From the Monster-Master himself?! I am honored  

And now to introduce our second would-be hero...


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## Mortepierre (Nov 11, 2004)

*Prelude - part 2: Heart of Stone*

Drachenhold - Principality of Suress
399 AC - Stone elves territory

Pelrind _ascended_ (1).

Instantly, his body registered pressure all over his skin, combined with coldness. Moreover, when he tried to fill his lungs, his nose refused to obey, as if it was blocked. He tried to use his mouth and managed to gulp down some air through what seemed to be a small pipe held between his teeth. His eyes revealed nothing given he was apparently blindfolded.

So, naturally, he panicked.

Unfortunately, he was held tight, incapable of even the most rudimentary movement.

Then, the truth dawned on him.

_Of course I can’t move. Hardly surprising when you are buried alive._

He forced his body to relax while his mind slowly remembered the chain of events that had led to this situation...

**

It happened in the middle of the second century after the Cataclysm, right after the conclusion of the second Forest War, when the humans from Drachenhold and the elves from Suress had banded together for the first time in history to defeat the humanoid army that the druids had assembled to punish the humans. Druids - even elven druids - who had until then enjoyed the protection of the elven woods suddenly found themselves very unwelcome, if not hunted down. Not that there were many of them left...

Most surviving druids were humanoids. When their troops had been defeated, they had blamed their elven and human _brothers_ for it and either retreated north or returned to the Wild Coast. Reviled by all, forced to withdraw to the most inhospitable locations to avoid being slaughtered, the few humans and elves still alive realized they were facing extinction.

Then, almost miraculously, one of them - a human named Dvorr - had an epiphany. They had been fighting the wrong battle from the start!

The very first druids, if legend was to be believed, had been a group of folks who discovered the location of Eliwyn’s grove (2) and became its self-appointed caretakers. Their disciples later spread throughout the world and assumed custody of the animals and plants which they perceived as Eliwyn’s defenseless _lesser kin_.

According to Dvorr, that had been a terrible mistake. While he admitted that protecting Eliwyn was important, he postulated that their primary duty beyond that task was to the world itself. And what was the world if not a combination of the four basic elements? Indeed, those very same elements had become the first-generation gods in the mythology of most cultures.

Essentially, animals and plants were but _by-products_ of the world. As such, they were important only inasmuch as their destruction endangered the world itself. What really mattered was to maintain the elemental equilibrium on which the world was based.

The elves, with their concept of _Ahlenh Gonh_ (3) - which they used to power their sorcery - were simply tapping an energy source that sprang from that balance.

Dvorr theorized that the world could be divided into zones. Each zone was composed of a mix of the four elements, with some elements being dominant and others being dominated. For example, a range of mountains was clearly dominated by Earth and Air, while a marsh was dominated by Earth and Water, etc...

Even if each zone was dominated by one (or more) element(s), the sum of all the zones was still balanced. For instance, if a certain number of zones were dominated by, say, Water, then an equal number of zones elsewhere saw Water being dominated by another element.

Furthermore, to maintain that equilibrium, the world used what he dubbed the _dynamics of chaos_. If the balance was disturbed locally, the world would react violently through natural phenomena to correct the problem. For example, if a lake was drained in a zone, the world would flood another zone to compensate (the crucial point being the preservation of the overall balance).

The problem was that when the world reacted in this way, it was _blind_ to the consequences for the races that occupied the zone targeted. The elemental balance would be restored but the native life forms would have sustained heavy casualties in the process.

_That_ was the kind of problem they should have been tracking and correcting instead of warring against humans determined to cut down a few trees. And since most races didn’t have the means to drastically modify the local elemental equilibrium of the zones where they lived, the druids would be less likely to arouse the ire of the natives.

The others were doubtful. After all, what he was asking them would change radically their way of life. But, at the same time, they recognized that his proposal was intriguing, if not appealing. Druids already manipulated elemental energies through their spells, so this wasn’t completely new to them.

Two accepted to become his disciples, an elf called Unula and a human named Saterus. They followed him deep into the wilderness and, there, experimented his theories. They refined their understanding of the nature of the elements through meditation, purification rituals, spellcasting and frequent dialogues with creatures they summoned from the four Elemental Pillars (4).

Dvorr wrote down the sum of his reflections in a book he titled the _Codex Natura_. He gave a copy to each of his disciples and then told them he needed to depart for a time on a journey through the Elemental Pillars themselves. Until his return, they would be in charge of implementing his teachings.

Saterus and Unula returned to the others, filled with a new purpose. They formed disciples of their own and, little by little, the new order grew. By respect for its founder, they called themselves the _Adepts of Dvorr_, a name that was soon abbreviated into _Dvorraks_.

As time passed, it became obvious that Saterus and Unula didn’t see eye to eye on one important subject. Saterus believed that they were the world’s _vengeful hand_. If the equilibrium of a zone was disturbed, it was up to them to choose another zone and disturb it in return before the world had a chance to act on its own (often with far more devastating consequences). Unula, on the other hand, was convinced that their duty was to prevent zones from being disturbed in the first place or, if not possible, to restore the zones concerned _before_ the world had to step in.

Their disciples, of course, polarized along their points of view. Soon, fights broke out between proponents of what had become two divergent philosophical trends. And since members of both factions specialized in elemental spells, the battles proved to be not only extremely violent but also terribly destructive.

Fortunately, both Saterus and Unula quickly realized that the only consequence of this fratricidal conflict would be to undermine everything they had built, jeopardizing Dvorr’s dream. Calling together all the Dvorraks, they announced a few changes to the organization.

First, the members would be divided into four castes. In ascending order: Novices, Adepts, Masters, and Disciples. Advancement from one caste to the next would be based not only on personal power but also on one’s understanding of Dvorr’s theories (5). Furthermore, only Masters and Disciples would be authorized to train new Novices.

Second, Novices were forbidden to take direct action to protect the balance unless acting under the supervision of a member of Adept (or higher) rank.

Third, if it was determined that a given zone had truly become _unbalanced_, all members present in that zone (whatever their respective rank) would assemble and suggest possible courses of action. Then, they would settle on the one to follow through a majority vote and band together to implement it. The highest ranking member would be in command for the duration of that mission.

These new rules nipped the schism in the bud.. at least in appearance... (6)

**

Roughly 200 years later, the order was still growing though certain of its most cynical members would have referred to its condition as _stagnating_ instead.

Dvorr had never come back. Infrequently, elemental creatures summoned by the Adepts would hint that he had been seen. However, any evidence offered always proved inconclusive. Saterus had died of old age but his philosophy had survived him. Unula was still alive and, now, the only member experienced enough to claim the rank of Disciple.

The Dvorraks had slowly found acceptance anew among the elves although the latter refused to grant them the same kind of unconditional support they had once given to the druids. Among humans, the situation was far from idyllic due to the kind of new members the order recruited (7). Mostly, the Dvorraks suffered from incomprehension. Commoners could understand a druid’s desire to protect animals and plants, but the concept of protecting the world’s elemental balance was utterly alien to them. Even local authorities didn’t quite know what to make of them. Hence, most humans still viewed them as _druids_, only crazier than before.

**

Like all Stone Elves, Pelrind had felt a deep respect for the mountainous home of his race from the moment of his birth. But this appreciation was coupled with an affinity for the earth that few shared among his clan. He would often disappear for hours, following crevices and galleries that led deeper than the territory claimed by his village. There, alone in the dark, he would listen - motionless - till hunger forced him to return home.

One day, his parents - worried about his safety - asked him to explain what he found so fascinating down there. He simply replied that the Earth was talking to him all the time but that it was only when he was far enough from other living beings that the words started to make sense. Hence, the need to go where he wouldn’t be disturbed.

At first, his family thought that it meant he was destined to become a Life-Shaper (8), a rare vocation that would bring much honor to their clan. Thus, they took him to the local mage, certain the latter would grant him an apprenticeship. Alas, it was not to be. The mage told them the kinship Pelrind felt toward the Earth went beyond the respect a mage has for the elements. His true calling lay elsewhere. However, he knew someone who might help and offered to take Pelrind to that person.

Embarrassed but determined to let their son’s potential express itself fully, the parents agreed. One week later, Pelrind was taken deep into the mountains to the isolated home of an old elven woman who introduced herself as Unula. When he told her he could hear the Earth talk, she simply asked him if he would like to learn how to answer. Awed, he agreed earnestly and - without knowing it - took the first step toward joining the order.

He stayed with her for 20 years, studying at her feet as she had once learnt from Dvorr. Then, she sent him to a Saterist Master to insure he would be introduced to what she called the _other ring of the same bell_. When he returned to her, 10 years later, she pronounced him ready to take the First Test (9).

Naming the Earth as his element of choice was the easy part. Being told he would need to be buried alive proved to be harder...

**

_And so, I ended up here_ he thought.

His mistress had taken him to a small, isolated glen. Once there, she had told him to dig a hole - with his bare hands - deep enough for him to sit with the top of his head beneath the ground. Before going in, she had made him take off all his clothes - apart from a blindfold to protect his eyes. To enter the Earth’s womb, he needed to be naked like a newborn. Once inside, he was given a long reed pipe, his one link with the surface and the only way for him to breathe. Then, she had buried him. He would stay that way until the Earth _accepted_ him.

At first, he had thought it merely involved waiting patiently for a sign. So, he had meditated to while away the time. Unfortunately, hours later, he was still waiting for the sign...

_This is great_ he sighed inwardly. _Buried alive. I should have chosen Air or Water! Well, maybe not Water. Drowning is like suffocating after all. I wonder if anyone ever chooses Fire.._

He shuddered involuntarily at the thought of what being accepted by Fire could entail.

_Wait.. maybe I am going about this the wrong way. Could it be symbolic?_

He started to recap mentally what the Codex Natura stated about the Earth.

_It is cold and dry. Solid and steady.

Earth is the strongest of the four elements. It symbolizes the physical world.

Its associated shape is the cube and its related number is 1.

Hmm.. a cube has 8 corners, so why pick 1 instead of 8? Even if Dvorr viewed the cube as a square, its corresponding surface, the number would be 4, not 1._

This reflection triggered a buried memory about a lesson Unula had given him long ago.

_It was something about the.. - how did she call it? - ah yes, the Unity Principle. As the embodiment of the world, Earth is the link between the other 3 elements._

With every square inch of his body in contact with the surrounding soil, he could feel the tiniest vibration coursing through the Earth if he concentrated hard enough. Slowly, he became aware of one muted but steady throb, like a giant pulse...

He forced his own heartbeat to slow to match it. Dimly, without even realizing it, his consciousness started to expand. 

Molten lava was traveling through tunnels that were old when the world was still young, like veins of Fire.

Rain was seeping through the surface, gathering in huge pools of Water underground, before being released once again via rivers, sources and wells, like perspiration or tears.

And Air was sweeping in through every cranny to dance inside deep caverns, like lungs filling when you breathe.

_Of course.. one body, one world. We are as one..._

Suddenly, he felt sunlight warming his face. Surprised, he tried to move and registered no pressure upon his limbs. He was free! He took off his blindfold but put it back on immediately when the harsh glare of the sun stabbed through his eyes.

“Careful _fiuran_, give your body time to adapt once again” said a voice he knew well.

_Fiuran.. Novice.. I passed?_

He took off his blindfold again, more slowly this time and, squinting, looked at his feet. The ground was undisturbed as if no hole had ever been dug in it. He frowned, puzzled.

“_Aosda_, was this just.. an illusion?”

Unula smiled enigmatically. “What does your heart tell you?”

He concentrated, listening within him. The familiar pulse of his heart was there, as always, but he was surprised to discover another pulse that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being. A slow but steady pulse.. as if..

“The Earth! I can feel it ins-”

“Shhhh.. do not say it aloud” she interrupted, gently putting two fingers over his mouth. “Each element has a secret, something It reveals only to those with the patience to listen and the will to embrace them fully. Those secrets are never discussed openly, not even among ourselves, for each of us must discover them on his or her own. But know this: you will never be alone anymore. Wherever you go, whatever you do, _that_ will always be a part of you.” She put her right palm over his heart and smiled again, but benignly this time, as a sister might smile to a younger brother.

He smiled in return and then bowed respectfully. “Thank you, _Aosda_, I will remember. Always.”

Abruptly, it dawned on him that he wasn’t a pupil anymore. After spending the last 30 years of his life studying, he would be left without guidance. A daunting prospect. 

“Er.. but what am I supposed to do now?” he asked sheepishly.

“Now? Now, you start your journey. It is time for you to learn more of the world you live in. When you feel you have learnt enough, come back to us for your Second Test.”

He bowed once again, filled at once with elation and dread.

“Before you go” she added, “I have something for you. Call it a parting gift if you will”. She held out a small item to him.

He took it, looked closely and wondered.

_A silver key?_

Unula smiled enigmatically again. “Let’s just say this should open the door to many adventures for you...”

**********
(1) Suressian elves view their routine meditation as a merging of their consciousness with their inner spirit to bring them in phase once again after a day spent interacting with the material world. Hence, entering this meditative state is described as _descending_ (within themselves), and leaving it as _ascending_.

(2) Eliwyn, also known as the Life-Tree (or World-Tree), was the last “child” of the first-generation (elemental) gods. On her were born the four races that are considered to have a soul (dwarves, gobbers, halflings, and humans). A fifth race is rumored to be still ripening on her branches. For a long time, the goddess Thellyne protected Eliwyn’s grove.. until the forefathers of the druids showed up and offered to take over.

(3) “Life Stream”

(4) In this setting, the elemental planes are likened to 4 mighty pillars on which the world is built.

(5) In game terms, that translates into prerequisites based on certain feats, skill ranks in Knowledge (nature) and Knowledge (the Planes), as well as mastery of one (or more) elemental language(s), and access to certain spells.

(6) From overt, the feud between _Saterists_ and _Unulians_ became covert. Masters began to train as many Novices as they could to insure their philosophy would be a majority in all the zones protected by the order.

(7) As of 400 AC, the order’s membership is made up primarily of elves and humans. Roughly a 45-50% proportion, with the last 5% consisting of other races. Members are recruited exclusively among bards (very rarely), druids and/or sorcerers. No cleric, holy warrior, or wizard is ever allowed to join. Still, all in all, one would be hard-pressed to assemble more than a hundred members (of which only 15% are of Master rank).

(8) Elven mages (most of them being _Sorcerers_ actually) are in charge of protecting the life force of their fellow citizens and of “shaping” their environment (be it made of wood or stone). Hence, their spells concentrate on Abjuration, (White) Necromancy and Transmutation.

(9) Despite the fact that they are taught early on to respect all four elements, all members of the order must choose one which they endeavor to master in all its aspects. The First Test (becoming a Novice) involves earning _acceptance_ from their element of choice. The Second Test (becoming an Adept) is about proving they have gained thorough knowledge of it. The Third Test (becoming a Master) demonstrates their mastery - through magic - of that element. Few Dvorraks who have reached the rank of Master devote time to mastering the other 3 elements. Those who do so all hope to, one day, become a Disciple.

**********


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## Nasma (Nov 11, 2004)

Great story so far, can't wait to meet the other PCs and see the campaign begin.


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## ledded (Nov 11, 2004)

*Great* story so far; very engaging, it sucked me in without a second glance.


Your worldbuilding is extremely interesting, and so far, masterful in it's crafting.

I will be keeping tabs on this one to see how it develops.  Keep up the good work.


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## Mortepierre (Nov 13, 2004)

Nasma said:
			
		

> Great story so far, can't wait to meet the other PCs and see the campaign begin.






			
				ledded said:
			
		

> *Great* story so far; very engaging, it sucked me in without a second glance.
> 
> Your worldbuilding is extremely interesting, and so far, masterful in its crafting.
> 
> I will be keeping tabs on this one to see how it develops. Keep up the good work.




Thank you both!  

To be fair, though, I have to give credit where credit is due. My toughest job here is to act as a translator. I am sure that, by now, it’s obvious English isn’t our group’s mother language.

The “Preludes” series is made up primarily of the backgrounds my players developed, so I consider it more as a tribute to their own imagination than as an introduction to my campaign.

I must say, it’s the first time in a long while that creating characters was so enjoyable to me as a DM. Since my world is quite complex, a majority of my players chose to involve me in the process early on (probably to reap the “background integrates elements and/or events requested by the DM” reward  ).

Eirak’s player had planned his whole background based on where he wanted his character to go (stat-wise). He surprised me though by requesting to play a part in the death of the two princes, an event he had spotted in my History file. He got what he wished for.. and a bit more in the bargain (DM’s prerogative). He actually had to role-play the whole trial (mainly because I wanted at least one of the players to have met Saladar before the campaign began).

Kalveig and Pelrind’s players had great character’s concepts but weren’t too concerned about game-mechanics as long as it allowed them to role-play what they had in mind.

Pelrind’s use of both druidic and sorcerous powers posed an intriguing problem given how both classes are treated by natives. So, I took his basic idea about an elementalist and built on it to create a semi-secret society concerned by the World’s "elemental balance".

Originally, Kalveig had chosen to play a Holy Warrior of Darmon (god of joy, merchants, messengers, and thieves) but when he heard of my problems with Siubhan’s player, he shifted to Morwyn and rewrote his entire background to incorporate her. Since then, he has acted as her “role-play councilor” during gaming sessions. What can I say? The guy is a paladin at heart...  

Musadoc is played by a total newbie, both to role-play and game-mechanics. What he lacks in experience though, he more than makes up in sheer enthusiasm. Simply put, he’ll try anything as long as you give him a chance to prove himself. That was very refreshing to me  

The only problem I had with him was that he had browsed the info I had given them about the Holy Warrior class and desperately wanted to play one with access to the Fire domain. Of course, he had picked the only one that wasn’t available (you’ll understand why when you read his background). It required a bit of creative thinking but IMHO the solution allowed him to have what he requested _and_ to contribute something “special” to the team.

Siubhan.. that was something else entirely. She is played by a veteran powergamer that had just joined our group. She could optimize a character faster than you can say “fireball!” but was relatively new to the concept of role-play   

I can still remember her remark when she learnt that there were only two gods available if you wanted a cleric able to cast Cure spells:

_Are you saying that my only choice is to play either a farmer or a pacifist?!_  

Unfortunately for her, my campaigns have always been more about “role-play” than “roll-play”.

Note that I am not saying this to disparage her in any way. She is really a nice person, and there is nothing wrong with knowing the rules inside out. It’s just that she didn’t understand - at first - why role-play was so important to the rest of us. Fortunately, Kalveig’s player stepped in at this point and, since she didn’t want to spend time on a background, offered to include her in his.

Incidentally, that explains why her character might look more proactive during fights than during talks in the first few chapters.

I’ve got to give her this though: in the (almost) two years we have played together, she has come a long way. She’s still a powergamer first and foremost but methink she has grown to recognize the value of role-play as well.

When you think about it, it all depends on the DM. If role-play gets you nowhere, you’re not exactly motivated to try it out.

For her, the turning point was during our second gaming session when - SPOILER! - creative role-play allowed the team to avoid a TPK. I could almost picture the wheels turning in her head as she pondered what had happened. Oh, and Kalveig’s player has been a great teacher too.

Well, enough chat. Back to work!


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## Herremann the Wise (Nov 14, 2004)

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> To be fair, though, I have to give credit where credit is due. My toughest job here is to act as a translator. I am sure that, by now, it’s obvious English isn’t our group’s mother language.




Actually, as a testament to your and their? skills, no it is not! Indication if any only arises from your username. Look forward to future installments and the story proper.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Mortepierre (Nov 15, 2004)

Thank you for the kind words!   

Here is part 3. Part 4 (the last, because it deals with the two remaining PC) should be posted by the end of this week. And, after that, it's onward to Chapter 1!  

*Prelude - part 3: The Flame Rekindled*

Drachenhold - Duchy of Pellham
399 AC - Ringrise mine (Five Shires region)

_Run! Don’t look back, run!_

So, he ran.. for all the good it had done him till now.

Dark-grey walls were speeding past, illuminated only momentarily by the unwavering light of his lantern. They were shored up of course, same as the rest of the mine. In a way, he was almost glad he couldn’t take the time to examine the pit props. He doubted wood more than 4 centuries old had retained its resilience. The muffled rumbles he heard irregularly only served to reinforce that opinion.

Still, he had to give it to those who had dug the Second Depth; their galleries had held all these years. Heck! Apparently, they had even held despite the Cataclysm. Well, mostly. From time to time, he had had to change course due to a section that had collapsed but, all in all, this level was relatively clear of rubbles or major cave-in.

_Almost as if miners were still maintaining it._

A thought came to him unbidden, sending shivers down his spine.

_Ohmygodno!_

He stopped and, slowly, backed up against a wall, his lantern in one hand and his pickaxe in the other.

_What if it’s.. them?_

His thoughts drifted back to the moment he first encountered them.

**

The pit boss of the Eleventh Depth had said he remembered seeing a pile of old rails gathering dust years ago during a routine inspection of the Second Depth. And here they were, unable to continue mining the new copper vein near the number 3 shaft because the quartermaster had failed to deliver new rails in time. So, two miners had been sent to locate the rails and, more importantly, to determine if they were still usable.

He hadn’t been too happy about the assignment - those abandoned levels were a bit spooky - but had obeyed anyway. The good thing with the Second Depth was that the air was cooler and didn’t stink of sweat. So, after a while, he actually began to enjoy the trip. They had managed to find easily enough the place where the rails had been. The only problem was that they weren’t there anymore...

Puzzled, they had followed tracks that led away from the access shaft. Perhaps other miners had simply moved them during another inspection?

And then, they had stumbled on _them_.

At first, they had mistaken them for normal miners. After all, from a distance, all halfling miners look alike. As they came closer, they began to notice differences. The skin of these workers was unnaturally pale. Some had limbs that showed signs of broken bones, but didn’t seem impeded by them. And the air in the gallery was inexplicably chiller than elsewhere on the same level.

Fosco, his companion, had told him to stay back while he checked them out. He had gone forward and hailed the unknown miners.

Apparently, they didn’t like to be disturbed while digging because they had ignored him until he grabbed the nearest one by the shoulder and turned him around forcibly.

The _creature_ had faced Fosco then. Musadoc would remember to the end of his days the lidless pitch-black eyes, like holes, and the open mouth that was drooling dirt.

Fosco had seemed petrified by this vision of horror until the creature touched him with long, grimy, black-nailed fingers. He jerked and tried to run but collapsed on the ground, as if drained of vitality. With a well-aimed blow of its pickaxe, the creature pinned him to the floor like a bug to a wooden plate. As Fosco was screaming in pain, the creature stood above him and _vomited_ a horrible mixture of gravel and dirt into his mouth. The halfling miner convulsed for a full minute as if his innards were on fire, and then lay still.

During the whole ordeal, Musadoc had been too terrified to move. He had finally recognized them for what they were: shaft wights, one of the very few things that miners dreaded more than a cave-in!

Then, the creature had raised its nightmarish face toward him and the only thing he had seen reflected in its hollow eyes was his own death. So, he had turned tail and run as if his life depended on it.. because it most likely did.

Unfortunately, fear has a funny way of muddling your memories. Instead of going straight back to the shaft, he had actually ventured deeper into the galleries.

**

For a minute, he dared to think he had lost them. He started to breathe easier and tried to relax. Just as he was about to succeed, he heard it. Faint noises at first, then the telltale splashing sound of feet sloshing through the mud of the gallery’s floor.

_Rontra’s grumble! Why don’t they give up?!_

But he already knew the answer to that question. The old folktales all agreed on that point: shaft wights liked only two things, collect ore and _recruit_ new members for their undead fraternity.

No doubt, if he stayed here long enough, he would end up running into Fosco again. Or, rather, into the creature Fosco was even now turning into.

The thought wasn’t a cheerful one...

Something bothered him though. Every time he had stopped running, the shaft wights had found him shortly afterward. That in itself wasn’t so odd. After all, they were relentless undeads. No, the weird part was that they didn’t always come from _behind_ him. Sometimes, they came out of secondary tunnels, as if they wished to discourage him from going in certain directions. Almost as if..

_I am being herded!_

The only question was whether he was guided toward a specific location or away from it.

Since they could overtake him anywhere, he didn’t see the point of doing it in a particular area. No, it was much more likely that they were trying to prevent his escape. This meant there was only one course of action open to him...

_I must double back. Find my way past those who track me. Get to one of the access points to the upper or lower levels._

But the mere thought of facing the shaft wights again was enough to turn his stomach and drain all strength from his legs.

_Aye.. easier said than done._

His breathing quickened as self-preservation fought logic, and he became acutely aware that cold sweat was covering his entire body.

_I don’t want to die!_

Noise from both sides of the gallery informed him that his reprieve was over. It was time to act.. or die trying.

_Rontra, Earth-Mother, please don’t stick to my feet!_

Summoning what strength of will he still had, he put his plan into action, running as quickly as his feet would carry him back the way he had come. Almost immediately, he came face to face with two shaft wights. For a second, he thought he could read surprise on their ruined faces.

He, however, didn’t hesitate. He flung his lantern at the right one. Luckily, his aim was true and the lamp struck the undead miner in the chest. It shattered and flaming oil spurted, spraying the two wights.

Musadoc attempted to run past them, clinging to the right wall as much as he could. Unfortunately, the undead he had hit was now flailing around, trying to extinguish the flames that were devouring its body. As the halfling attempted to squeeze past, one of the creature’s claws grazed his left shoulder. The contact was brief but its effect devastating.

Musadoc almost stumbled as he felt his vitality being ripped from him. Suddenly, he was as feeble as if he had just spent a week suffering from the flu. If his mind and heart hadn’t been screaming that he had to keep moving, he would probably have collapsed on the spot. Instead, his right hand tried to grab the wall in a desperate attempt to steady himself.. and met only empty air.

He tumbled for a few seconds before landing - hard! - on a metallic surface. Pain shot through his head and his left shoulder. As incredible as it may seem, this proved to be exactly what he needed. The resulting adrenaline surge brought back some strength to his limbs and dispelled – however momentarily – the pall of fear that clogged his mind.

He groped around in the dark, his hands trying to ascertain what his surroundings were. Fortunately, it didn’t take him long to find out. He had fallen down a small evacuation shaft straight into an old ore truck.

A roar from above told him at least one of the wights had survived and was only seconds away from reaching him. Frantically, his hands searched the wagon till they found the handle of the brake.

_Pleaseohpleaseletitwork!_

He pulled as hard as he could.

The handle broke.

_Gods above and below, give me a break!_

_Something_ heavy dropped from the shaft on top of him, something cold, hard, and definitely moving. Lying on his back, he could feel bits of dirt and gravel falling on his face. He tried very hard not to imagine the wight’s face inches above his own, mouth ready to disgorge whatever had killed Fosco.

Reacting on a purely instinctual level, his legs coiled and then kicked hard. Amazingly, it worked! The wight was projected out of the wagon against the shaft’s wall. As it crumpled between the two, its weight dislodged the cart. The brake, hopelessly rusted, broke apart and the wagon started to roll. Slowly at first, then more rapidly as it picked up speed.

Musadoc, familiar with the mine’s design, knew that ore carts were supposed to converge on central chambers where their contents would be sorted out before being dispatched to one of the main shafts for a one-way trip to the surface.

_Sweet freedom, here I come!_

His wagon derailed, sending him tumbling to the floor and shattering his dreams of an easy way out of this predicament.

He cursed and screamed at the same time, oath and pain merging into something incoherent yet vehement.

He picked himself up, spat mud and screamed again. Arguably a foolish action, but it was either that or have a breakdown then and there.

He sighed audibly and fought back tears of frustration.

_This just ain’t my day.._

Grabbing his pickaxe, he started to hobble along blindly in the general direction the cart had been going, using his left hand to stay in contact with the gallery’s wall.

Along the way, blind, hurt and thoroughly miserable, he began to repeat the Prayer of Flame (1) over and over, like a mantra.

“Bright Lady, kindler of hearth,
We light this fire in memory,
For without you, there would be no fire,
Not in heaven, nor on earth.
Bright Lady, keeper of hearth,
We thank you for the flame!”

With every step forward and each retelling, the flame of his faith burnt a little brighter within him, not only bringing comfort but also renewing his hopes.

The prayer began to take a life of its own, its multiple echoes gradually joining Musadoc’s voice to create a divine-like chorus. Gallery after gallery throughout the Second Depth filled with a hymn dedicated to the Fire that Banishes Darkness, timeless bridge between the Bright Lady and her worshippers.

And somewhere in the mine, _something_ heard and stirred...

**

Musadoc was tired. It seemed to him that he had been walking for hours, if not days. He would have given anything for some light, even from a mere candle. Predictably, when the gloom started to lift at the edge of his field of vision, he thought he was simply imagining it. However, when he noticed that the obscurity was increasing again as he continued forward, he decided to retrace his steps.

The light or, rather, the absence of darkness was coming from a side gallery that was partly caved in. As he got closer, he discovered someone - probably the shaft wights - had begun to clear away the rubble but then had stopped inexplicably. A small opening had been made and, through it, a cool, silvery radiance was spreading to his side of the debris.

Well, it wasn’t daylight but it sure was the first source of light he had found in a long while and, whatever it was, he intended to take it along. He was like a starving man. Now that what he craved for was almost at hand, he wouldn’t leave without it.

He spat in his hands, rubbed them together, rolled up his sleeves, and started to dig with his pickaxe. It wasn’t difficult work, just tricky as he had to enlarge the opening without triggering another cave-in.

As his work progressed, he found something that gave him pause. Apparently, the gallery had collapsed because of a few damaged pit props. The problem was that - as best as he could tell - they had been destroyed intentionally from the other side...

_Hmm.. perhaps by miners that were pursued?_

He resumed work but decided to proceed carefully.

When the hole was finally big enough, he crawled through. The gallery continued for only a few feet before taking a sharp turn to the left. That was where the radiance originated. Cautiously, he crept around the corner, his pickaxe held two-handed defensively.

Beyond, the tunnel extended for a dozen feet before stopping at another cave-in. Whether artificial or natural, it was hard to tell. However, that particular question looked insignificant compared to the fact that _someone_ was waiting for him. Indeed, Musadoc’s first reaction when he spied the stranger was to freeze, uncertain about how to proceed.

The man - that much could easily be ascertained - was human and thus tall compared to the halfling. He wore an antique suit of plate armor made of burnished bronze and stood in the middle of the tunnel, his legs spread slightly apart for stability and his hands crossed over the guard of a greatsword whose tip had been driven into the ground in front of him. The visor of his helm was raised but, since the only source of light came from behind him, his face was cloaked in shadows. A rather impressive fiery red walrus moustache was readily visible though. The warrior’s general posture seemed to indicate he was acting as a guardian of some sort.

“Hello?”

His greeting was answered only by silence.

“Sir, I’m not looking for trouble but I could really use some help here.”

The warrior didn’t move a muscle, didn’t shift position, and didn’t utter a word.

Musadoc was growing increasingly nervous about this encounter. And yet.. something about the man was oddly appealing to him. Straining his eyes, he tried to gather more details to better understand who he was facing.

The first thing that caught his gaze was the blade of the sword. It was covered with dark patches, the way metal blackens when held in a fire.

Secondly, the warrior was wearing a sporran around the waist. That kind of item was part of the Traladaran traditional garb. No one wore one these days, except maybe during festivals.

The third element that drew his attention was the center piece of the armor’s breastplate. It sported an elaborate silver filigree depicting a roaring hearth partly hidden behind a tower shield. The hearth was familiar to him as Anwyn’s holy symbol. Adding a shield to it was something he had never seen before though.

_Well, as long as that man serves the Bright Lady, he is all right by me._

“Sir? I don’t want to intrude but.. do you think you could spare some time to help me get out of the mine? There are critters back in the tunnels that are after me and I’m sure a big, strong fellow like you could take care of them. That is, if you don’t mind, sir.”

The warrior stood unmoving.

_My rotten luck. I finally meet someone and the guy is as blind and deaf as a rock! That, or he just doesn’t like company..._

Still, that didn’t explain the radiance.

Craning to the side in order to look behind the warrior, Musadoc finally discovered what produced the light. A medallion - a holy symbol by the look of it - had been hung in the middle of the debris. Thanks to its glow, the entire area was bathed in silvery hues.

_Magical! Great.. now I’m sure he’ll never let me borrow it._

Musadoc breathed deeply once to gather his courage and then walked right up to the warrior, determined to shake him out of his lethargy if he had to.

As he came closer, the shadows veiling the face gradually lifted, revealing a desiccated visage. The man had been dead for years!

For a minute, the halfling was transfixed with fear, thinking the corpse was going to animate and attack him. After all, given his recent encounters with shaft wights, that wasn’t a totally preposterous hypothesis...

Fortunately, the dead warrior didn’t move. He just stood there, noble and impressive even after having crossed over to Maal’s kingdom (2) long ago.

Warily, Musadoc skirted the corpse to get the medallion. He had to climb a bit on the debris to be high enough but, to an experienced miner such as him, that was the easy part. Holding his breath, his hand reached ever closer till his fingers brushed the silver pendant engraved with the blazing hearth symbol of Anwyn.

~_Fàilte lad!_

Musadoc was so surprised he dropped the medallion and fell backward. Instinctively, his hands tried to grab something - _anything_ - to break his fall.

They closed on the armor’s tasset.

The whole plate swayed for a second before it came crashing down over Musadoc.

The end result was a lot of new bruises for the halfling and an armored corpse turned into a macabre puzzle...

Rubbing his head, Musadoc coughed a few times to clear out the dust he had swallowed.. and then turned green as he realized just _what_ the dust probably was.

Feeling nauseous, he searched around on his knees for the medallion. Since the latter was still giving off light, it didn’t take long.

He picked it up.

~_Lad, that wasn’t very nice what you did to my old bones, now was it?_

He dropped it again and screamed.

That was twice he heard the strange voice, not with his ears but inside his head. The first time, he had dared to hope he had imagined it. This time, there could be no mistake.

He was sorely tempted to leave the medallion behind and depart without looking back, but the thought of wandering again in complete darkness stopped him.

Seeing no other viable alternative, he took the medallion once again.

~_Are you quite through with this game of yours yet, lad? I can afford to wait a few eons more but I doubt you could._

It took every ounce of will he could muster but, this time, he didn’t drop it.

~_Good! Now that you have pulled yourself together, how about formal introductions, eh?_

“Who.. or _what_.. are you?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound half as frightened as he was at that moment.

~_Sir Jareth Vaerix, at your service lad. As to ‘what’ I am, I used to be a Firebrand of the holy order of the Hearthkeepers. Right now, however, methink a better definition would be - do NOT drop me! - a ‘ghost’._

“A gh.. gho.. ghost?” Musadoc stammered.

~_Quite right, lad. Oh, but don’t let that bother you. I assure you I am quite harmless.. even if you did desecrate my body..._

“Ididn’tdoitonpurpose!Iswear!Pleaseohpleasedon’tkillme!”

~_Cold ashes, lad! Slow down! I am not here to hurt you, quite the contrary._

“Re.. really? Why do you haunt me then.. er.. sir Ghost?”

~_The name be Sir Jareth, lad. But you can call me ‘Firechops’. My friends all do. Well, used to rather. As to the reason of my presence here, it is quite simple. You summoned me._

“I did?!?”

~_Course you did, lad! You prayed to the Bright Lady for help, didn’t you? Well, here I am! That is what us Hearthkeepers do, you know? Help and protect - no offense, lad - commoners._

“But you’re dead!”

~_You say that as if something so trivial could prevent me from fulfilling my sacred duty!_

“...”

~_T’was a joke, lad. Don’t living beings have a sense of humor anymore?_

Musadoc just couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. Pretty soon, he was roaring with laughter. As he rolled on the ground, holding his ribs, he could feel the tension of the past hours finally dissipating.

Even after the laughter died, he lay on his back for a while, a smile on his lips. Despite the fact that his situation had become so incongruous that he doubted anyone would ever believe him, he felt optimistic again.

“Thanks, I needed that.”

~_Don’t mention it, lad. How about giving me your name now, hmm?_

“Oh, sorry. I am Musadoc. Musadoc Bramblethorn. Pleased to meet.. er.. you know what I mean.”

~_Same here, lad. Alright, back to business. What is your problem?_

“You’re joking again, right?”

~_On the contrary lad, I am deadly serious. Well, deadly at the very least. Ahrm.. sorry, bad pun. This ‘ghost’ business is new to me too._

“You mean to tell me you don’t know where we are?!”

~_Not to burst your bubble, lad, but before I was sent back to help you I was spending my days in.. er.. well, suffice it to say I was enjoying my afterlife. How long have I been dead anyway?_

“I have no idea. No one wears bronze armor anymore, so I figure it has been quite a while. And what’s a _Hearthkeeper_?”

~_Why! Hearthkeepers are warriors who have dedicated themselves to Anwyn - bless her name! Don’t tell me she isn’t worshipped anymore!_

“Oh no, we do worship her. It’s only that I have never met any Hearthkeeper (3). But then again, I have never been out of the Five Shires. Maybe that’s how you big folks handle things in your cities. Here we have Sheriffs.” He shrugged. “Say, how did you die exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”

~_..._

“Sir Jar.. er.. Firechops?”

~_Hmm? Oh, sorry. I was trying to remember and, as strange as it may sound, I can’t. I recall well enough my life - my ‘mortal’ life, that is - but the events that occurred during the last few weeks prior to my death are kind of.. fuzzy. Yet, I have this nagging feeling I should be remembering something. You wouldn’t have any wine to offer, would you? Usually helps me clear the cobwebs, if you see what I mean._

“Wine?! I’m a halfling!” (4)

~_Oh, right. Had forgotten how sensitive you folks are about that. Dreadfully sorry, lad. Apologies and all that._

“It’s alright, I guess. You’ve been out of touch with the world for a while, after all.”

~_Quite so! Thank you, lad. So, got any ale instead?_

“Do I look like an innkeeper!? Even if I had some, how would you drink it? Aren’t you lacking a.. er.. body?”

~_Ah ha! That is where you are wrong, lad. I have one at my disposal.. yours!_

“Mine?!? You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”

~_And so I won’t, lad. Calm down. What I meant is that right now we can talk because you are touching the medallion with your flesh but, if you wore it around your neck, I would also be able to see through your eyes, hear through your ears, and.. well, you catch my drift._

“Truly?”

~_Verily._

Reluctantly, Musadoc put the holy symbol on. He gulped, expecting to feel weird or something.

Nothing happened.

“Did it work? I don’t feel any different.”

~_What did you expect, lad? To sprout eyestalks? I said I would be using your senses, not turning you into a mongrelman! Oh, by the way, as long as you wear it you don’t need to talk aloud for me to hear you. Simply ‘think’._

“What? Like th-”

_Er.. I mean, like this?_

~_Aye, lad. That will do nicely. Now, about that problem of yours..?_

_Well, this is an abandoned level of the old Ringrise’s copper mine. We shouldn’t be too far from the surface. Trouble is: I’m lost and-_

~_Correction, lad. *We* are. You are not alone anymore._

Musadoc could almost imagine the ghost patting him on the shoulder as encouragement. He smiled.

_Right. We’re lost but the main problem is that we’re, indeed, not alone!_

~_Could you be more specific?_

_There are others like you here, except they still have a body and aren’t particularly friendly..._

~_Others like me?_

_Undeads, I mean. No offense, sir._

~_..._

_Sir?_

~_Sorry lad. I just realized how ironic the situation was._

_How so?_

~_I spent quite a bit of time - when I was still alive, that is - tracking down undeads who were preying on the poor and the defenseless. At one point, I was considered an expert on the subject. Why, the Obedient Brotherhood (5) even invited me to join! So, to have become one is.. rather unsettling._

“I’m truly sorry, sir. It’s my fault if you’re here.” Musadoc had spoken aloud, perhaps because he felt words were more apt than thoughts to convey feelings of true regret.

~_Ah, don’t worry about me lad. You are the one that needs help, after all. But I appreciate the thought all the same. Now, let us see what we can do about your undead problem. Do you have holy water?_

“No.”

~_Flaming oil?_

“Nope.”

~_Silver weapons?_

“Never owned one.”

~_You are not making this easy!_

“Hey! It’s not like I had planned on being here, you know?”

~_Right, sorry lad. Hmm.. I suppose you couldn’t wield my sword, now could you?_

Musadoc glanced at the antique greatsword lying on the ground. It was twice as long as he was tall.

“Not a chance.”

~_Ah well, we will have to do this the hard way then._

“What do you mean?”

~_Run for it._

The halfling snorted in disbelief.

**

Having a light at his disposal had made a world of difference.

After leaving what he had come to call the _burial chamber_, Musadoc had been dismayed to notice the radius of light shed by the medallion had shrunk to a mere 10 feet radius. Yet, it had been sufficient.

Instead of groping around blindly in the dark, he had been able to examine carefully his surroundings. Thus, he had found the marks miners engrave on pit props and stones to indicate the shortest route to the access shafts when their mine starts to turn into a labyrinth.

Following those cautiously, he had finally reached a passage to the First Depth and, beyond, to the surface.

Despite looking over his shoulder the whole time, he hadn’t run into any more wights. Though puzzled, he wasn’t about to question his good fortune.

Once safely out of the mine, he reported the presence of undeads in the abandoned levels to the proper authorities and then went straight to the nearest tavern for a well-deserved drink. Strangely, his medallion has stopped glowing the minute he had arrived at the surface.

**

The main room of the Stalwart Mouse was nearly empty. It was still early in the afternoon and the patrons had yet to finish their day’s work before turning up.

Seated next to the hearth, Musadoc was finishing his second pint of Old Stout.

~_Now, that’s what I call ale!_

The halfling chuckled.

_I bet you didn’t taste anything better in your days!_

~_Why, lad! I will have you know I was once invited to the High King’s court and was served ale that would be to this as honey is to vinegar!_

_The High King? But there hasn’t been any High Ki-_

“HELP!”

The cry had come from the innkeeper. Apparently, a rough customer - a human - had cornered him and was threatening - loudly! - to beat him up because he had dared to ask the man to pay his bill.

_Crud! Another wardog!_

~_Wardog?_

_Mercenary. Cygnar is always recruiting new ones. Dunno why but they keep coming through the Shires instead of taking the northern road to Widdershin._

~_Cygnar?_

_No time to explain. I’ve got to do something quick or he’ll beat the innkeeper to a pulp._

~_Well said, lad! Pick up your weapon, there are citizens to protect!_

_Er.. actually, I was planning on fetching the Sheriff..._

~_Nonsense, lad! You and I are going to solve this by ourselves._

_Ourselves? How are *you* going to help?_

~_Moral support, lad. Now, stop babbling and go save that poor, defenseless commoner!_

Rolling his eyes, Musadoc stood up, grabbed his pickaxe and walked up to the bully.

“Er.. sir?”

No reaction.

~_What the.. !? You call that a challenge, lad? You will have to do better than this!_

“Prithee sir, would you kindly stop what you’re doing?”

Still no reaction.

~_Lad, don’t make me hurt you.._

“Hey, you! Skunk-breath!”

The man turned around. He was rather short for a human, which meant he was still twice the size of the halfling. Burly, he had greasy black hair and sported a 3-days beard. His nose had been broken - several times - which only served to reinforce his ‘roughneck’ look. He wore a leather armor that had known better days and carried a short sword with a serrated blade. His eyes were a bit clouded, which meant he was probably drunk.

~_Not exactly subtle, but it got the job done._

“Whut in tarnation does yo' want Shorty?”

“Sir, you’ll pay your bill and then leave this establishment. I think it’s fair to say you’ve overstayed your welcome.” Musadoc raised his pickaxe a bit to underscore the veiled threat.

~_Oooh, I liked that! You even thought to include a remark about what he owed. Nice touch, lad._

The man’s face turned red and his eyes bulged. “Fry mah hide! Make me!” He drew his sword.

_I’m sooo dead..._

~_No, you are not. Anwyn favors those who find the courage to risk all for the defenseless._

The ghost’s voice had sounded oddly solemn for once, but the halfling didn’t have time to wonder about it since the thug chose that moment to charge him while snarling insults.

~_*For I am the Shield of the Weak and Virtue is my Strength!*_

Musadoc didn’t know how or why but the ghost’s words resounded like a thunderclap in his mind. He felt raw energy suddenly coursing through his veins, enlarging his muscles and bolstering his stamina. Time seemed to slow down and the human’s movements became sluggish to his eyes.

The halfling dodged his first attack easily, almost contemptuously. He giggled, still astonished at what was happening.

~_Careful, lad. Don’t let it go to your head. I know it is exhilarating but you have got to remain in control. Besides, I suggest you to use it while it lasts.. which won’t be long._

That news sobered up the halfling.

_Right. So, what do I do now?_

~_Given he is trying to kill you, I think defending yourself would be the obvious choice._

Musadoc having dodged the attack, the human walked past him, his swing carrying him forward. His back was totally unprotected. The halfling raised his weapon to strike but hesitated at the last second and held back his blow. The human regained his balance and turned around again. Disbelief was written all over his face.

~_That was a mistake, lad. Never hesitate. If you do, your opponent will capitalize on it. We serve Anwyn, not Morwyn. If killing is unavoidable, don’t shy away from it._

_Easy for you to say! I.. I’ve never hurt anyone before!_

The human advanced on Musadoc again, more cautiously this time.

“Yo' li'l weasel! So, yer a trick one eh? Wal, ah have got a few tricks of mah own.”

 ~_I am sorry you have to go through your baptism of fire like this, lad. Sadly, innocence is the one luxury you can not afford right now._

The mercenary suddenly kicked in a nearby stool, sending it flying in Musadoc’s direction. His aim was off but it was enough to distract the halfling for a few seconds.. which was all the human needed. He came in low, with a reverse cut aimed at Musadoc’s abdomen. The halfling managed to dodge it but just barely. His shirt had been cut and a thin line of blood blossomed from underneath.

~_Listen to me, lad! It is self-defense. He drew blood first!_

Musadoc was still holding back, fresh pain adding to his indecisiveness.

The two opponents circled each other warily, one bent on bloodshed, the other on avoiding it.

The human tried to bull-rush the halfling, intent on pinning him to a wall. Unfortunately, he stepped on the stool he had used earlier and that was now lying on the floor. Slipping, he fell forward, spreading his arms wide instinctively to try to regain his balance.

~_Now, lad. NOW!_

Gripping his pickaxe two-handed, Musadoc launched himself forward. He rolled under the man’s right arm and came up behind him, swinging his weapon backward and down with all his strength.

The pickaxe connected to the base of the human’s skull with a thud.

The mercenary’s body fell to the floor, jerked convulsively a few times and then lay still.

~_Well done, lad! Lad? La-_

Musadoc fainted.

**

He regained consciousness on the floor to the sound of multiple voices all battling for his attention.

“Mister? *Mister?*”

~_Lad? Talk to me, lad. *Lad?*_

*”SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!”*

Blessed silence, finally.

He felt weak, nauseous and tired, all at once. Groaning, he sat and massaged his temples for a minute till he began to feel a bit better. Sighing, he opened his eyes.

The innkeeper was crouching next to him, a worried look on his face.

Gazing around him, Musadoc saw the thug’s corpse a few feet away, his pickaxe still embedded in the skull.

_Crud! And here I was hoping it had all been a nightmare..._

“Er.. mister? Are you feeling alright?” The innkeeper’s voice held a note of apprehension.

_Oh, right. He must think I am crazy._

“Thank you, I’ll manage. Sorry about my outburst earlier. Let’s just say I’ve had a bad day.”

“No problem, mister. I just wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue. Damn humans, always up to no good!”

Musadoc picked himself up and walked to the corpse. He pulled his pickaxe free and concentrated on not throwing up at the sight of the grey matter that was stuck to it.

He bent forward, yanked the human’s purse loose, and threw it at the innkeeper.

“I believe this is yours.”

“Thank you, mister!”

The innkeeper examined the contents. He counted carefully what money there was and then turned to Musadoc.

“I’ll just take what he owed me. The rest will be used to pay for his funeral. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

“Sure, whatever.” Musadoc made a dismissal gesture.

_Why the blaze is he asking me?_

~_Because he sees you as a man of action, lad. The kind that takes charge. Want it or not, that is what you became the minute you decided to help him._

_But I don’t want to be one! I just want to be a miner and mind my own business._

~_Do you now, lad? I wonder. Your faith was strong enough to pull me back to this world. No small feat, I assure you! You chose to involve yourself in a dispute that didn’t concern you. And when the time came, you risked your life selflessly to save another’s. It seems to me you have the makings of a Hearthkeeper. I would be honored to act as your instructor._

_But.. but.. I never.. I mean, I always thought I would.._

~_And that is exactly as it should be, lad. Do you seriously think that I woke up one day with an epiphany? I was chosen by the Bright Lady, same as the others. And, at first, I resisted her call, same as the others too. But you can’t deny her for long, lad. She draws you to her like a moth to a flame, mark my words! Eventually, you will give in. So, it might as well be now, eh?_

_I guess there is no harm in giving it a try..._

~_That is the spirit, lad!_

“Mister?”

Musadoc looked up to see the innkeeper standing next to him. Engrossed in his conversation with the ghost, he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings.

“Aye?”

“I know you didn’t do it for a reward but I want you to have this all the same. The human had it in his purse and.. well, it’s not like he’ll be able to use it any time soon.” He put an item in Musadoc’s palm.

_A small silver key? I wonder what it opens..._

“Er.. thanks.”

Still looking at the key in perplexity, Musadoc made his way back to the hearth.

~_Lad? Where are you going? We have to start your training._

_I only intended to finish my pint first, if you don’t mind._

~_Lad, I like the way you think. We are going to get on famously!_

**

Back in the mine, the equipment and bones of a once-valiant knight lay in sad disarray on the cold ground right next to a wall of debris. Obscurity filled a room that had been illuminated by the will of a goddess since before the Cataclysm, and silence reigned supreme again. The room wasn’t empty though. A dozen shaft wights stood in it, motionless, as if waiting.

Had someone else been present - someone whose eyes could pierce the gloom - that person would have been privy to a disturbing spectacle. From the exact spot where the holy symbol had hung for so long, ebony tendrils of darkness were now working their way across the rubble, outlining every crack no matter how minor. And wherever they spread, stones started to crumble. As the tendrils grew, the wights’ bodies turned slowly to dust, their vile essence contributing to the destructive and relentless process.

Eventually, a hole appeared in the middle of the wall and a sepulchral voice whispered words that carried the ring of a dire portent.

He sang in celestial tones,
awakening spirits old and sly
who wait for breech amongst the stones,
to curse and hunt who would defy.
The lesser, the mere baits,
strike fear into the hearts of men.
The greater beyond the tomb waits;
Once woken, will never sleep again.

And in a darkness that knew no light, _something_ stirred...

**********
(1) Anwyn (aka The Bright Lady), goddess of the hearth, is the halflings’ most beloved deity. Usually, they honor her once per week during a ceremony where they bless her name through the Prayers of Ale, Bread, and Flame.

(2) Maal is the god of the dead (and justice). All who die have to journey to his kingdom to stand trial for the actions they committed during their mortal life.

(3) .. which is comprehensible given that particular holy order has been defunct since before the Cataclysm.

(4) In this world, wine is associated with Zheenkeef, goddess of chaos, madness and prophecy. According to the halflings’ oldest legends, she tampered with their race - for fun - as it was still growing on Eliwyn (see note (2) in Prelude - part 2). As a result, instead of being tall and willowy, halflings were born short and.. ahem.. round 
They never forgave her for it and, to this day, no halfling will pay respect to her in any way. Thus, they stubbornly refuse to drink wine. Indeed, the surest way to insult one of them is to offer him a glass of wine.

(5) The Obedient Brotherhood is the name given to holy warriors of Mormekar, god of death. They are hailed as the most efficient - if not ruthless - undead-slayers.

**********


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## ledded (Nov 15, 2004)

_Fabulous_ update.  Well done, the tension you created was palpable to me as just a reader, which is not an easy thing to do.  I am impressed.



			
				Mortepierre said:
			
		

> Thank you both!
> 
> To be fair, though, I have to give credit where credit is due. My toughest job here is to act as a translator. I am sure that, by now, it’s obvious English isn’t our group’s mother language.



I would not have known at all had you not said anything (although the location of 'Western Europe' under your avatar *should* have given me a clue  ).  Your command of English and writing style is better than quite a few native speakers who write Story Hours on these boards, myself included .

You group sounds like a very good one, and your description is similar to my own group.  We like to create rich and varied backgrounds for our characters which our GM then integrates into the world history, then occasionally uses as a sharp stick to poke us with .

Keep up the good work, I am thoroughly enjoying your story.


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## Thanediel (Nov 16, 2004)

Well, well, look what I found..   

Hi folks, I’m the player behind *Pelrind* and I guess our DM didn’t expect us to find this   

Don’t mind his remark about English, all of us are at least familiar with it (hard not to given all the books use it) and some (our DM included) are considered fluent in it. None of us wrote our background in English though.

I’m not surprised though. It’s one thing to speak 21st century English technical lingo in your daily job, it’s another to write a medieval heroic-fantasy story that will catch the attention of native English speakers. Knowing our DM, I bet he must be worrying sick about doing a quality job   

He is quite the prolific writer already, you have no idea   

To give a example, when we prepared for this campaign, I received
- 22 pages about character creation (including house rules)
- 5 pages on the kingdom’s history
- 18 (!!!) pages about the Stone Elves’ way of life

As for giving credit..

I can’t say for sure about Eirak or Kalveig’s players. Both are good writers and, knowing them, they probably came up with their basic background on their own but I bet Mort “enhanced” them a bit at the very least. _Behind the scene_ parts are certainly his though.

Neither Musadoc, nor Siubhan’s players had written anything. The former because he was still a newbie at the time, the latter because she didn’t want any. I know because they told me. So, those backgrounds are 100% from our DM.

I must say, it’s fun to learn finally about Musadoc’s “pal”. It took us more than a year “in-game” to figure it out but we shared a few good laughs along the way   

As for me..

I remember telling Mort about wanting to play a Druid that would concentrate on elemental spells and not give a damn about animals/plants. Two days later, I received a full write-up on the Dvorr and his sect   

I wrote my background afterward. It makes up some 35% of what Mort posted here and from what I can see, he reworked even that part. So, that’s that.

Mort, is it ok if I continue to lurk around? I wouldn’t mind reading about some of our old adventures


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## Mortepierre (Nov 17, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> _Fabulous_ update. Well done, the tension you created was palpable to me as just a reader, which is not an easy thing to do. I am impressed.




High praise indeed! (and new motivation for me to go on, so thanks!) 



			
				Thanediel said:
			
		

> Well, well, look what I found..
> 
> Hi folks, I’m the player behind *Pelrind* and I guess our DM didn’t expect us to find this




Curse! Foiled again 

I just have to know. How did you find your way here? I tried “Drachenhold” in several Search engines and none directed me here, so how did you do it? 



			
				Thanediel said:
			
		

> I’m not surprised though. It’s one thing to speak 21st century English technical lingo in your daily job, it’s another to write a medieval heroic-fantasy story that will catch the attention of native English speakers. Knowing our DM, I bet he must be worrying sick about doing a quality job




Spot-on 

Obviously, I am not new to English but, sadly, most dictionaries lack a medieval section. Ever tried to find an accurate translation of medieval clothing (or armor, etc..) from one language to another? Nightmare, I tell you!

Thank god for annotated pictures in the Encyclopaedia Britannica... 



			
				Thanediel said:
			
		

> He is quite the prolific writer already, you have no idea
> 
> To give a example, when we prepared for this campaign, I received
> - 22 pages about character creation (including house rules)
> ...




What can I say.. I like being thorough 



			
				Thanediel said:
			
		

> Mort, is it ok if I continue to lurk around? I wouldn’t mind reading about some of our old adventures




<ponders>

Well, it will force me to change a bit what I planned to include in this SH to account for elements you have yet to discover in-game but nothing I can’t manage. Besides, you could help point out things I have forgotten or explain better some of the things your team did. Deal!

Just don’t point out the others here, I don’t want Siubhan’s player to tell me my monsters aren’t “optimized”


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## Thanediel (Nov 17, 2004)

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> I just have to know. How did you find your way here? I tried “Drachenhold” in several Search engines and none directed me here, so how did you do it?




Google + Mortepierre   
(your fault for always using the same handle  )



			
				Mortepierre said:
			
		

> Just don’t point out the others here, I don’t want Siubhan’s player to tell me my monsters aren’t “optimized”




lol! No kidding. After being told for 1 year straight I should have gone with Fire instead of Earth, I wouldn't wish that to anyone


----------



## Mortepierre (Nov 18, 2004)

And with this post, we conclude the Prelude series. Next time, the heroes finally meet in Chapter 1: the Vault! 

*Prelude - part 4: Pain and Remembrance*

Drachenhold - Duchy of Pellham
399 AC - St-Martha Monastery

It was still early. The sun was rising in the sky, slowly dissipating the mist that surrounded the monastery and filled its cloister. Matriarchs were leaving their cells and converging on the main chapel for the morning’s prayers. In their white robes, hastening in silence, they looked like pale ghosts fluttering through the corridors.

In alcoves, along the halls they traversed, armed men stood by in shadows, unmoving, their eyes never leaving the Matriarchs for as long as they were in their field of vision. They all wore a white tabard embroidered with 3 blue tears arranged in a triangle.

Once the last priestess had entered the chapel and its doors were closed, half the warriors left their alcoves, assembling in a large hall whose thick walls would dampen down any noise coming out of it. Even the heavy wooden door was padded with this aim in view.

Wooden shields and various weapons hung from the walls. All the weapons were blunted in some way though. Flails, hammers and mauls had been padded, and the blades had had their edge dulled.

One of the fighters, whose only distinguishing mark - apart from his serious look - was a white armband, came to stand in the center of the hall. Holding his forearms so that they crossed in front of his chest, he struck the palms of his hands once.

The warriors put down their own weapons and shields near the entrance and equipped themselves with those displayed on the walls. Then, they stood - evenly spaced - around the hall.

The fighter’s gaze came to rest on each of them in turn. Some bowed their head in deference, but none flinched. Seemingly satisfied, the man left the center of the hall, taking his place in the circle formed by the others. At his command, they all went down on their knees. His voice, when he spoke, was calm yet could be heard throughout the large room.

”Morwyn, Queen of Heaven, we are gathered here to honor you through our acts and our prayers.

Shield our eyes with selflessness, that they may not covet another man’s wealth.

Slow down our blades as they strike, that we may give quarter to our enemies.

Give us the courage to resist challenges that may result in bloodshed.

And grant us your wisdom, that we may distinguish truth from falsehood.”

As he finished the prayer, the others struck up the ritual reply, their voices as one.

*“Not for us, Lady. Not for us but for the sole glory of your name!”*

They all stood up then, ready to begin their daily training session. All but one, that is. One man was still on his knees. He was trying to get up but seemed to be experiencing difficulties doing so, as if the act was painful. Indeed, he had to use his shield as a kind of improvised cane to succeed.

Master Arnulf, knight-commander of the monastery’s contingent of Faithful Sons, caught a glimpse of it.

“Brother Kalveig, you seem to be in need of exercises. You will open the session with Brother Fearig, aye?”

Kalveig grimaced before answering “By your leave, Master”. He equipped his shield and his flail, and advanced towards the center of the hall, waiting for his opponent. The latter joined him shortly.

The two saluted and, on Arnulf’s signal, began to fight.

Fearig was young, barely past twenty, having just completed his four years of training and earned his tabard. Strong and stocky, he wielded a bastard sword two-handed, probably because - as the son of a nobleman - it was his preferred weapon. Some of the older knights frowned but remained silent (1).

In comparison, Kalveig looked almost old and tired. He was tall and wiry, in his early thirties. His flaxen hair fell on his shoulders like an unruly mane, and his long moustache was in serious need of a trim. His blue eyes were lusterless and just added to his dejected look. At least, that is how he appeared to the casual observer.

To an experienced fighter, the view was more nuanced. Kalveig’s grip on his flail was strong and the way he was holding his shield indicated he knew how best to use it. Still, it was hard to determine if he was just faking disinterest for this battle or his heart truly wasn’t in it.

After the first few passages of arms, Fearig became convinced his opponent had chosen to be on the defensive. That didn’t displease him. He liked to be the one giving the blows. He was just disappointed Master Arnulf hadn’t selected a more worthy adversary for him. He had heard a few unsavory rumors about Kalveig and they all alluded to the fact that he was a failure, perhaps even a drunkard.

Righteous indignation filled his heart. He would teach the man a lesson! Kalveig was neither fit nor worthy, and he would expose him for the pathetic wretch that he was. After which he would magnanimously offer to escort him out of the monastery and give him a few silver pieces to get drunk at the nearest tavern. He felt sure Morwyn herself would smile on him for removing such an embarrassment from her holy house.

He began to pound on his opponent’s shield.

**

Kalveig sighed while deflecting yet another attack.

_So obvious. That kid hasn’t got a clue what he is doing. Does he seriously think he can batter me down just by using his sword like a maul?

There he goes again. Morwyn’s mercy! He doesn’t even guard his left flank anymore. Against a gnoll, he would be dead meat by now._

He winced as pain lanced through his left leg.

_Can’t take.. much more.. of this._

He gritted his teeth and concentrated on Fearig, analyzing his movements.

_His next attack is going to come from the left, aimed low. His own left flank will be completely open. Good. One blow ought to do the trick._

Fearig attacked once again, putting all his strength behind his strike.

Kalveig waited for the last possible moment before raising his shield as much as he could, leaving himself completely defenseless.

The sword scored a solid hit on his left armpit, sending him flying to the floor in a heap.

_Sweet Lady! The pain!!_

He gasped but consciousness refused to elude him.

Most of the other knights stood aghast, though a few of the younger ones exchanged derisive comments.

*“DESIST!”*

The tone of Master Arnulf’s voice was enough to silence them all. It was clear he would brook no further insolence.

He crossed rapidly the hall to stand over Kalveig.

“The session is over. Resume your duties. Not you Brother Fearig! You will go to your cell and meditate over the Second and Third Virtues until such time as I deem you worthy to join your Brothers again!”

He waited till they had all left the room. Then, and only then, he went down on his knees and gently helped Kalveig to lie on his back. The latter was wheezing, sure sign he had one (or more) broken rib.

Arnulf shook his head and sighed. He cradled Kalveig’s head in his lap.

“Why Kal? Why do you persist in pulling that kind of stupid stunt? You could have handled that kid with both hands tied in your back, even on a bad day. Fact is, I was counting on you to help me beat some caution into that - may Morwyn forgive me - dumb head of his.”

Kalveig was looking at him, his eyes no longer lusterless, just.. weary.

Arnulf sighed again but then frowned as he spied blood dripping from Kalveig’s left thigh. He swore.

Gingerly, he removed Kalveig’s chainmail and swore again, louder this time.

“Kal! You miserable son of a she-troll! I ought to..!”

The thigh was cut almost to the bone and had been bandaged only superficially. The bandages were soaked in blood. That Kalveig had managed to move - not to mention fight! - for so long without collapsing was miraculous.

“You have done it again, haven’t you? Who was it this time?”

“The.. merchant”. Kalveig coughed. “The one who was.. ambushed by bandits.. on the southern road.”

“Damn it, Kal! You know as well as I do that, as long as you reside at the monastery, you are _not_ authorized to go through the Rite of Transference without a Matriarch or a White Hand to supervise your condition during the whole process. That’s the second time this year alone!”

“Had to..” He wheezed. “The man would have.. died by morning.. from infection. I can’t.”

“That’s a lie and you know it! Even if it isn’t, it was for the gods to decide, not you. Now hold still while I patch you up and-”

“Arn, no! Must.. suffer.. more” Kalveig’s gaze was almost feverish.

“Don’t give me that look Kal! I am sick and tired of covering up for you. And for what? You can suffer all you want, it won’t bring her back. It won’t bring Le-”

“*NO!*” Kalveig’s hand had struck like a snake and now held Arnulf’s throat in a viselike grip.

Arnulf choked.

_Morwyn’s mercy! So strong yet!_

“*Never*.. say.. her name!” Kalveig’s eyes clouded with tears and his grip relaxed, the rest of his strength finally spent.

Arnulf jumped back, coughed several times, and started massaging his throat while eyeing Kalveig with pity and disgust at the same time. The latter was now sobbing on the floor, the living embodiment of despair.

Arnulf’s face clouded over as he approached the wounded warrior again. Laying his hands on Kalveig’s leg, he called upon Morwyn. Slowly, a soft silvery light suffused the wound. The blood stopped flowing and the flesh started to mend. Little by little, the gash closed till nothing but a pink scar remained. The light didn’t stop there. It spread to the rest of Kalveig’s body. Broken ribs knitted, and bruises disappeared. Kalveig’s breathing eased. Even his sobbing quieted down.

Arnulf stood up and turned his back to him before talking again. When he did, his voice held only the barest trace of pity.

“It has been 5 years Kal. No one can change what happened. I know you wish you could - we all do - but you can’t. Sometimes it happens, even to the best of us. Dying won’t change that, and no amount of suffering will ease the pain you feel.”

“How could you possibly know how I feel? _Your_ charge didn’t die on your watch! (2)” Kalveig’s voice sounded almost reproachful.

Arnulf whirled round to face him again.

“That’s right, but if she had I wouldn’t be squandering the Lady’s gifts to indulge my self-pity. Except you don’t indulge it, you wallow in it!”

Kalveig had the good sense to avert his eyes in shame.

Arnulf came to kneel in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Deardre and I loved L.. _her_ as a sister. Her death affected us too, but we chose to live with it, rather than be destroyed by it. No one blames you for what happened. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent it. Foul sorcery held you in its grip, for crying out loud!”

Kalveig was shaking his head slowly, on the verge of tears again. “I should have done.. something. Arn, you don’t know how hard it was to watch helplessly as they..” His voice broke and he put his face in his hands.

Arnulf sighed deeply.

“Look Kal, you can’t go on like this. And I can’t continue to cover up your behavior. When I found you in that tavern, 4 years ago, and brought you back to the monastery, I hoped you would come out of it. But you haven’t, and it’s destroying you piece by piece. You have refused to set foot out of this sanctuary ever since and, at first, I thought it was for the best. Now, I see I was wrong. Staying confined here won’t help. Nothing will. You need to go outside and _live_ again!

You should be Master of your own monastery by now. You have been wasting your skills and the powers the Lady entrusted you with long enough. Most of us choose the Path of the Healer, very few the Path of the Martyr. But you did and I always envied you for it. That’s right, _envied_ you! Why? Because it takes a special kind of courage to walk down that path. I saw it in you back then, and I still see it today.. even if you can’t. We need you out there, showing pups like Brother Fearig that being a Faithful Son isn’t about glory and killing but about preserving life.”

He got up.

“I am going to talk to the abbess about it and request a new assignment for you.”

Kalveig looked up at him, panic-stricken.

“Arn, please! I.. I can’t. It’s too soon!”

“You can and you will, _Brother_ Kalveig. You can accept the mission or resign for good, but either way you’ll be out of this monastery before the end of the week. I suggest you to take a bath and shave in the meantime. Remember, a healthy soul begins with a healthy body.”

Arnulf left the room, leaving Kalveig to his inner demons.

**

“.. and so, you see Holy Mother (3), I think it would be best if Brother Kalveig was-”

The abbess raised her right hand to interrupt him.

“Master Arnulf, you have never been very good at beating around the bush. Why don’t you get to the point and tell me what you _truly_ think Brother Kalveig needs?”

Arnulf raised an eyebrow to try to convey the impression he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Tell you what. Let us pretend for a minute that you are still a young hot-headed warrior and I a stubborn young woman hellbent on redeeming villains. Back then, didn’t we swear over a campfire that we would always be honest to each other?”

Arnulf chuckled.

“At times, it feels like that was an eternity ago. We were still unused to the realities of the world.” A rueful smile made its way across its face.

They looked in each other’s eyes and, beyond, in each other’s soul. They both carried scars that neither time nor spell could erase. In a way, it had made them stronger.. but it was also a burden they couldn’t share with anyone else.

“Deardre, I am at my wit’s end. I tried patience, giving him comfort, yelling. Heck! I even tried to shame him. But nothing worked, and-”

“.. and you can’t find the strength to lie for him anymore?”

He looked at her, surprise and embarrassment in his eyes.

“Oh come now, Arn. Did you truly think I hadn’t noticed? Every time he sneaked in the infirmary, I had to deal with young Matriarchs awed by what appeared to be a _miraculous recovery_ the next morning. If I hadn’t done all I could to cover it up as well, this monastery would have become a place of pilgrimage by now!” she snorted. “I know few Faithful Sons dedicate themselves to the Path of the Martyr these days but I haven’t forgotten what they are capable of when they do.”

“I am sorry, I didn’t want to lie to you but he is.. was my-”

“.. your friend? Aye, I remember that as well. You received your tabard on the same day as I recall. You two could have been brothers.”

Arnulf balled his left fist and put it over the tears embroidered on his tabard in silent remembrance.

“I know how you feel, Arn. Leandra and I took our vow the same day too. She was like a sister to me.”

“Were you.. angry with him? For letting her die, I mean.”

Deardre sat back in her chair and watched the ceiling for a while before answering.

“I was.. at first. I may be a priestess but I am still a human being, you know? Later, I forgave him.. if there was something to be forgiven to begin with. It’s not as if he was truly responsible for what happened, eh?”

“No, only a Mage Guard (4) would have stood a chance from what I understand. But he blames himself for it anyway.”

“That was only to be expected. That notion forms the foundation of your training, after all.”

They both remained silent for a minute before she spoke again.

“Given he has full command of his powers, I think we can safely say he retains Morwyn’s favor. But would it surprise you to know Leandra has forgiven him as well?”

He looked at her in shock. “You spoke to her spirit?!”

She shook her head. “No, I am not a High Matriarch. But right after you brought him back to the monastery, I talked to one of the Lady’s servants. He was willing to run an errand for me.. an errand of mercy. Lea loved Kal very much, perhaps more than he knew. She was quite distraught over his condition. She couldn’t do anything about it, of course. Not directly anyway. But she interceded with the Lady on his behalf and, apparently, the goddess granted her wish for she came to me in my dreams and showed me what needed to be done.”

Arnulf hazarded a guess. “The Rite of Atonement?”

Deardre shook her head again. “No, nothing as drastic as that. I was told to wait for a sign. That is why I allowed you to think you had successfully kept me in the dark for so long.”

He could read in her eyes that she had been hurt by the deception but, most of all, by the fact he hadn’t requested her help immediately. Silently, he resolved to seek her forgiveness later. Right now, the important matter was to take care of Kalveig.

“In fact” she continued, “your timing couldn’t have been better for I finally received the sign yesterday. Watch but no matter what happens, please remain silent.”

She took a small silver bell on her desk and rang it thrice. Immediately, light footsteps echoed in the corridor outside her office. Arnulf stood up and walked to stand behind her; not only because it was proper but also in order to better see who she had just invited to join them.

The door opened to admit a young Matriarch. From the look of her, she had probably just finished her novitiate. She entered, keeping her eyes down as befitted her station.

“You summoned me, Holy Mother?”

“Indeed, Sister..?”

“Siubhan, Holy Mother.”

“Ah yes, Sister Siubhan. The High Matriarch of Widdershin spoke highly of you in her missive.”

Siubhan blushed.

“Tell me child, what paths did you choose when you took your vow?”

“The Erudite and the Healer, Holy Mother.”

“But you are primarily a White Hand (5), correct?”

“By Morwyn’s blessing, Holy Mother.”

“And why did you request assignment to this monastery in particular?”

“It was not so much the monastery as the person to whom it is dedicated, Holy Mother.”

“You feel special reverence for St-Martha, a priestess who was burnt at the stake for heresy?”

“She was a devoted White Hand before she fell from grace, Holy Mother, and the fact that the White Lady saw fit to grant her sainthood despite what she did prior to her death is - to me - a shining example of Morwyn’s limitless forgiveness.”

Deardre threw Arnulf a _see what I mean?_ look but the latter only furrowed his brow in puzzlement and shrugged in response. He still couldn’t see what she had in mind.

“I have a mission for you, child. That is, if you feel up to it..” continued Deardre.

“I will humbly accept whatever task you entrust me with, Holy Mother.” Siubhan bowed low.

“Excellent.” Deardre opened a drawer, took a small casket in it, put it on the desk and pushed it toward Siubhan. “This box contains a gift from a man we healed a few months ago. A silver key to be precise. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, but I have been recently informed by a messenger that - apparently - it entitles us to some kind of recompense. The only problem being that someone has to fetch it. Since, right now, I cannot spare any of the more experienced Matriarchs for such a task, I thought you might relish the opportunity to travel a bit before spending your days cloistered here, hmm?”

Siubhan blushed again.

“You are to travel to Weston. It is a small village near the Suressian border. There, you will meet a man named Kel Varnsen. He will explain to you what needs to be done to _collect_ the reward. While you are at it, I would like you to investigate a rumor I heard about a strange sickness that seems to plague the natives. Solve the problem if you can, or come back to us with enough information if you can’t. Of course, you won’t be traveling alone. We will assign a Faithful Son to protect you. Since this is your first official mission, Master Arnulf here will select a veteran.”

Siubhan looked up a brief moment and her eyes caught those of Arnulf. The latter had to bite on his tongue not to gawp.

_Blue-green eyes, just like Leandra’s!?!_

Deardre stood up. “May Morwyn watch over you, child. Her mercy is, indeed, infinite...”

**********
(1) Faithful Sons consider piercing/slashing weapons to be reserved for the most experienced warriors because it is more difficult _not_ to deliver a lethal hit with them.

(2) Morwyn’s clergy is the main source of magical healing available since druids are reviled and the only other deity granting cure spells - Rontra - is considered by most (except farmers) as _outdated_. Since Morwyn’s priestesses usually don’t wear armor and are peaceful folks, it is traditional for each priestess (aka _Matriarch_) to have her own Faithful Son bodyguard (the Faithful Sons being Morwyn’s holy warriors). The latter has one duty that he must fulfill above all others: keep the Matriarch he protects alive at all costs, even if it means sacrificing his own life. For a Faithful Son, there can be no greater disgrace than surviving the Matriarch he was assigned to defend.

(3) When a Matriarch has become powerful enough (read: when she reaches a certain level), she has to go through a test. If she succeeds, she is then elevated to the rank of Holy Mother and – usually - put in charge of a monastery.

(4) A holy warrior of Tinel, god of magic. Supposedly, Mage Guards are among the toughest opponents a spellcaster can face given their innate spell resistance.

(5) Among priestesses of Morwyn (aka the White Lady), those who specialize in healing are called the _White Hands_. It is also the name of an order of lay healers sponsored by the clergy. Generally, anyone who has a gift for healing is called a White Hand among commoners. At times, it makes things a bit confusing but it shows how much tradition has come to associate Morwyn with the act of healing in human culture.

**********


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## Mortepierre (Nov 23, 2004)

Hi all.

Chapter 1 is going to be bigger than I anticipated and since I am rather busy right now, I have decided to divide it into several parts which I'll post as soon as I complete each of them. My hope is that it will make the waiting more bearable.

You can blame ledded for it as he got me addicted to some very good SH (his own included - read it!) and it's hard to stop reading to write again!  

*Chapter 1: The NeMoren’s Vault*
(special thanks to James Bell)

1.1 Heirs to a Curse:

Drachenhold - Duchy of Pellham
400 AC (Spring) - NeMoren manor (village of Weston)

The office had an air of faded grandeur.

It was dominated by a large window set in the eastern wall and made of three expensive glass panels, one of which was cracked and hadn’t been replaced. The walls were covered with wainscoting engraved with pastoral scenes. And the floor was hidden beneath an exotic carpet whose colors - before decades had dulled them - must have once offered a dazzling yet abstract motif for visitors to marvel at.

A massive desk occupied the center of the room. Carved from rare calantra wood, it was sturdy yet elegant, its entire surface having been polished to a mirror-like finish before being varnished. Presently, two items rested on it: a carefully folded piece of velum with an unbroken wax seal, and a small casket. The latter was open. Four identical silver keys lay in it on a blue velvet bed.

On one side of the desk, with their back to the window, two men. The first - a forest elf - was standing, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a nonchalant look on his face. The second - a human - was seated in a high-backed wooden chair covered in timeworn leather. In his late fifties, his pepper-and-salt beard and hair betrayed his age. Yet, his eyes were clear and his demeanor energetic.

Five persons faced them across the desk. From left to right, there was a dwarf, a halfling, two humans, and a stone elf. All were seated except for one of the humans.

The dwarf was equipped with an old yet well-maintained scale mail that, from the look of it, had been through many battles. He sported a superb midnight-black beard that reached down to his navel and had been carefully braided. The four braids were held together two-third of the way down by a steel clasp shaped like an angry badger’s face. A wicked-looking battle axe rested across his knees while a large wooden shield hung from the back of his chair.

Of all the persons present in the room, the halfling was probably the one who looked most out of place. He wore simple leather armor and cradled in his lap a strange-looking helmet with a broad brim and a pierced visor. The only indication that he was not a simple lower class worker was the ancient-looking silver medallion he wore around his neck. He was clean-shaven and had short-cropped auburn hair. At odd intervals, he would make grimaces as if he was listening to something he alone could hear and reacted to it silently. A pickaxe leaned against the back of his chair along with a small, round, wooden shield.

The third chair was occupied by a young, demure woman wearing a loose-fitting white linen robe held at the hip by a simple leather belt. She was small, barely one hand taller than the dwarf. Unlike him though, she was narrow-hipped and graced with delicate features. Her long chestnut-brown hair had been collected in a single braid down her back, and she wore openly Morwyn’s holy symbol around her neck. Blue-green eyes that knew no malice looked inquisitively from time to time at the other persons in the room as if trying to ascertain their motives.

A human warrior stood behind her. Taller than anyone else in the room, he was clad in chainmail over which he wore a white tabard embroidered with 3 blue tears arranged in a triangle. He also carried a small steel shield strapped across his back beneath a fur coat. His left hand held a quarterstaff while his right rested protectively on the back of the woman’s chair. A light flail was tied to his belt. He looked well-groomed, with short-cropped flaxen hair and a neatly-trimmed moustache. His hard blue eyes seemed to be constantly scanning the room for potential threats to his companion.

The elf radiated serenity. Long, graceful, pointed ears framed a delicate face dominated by two large, slanted eyes of vibrant silver. His hair was the color of pure snow, which contrasted strongly with his deep black skin (1). He wore garments of supple leather dyed a deep brown. Had he not been breathing, he might have been mistaken for an obsidian statue. A staff leaned against the nearby wall, within easy reach. Carved of duskwood, one side had been sculpted to represent a draconic head whose maw grasped a round-shaped lapis lazuli of large size. Its other side ended in a sharp point that had been reinforced by a metallic sheath.

Kel Varnsen rubbed his chin pensively while silently appraising the strangers.

_I wonder if our liege had these folks in mind when he foolishly chose to entrust us all to Fate’s mercy..._

He shook his head slightly, as if dismissing a thought, and then coughed to insure he had their attention.

“First of all, let me welcome you all to Weston and the Westwood Barony. I am - as some of you already know - Kel Varnsen, mayor of the nearby village of Hollobrae. If I took the liberty of inviting you here today, it was to honor the will - the _last_ will actually - of the late Baron Paytro NeMoren.

Right before his death, three years ago, he named me his executor and left precise instructions about how to proceed. Apparently, long ago, the Baron had given away four silver keys. My task was to find their current owners and assemble them here. Once the first was found”, he nodded once in Eirak’s direction, “locating the others proved easier thanks to a friend of Aniel”. He bowed his head slightly to the elf standing at his side. “Master Eirak was kind enough to remain among us while the rest of you were being fetched. He spent the last year lending his.. ah.. _skills_ to our militia where his help proved invaluable in dealing with local menaces.” He bowed his head again, to Eirak this time. The latter grunted once in acknowledgment of the compliment.

“Let me underscore that, in the Baron’s own words, _whoever has a key, no matter how it was acquired, qualifies for the heritage_. Thus, no matter the organizations you may represent individually, as far as I am concerned only the persons who produced a key when they arrived will henceforth be considered _true_ heirs of the Baron.”

Seeing his last comment disturbed the young priestess, the mayor quickly added “But you are free to donate your share to whomever you wish.. _after_ you have successfully claimed it, of course.”

Eirak snorted. “In yer dreams..”

Kalveig coughed loudly and shot a reproachful glance at the dwarf. The latter gave him a defying look underscored by running his thumb along the edge of his axe’s blade.

The halfling tensed like a rabbit about to walk into a trap and blurted out “WhatoftheBaron?” After which he turned red, as if he had just been scolded.

Everyone blinked and looked at him interrogatively until Pelrind interjected. “Methink our shy friend wishes to know why the _new_ Baron hasn’t claimed the inheritance for himself.”

Musadoc nodded twice in quick succession, still red as a tomato.

The mayor’s face clouded. “Because there _isn’t_ a new Baron. That’s the whole problem.”

The others all turned back to him, visibly waiting for an explanation. Kel Varnsen sighed, as if he was loath to talk about it, but then launched into the sad story.

It had begun in the days before the Cataclysm. A young knight named Kragor NeMoren had been fighting to secure the Northern Marches of Pellham (2) in a region that bordered the extreme southwestern frontier of Suress. Humanoid incursions from the nearby Wyrmsteeth Mountains threatened the whole area and, to the humans, the infuriating thing was that the elves stubbornly refused to collaborate in dealing with the problem.

This went on for years till, one fateful day, as he was leading a patrol deeper than usual in enemy territory, Kragor intercepted humanoid raiders who had captured an elven woman. He succeeded in freeing the prisoner and escorted her back to the Suressian border. It was only there that he learnt he had freed the elven King’s wife. As recompense, he received the unconditional support of the elven forces. With their help, he managed to completely secure the region after only a few months of intense skirmishing.

Pellham’s High King showed his appreciation by elevating him to the rank of Baron and awarding him all the lands he had fought in defense of. As for the elven King, he named Kragor officially _elf-friend_ and granted him (and his descendants) the right to lumber a certain number of trees every year in a specific area just beyond the Suressian border. Since those trees all belonged to rare species usually unavailable to humans, Kragor became rich virtually overnight as several guilds outbid each others in order to secure an exclusive trade agreement for the ‘special’ wood.

Knowing his lands were still wild and needed to be tamed, the new Baron wisely turned logging (not only of the elven trees but also of the barony’s forests) into a local industry. Ground cleared by the lumberjacks proved very fertile, allowing the development of small settlements of farmers that quickly prospered. Still, Kragor always strove to maintain good relationships with his elven neighbors and even invited druids to settle in his Barony to insure the forest wouldn’t be overexploited.

As he grew old and rich, he realized his family needed not only a residence but also something to protect their fortune. So, he hired dwarven artisans to build him an underground vault that would be impervious to all thieves and then raised a manor on top of it.

Throughout the centuries, his descendants ruled the barony justly and wisely despite the Cataclysm and the tragic events that followed (3). They were among the first native nobles to take an oath of allegiance to the Drachen king and the latter, recognizing the barony for the steady source of income that it was, shrewdly left the NeMorens in charge of it. And each new Baron added to the wealth stored in the now-infamous NeMoren’s Vault...

Then, about 40 years ago, young Paytro NeMoren became the new Baron of Westwood. Shortly after succeeding his father, he wed a local girl named Amelia. Alas, tragedy struck. Not a month after the wedding, the Baron’s wife was apparently abducted by brigands while on her way to visit her parents, and her escort brutally slaughtered.

According to the locals, the Baron’s heart died that day, and so he exiled himself to his family’s mansion and the life of a recluse, keeping only two servants for company till his death in 397 AC.

As the mayor was finishing his summary of past events, Eirak cut in with an amused comment. “C’mon Varnsen, tell them about the ‘curse’ too. It’s worth a good laugh.”

Kel Varnsen threw him a horrified look before answering. “Please master Eirak, do not jest about it. To us, it is very real. You see, friends, as our liege went into self-imposed exile things around here slowly.. _degenerated_. First, there was the plague that struck Weston but a few years after the Baroness’ abduction. A third of the village’s population died from it and some still catch it these days! Those that were left tried to restore prosperity to what had been their home for generations but nothing worked. It was as if a pall of ill luck had been cast over Weston.

The loggers’ guild was the first to go. It moved to Hollobrae. Then, the local temple closed, its priest having died from the plague, and none was sent to replace him. Finally, people started to disappear.”

“Disappear? How so?” interrupted Kalveig.

The mayor shrugged helplessly. “All that is known is that someone disappears about once every four months. At first, people thought the missing folks had just given up and left but when they failed to show up in the other villages of the barony, we grew concerned. Yet, the militia failed to uncover any evidence of wrongdoing.

Of course, it didn’t take long for people all over the barony to associate the problems of Weston with the situation of the Baron. Some started to whisper he had offended the gods in some way and had been cursed in return, curse that affected the villagers too since they lived in close proximity to his manor. That caused some of them to flee to other parts of the barony, or even the kingdom, in hope that distance would be enough to avert doom.

The end result is that a once-thriving community has been reduced to less than a hundred souls all hiding in fear as soon as the night comes and praying they won’t be next. Still, they refuse to leave. Their families have lived here for so long in peace and prosperity that they simply can’t admit the need to relocate. How long that will last, I don’t know but I fear this place is bound to become a ghost town sooner or later.”

“And what of the new Baron?” asked Pelrind.

“Well.. you see, Baron Paytro insisted on the need to cremate his body right after his death and-”

“Cremation? That old custom? (4) That’s highly unusual these days, no?” interjected Siubhan.

“Yes and no” answered the mayor. “Many natives of our barony still honor the old ways. Even so, no NeMoren had been cremated in living memory. Thus, it surprised quite a few people, most of all the King’s men who arrived too late to see his remains and accept trust of the barony on the King’s behalf. From what I understand, it made dissolving the NeMoren’s baronage more.. _problematic_. The matter has been dragging for more than two years now, though I suspect the Orgothian invasion of 398 AC and the failed coup last year had something to do with the King’s inability to devote time to it.

To make matters worse, there is the added problem of the annual elven woodcutting. It always takes place during fall. Baron Paytro died in the early winter 397 AC, after that year’s yield had been secured. At first, it seems the Suressian authorities weren’t aware of it, so the event took place as usual in 398 AC. Last year, however, the lumberjacks who tried to cross the border found themselves face to face with a full company of the Forest Ghost battalion whose officers calmly yet coldly informed them that unless a new NeMoren became Baron, no more wood would be cut on their territory.

Apparently, it has something to do with a ring Kragor NeMoren received from the elven King. Trouble is: no one knows where that ring is. Baron Paytro didn’t have it on him when he died. We know for sure he had it once because some old folks remember seeing him wearing it on the day he became Baron. Some _think_ he may have given it to his bride as a wedding gift.. in which case it disappeared along with the Baroness when the latter was abducted. Even if the ring could be found, Aniel tells me it would be of no use unless there was a NeMoren to wear it.”

“My _E’ith Braeh_(5) cousin speaks the truth” announced Pelrind. “I know of such items, rare as they may be. They are keyed to the blood of those who receive them - a singular honor by the way. Anyone could wear it, but only blood-relatives of the late Baron would be able to unlock its powers.” He added, as if in warning, “And any elven mage could tell instantly the difference if deception was attempted.”

“So, even if the baroness had somehow survived all these years and was found wearing the ring, it would us do no good?” asked the mayor.

“That assessment is correct” responded Pelrind. “Recovering the ring and giving it to whomever the King nominates as new Baron wouldn’t work either.”

The mayor groaned. “It’s even worse than I thought. The loggers’ guild filed a formal protest to the Lord High Chancellor (6) but now I doubt it will solve anything” he lamented, with much wringing of hands.

Kalveig narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Mayor Varnsen, you are still holding back something. I can feel it. What is it?”

Kel Varnsen looked at him in surprise before replying sheepishly “Ahrm.. I may have accidentally omitted to mention that the loggers’ guildmaster, Aberwell Tegman, is the last living relative of Baroness Amelia. Her nephew to be precise. That’s why he vindicates his rights to the annual woodcutting in Suress. You have to understand that the barony’s prosperity has always been tied to the guild. If they can’t gain access to the elven trees anymore, they stand to lose much money. Possibly be ruined. And thus, so will we...”

“Ye mean yer village will, don’t ye?” added Eirak sarcastically.

The mayor blushed with shame but didn’t deny his assertion.

“Bah! T’is none o’ our business anyhow. Get to the bloody point and tell us how much money this heritage is worth!"

“Master dwarf!” shouted out Kalveig. “Please be so kind as to show some respect for these folks’ plight. We are not vultures about to tear a corpse!”

Eirak shot him a dangerous look. “The name be Eirak, boy. I dinna like the way you say ‘dwarf’. And I’ll say whatever I want ‘cause there ain’t anyone here capable of makin’ me shut me trap.. though ye’re welcome to try.” He grinned evilly and started to get up.

“I know Kragor, he is a good man if a bit pig-headed.”

Everyone turned to Musadoc, astonished at what he had just said.

“Er.. I mean, _he_ knows.. er, no! We.. er.. no, that’s not it either.” The halfling turned a deep red and seemed to sink into his chair. “What I meant is that I know someone who kne.. er.. _heard_ of him.” Seeing the others were still looking at him incredulously, he quickly added “He was a Warden (7), wasn’t he?”

The mayor raised an eyebrow. “Why, yes, he was. The NeMoren family was always extremely devoted to the Earth-Mother. From what I understand, the dwarves who built the vault for them even added a chapel that is rumored to be a work of art and-”

“WHAT!?” exclaimed Eirak. He swore loudly.

Kalveig looked ready to knock him senseless while Siubhan blushed. Musadoc, Kel Varnsen and Aniel cringed in unison. As for Pelrind, he shook his head sadly.

“Please master Eirak, calm down!” begged the mayor. “My apologies for wasting your time with our problems. You are right. It is no concern of yours. I promise I will get down to the heart of the matter now.. if you could just sit down first.. please?”

The dwarf grumbled but complied. Since he was looking at the mayor, he didn’t catch Siubhan gazing at him pensively.

Kel Varnsen mopped his brow with a handkerchief nervously before continuing. “This text was penned by Baron Paytro himself before his death. I was told it is a direct message to his heirs.” He broke the seal on the letter, opened it and started to read:

The Last Will and Testament of Paytro NeMoren, Baron of the Westwood region, heir to the NeMoren Manor, and sole survivor of the respected NeMoren bloodline.

Gathered to hear my final words should be four fortunate persons, each possessing a single silver key. How you received this key is unimportant. However you came to possess it, I hope it was given in the spirit that I initially intended: as a reward, as compensation, as a way to lessen my own guilt.

Though of noble birth, in my youth I was a vain and pompous man, and did not live up to the ideals of my station. I have kept a dark secret during my lifetime, and it is a secret that I will take to my grave. My shame was not always easy to hide, and often, I took drastic, necessary steps to protect my image and my good name.

To each of those that suffered so I could live with false dignity, I gave a token: a single silver key. These keys have passed through generations, across borders, and between many hands, I am sure, but at last they have gathered together to fulfill their true purpose.

Hundreds of years ago, my ancestors ruled this resource-rich land. To oversee it, a manor house was constructed, and under the manor house was carved a mighty vault, protecting the vast hoard of our clan. Four special keys were created, all of which are needed to open the vault and reveal the riches within. Those keys were passed down from one generation to the next, until at last they were given to me.

I had hoped to pass the keys on to my heirs - but alas, it was not meant to be. Shortly after my marriage, a curse fell upon my wife, my name, and the good people of Weston. I was to blame for this horrible curse, and I knew that I was unworthy of the treasure that my noble ancestors had gathered. So, sealing the entrance to the vault, and giving away the keys to those I had wronged, I hid away the hoard for as long as I lived...

And now, after my death, Fate has brought the silver keys home - and with them, four deserving souls to reclaim the lost treasure. In the wine cellar, along the north wall, you will find a ten-foot section of wall that does not match the surrounding material. Take sledgehammers to this wall, and behind it you will find the doorway to the NeMoren family vault.

Be forewarned: the vault will not easily yield up its riches. Generations of my family have installed deterrents, and who knows what may have happened to the structure in the many decades since it was sealed. Deep in the vault you will find a room with four evenly spaces keyholes. Insert your keys into the locks to activate the final mechanism, and the vast hoard of the NeMorens will be yours. Perhaps then I will have made amends for the wrongs I have committed. May it convince Maal to allow my soul to rest more peacefully than did my living spirit.

I would request one thing of you. This vault was not only meant to protect our fortune but also to house the earthly remains of our ancestors. Take the treasures; they are yours. But please do not vandalize the tombs. My dead relatives were guilty of no crime. I wish them to enjoy a peaceful afterlife.

Signed, Paytro NeMoren.


A bit shaken by the revelations, the mayor put back the letter on the desk and slowly looked at the four prospective heirs. “Lady and gentlesirs, it is up to you now. Will you accept the inheritance and brave the vault’s perils? Aye or nay?”

“Aye, I would like to see this place dedicated to the one you call the Earth-Mother” answered Pelrind with a smile.

“In the name of the Holy Mother of St-Martha, I humbly accept if it can help bring peace to this troubled man’s soul.” Siubhan bowed her head and began a short prayer for the late Baron.

“As long as there is some digging involved, count me in!” Musadoc was grinning like a child about to receive a gift.

Silence.

Everybody turned to Eirak. The dwarf’s hands clenched convulsively his chair and his face was pale as if he had seen a ghost.

_A vault. It had to be a cursed underground vault. Battle-Father, give me strength! Can’t let them see me like this._

When he spoke finally, it was through clenched teeth. “I.. accept.”

**********
(1) Yes, Stone Elves look exactly like Drows.. except the latter are unknown (or are they..) on this world.

(2) In those days, Drachenhold didn’t exist yet. It was the time of the Traladaran kingdom of Pellham, which covered roughly the area of the present-day duchies of Karameikos and Pellham. Back then, Suress was still an independent elven kingdom which held all its neighbors at bay in an effort to remain free of their cultural influence.

(3) Pellham’s last High King was brutally murdered during a civil insurrection that resulted from the Cataclysm. The kingdom existed in a state of anarchy for close to 70 years during which time the Orgothian Empire easily subjugated half of it. Then, the Drachens arrived and conquered what was left, turning it into Drachenhold. Slowly, they expanded its borders again, retaking the lands stolen by the Empire and adding new territories to the East and the North.

(4) During the Third Epoch of the world, the Deceiver tricked Terak (god of war) and Tinel (god of magic) into fighting each other. Both gods died in that fratricidal battle, and from their death arose Mormekar (god of death). Morwyn (goddess of life) gave him her divine spark so that he could bring back the fallen brothers to life. He did so by burning their bodies on a funeral pyre. So, in the old days, many races had adopted the custom of burning their dead to symbolize the hope that they would be reborn to a better life. In the immediate aftermath of the Cataclysm, many abandoned that particular tradition as they felt all hope had fled the world.

(5) “Free Folks” (aka Forest Elves) in the elven language.

(6) High-ranking member of the government in charge of diplomats, officials, royal heralds, and - most importantly - tax collectors.

(7) Wardens are the holy warriors of Rontra (goddess of earth).

**********


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## Thanediel (Nov 24, 2004)

> “Arn, no! Must.. suffer.. more” Kalveig’s gaze was almost feverish.




 Now I wish Kal had let me read his background earlier! That’s sooooo like him. The guy just loves to play the underdog or the whipping boy. I can still remember the first campaign where we played together. His character was a diseased beggar! (who still rose up to become a decent master thief). His two favorites heroes ever must be Raistlin and Sturm (of DL fame)



> Kalveig looked ready to knock him senseless while Siubhan blushed. Musadoc, Kel Varnsen and Aniel cringed in unison. As for Pelrind, he shook his head sadly.




And that’s putting it mildly. I think the group almost exploded during that first session. Eirak and Kalveig’s players are role-play _extremists_ at times. Both had reasonable (I guess) background reasons for not being on their most friendly behavior but it still took its toll on the team. I could see Siubhan’s player fuming because we were “losing time instead of getting to the xp/gp part”  and Musadoc’s player was totally confused in-between the apparent antagonism between two players and the little messages our DM was handing him out continuously (I presume those were comments from the ghost?). It got worse for a time and then Mort pulled a trick that forced us to stop worrying about backgrounds and start concentrating on our life expectancy 

One question Mort. You wrote that Siubhan’s monastery is ‘St-Martha’ but in my campaign notes I wrote down ‘St-Eilionor’. I just checked and that’s also the name you gave us when we visited the place later. Error?


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## Mortepierre (Nov 24, 2004)

Thanediel said:
			
		

> I presume those were comments from the ghost?




Correct 

I remember Musadoc's player was whispering back "But I can't say that! I'll look stupid!"  



			
				Thanediel said:
			
		

> One question Mort. You wrote that Siubhan’s monastery is ‘St-Martha’ but in my campaign notes I wrote down ‘St-Eilionor’. I just checked and that’s also the name you gave us when we visited the place later. Error?




For the same reason Siubhan is described as having the Sacred Vow feat while in fact she began the game with Negociator. In one word: retrofitting.

You should know. Your character went through it often enough as we both struggled to find more [Earth] spells for you to cast :\


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## Mortepierre (Dec 13, 2004)

Sorry about the delay folks and thanks to those who waited patiently. Here is the promised update. It's a bit shorter than I had planned it to be but part 3 will be the bigger for it.

Hopefully, it should be ready by New Year.. or at least no much beyond that  

1.2 Fear and Resentment:

It hadn’t taken them long to find the cellar’s section described in the testament. Between Eirak, who had grabbed a sledgehammer, and an eager Musadoc, uncovering the doorway to the vault had been child’s play, if a bit messy. Once the dust had settled, the four ‘heirs’ had each used their key to unlock the massive iron door. They had been a little surprised when Kalveig had pulled it open all by himself. Apparently, it was perfectly balanced despite its size and weight, which allowed a single man of average strength to handle it effortlessly. Quite a feat of engineering given it was almost 12 inches thick!

As the door turned on its hinges, air was sucked through the opening. Facing them was a long corridor filled with darkness, except in the distance where a faint light flickered. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all smooth, made of solid stone. The only audible sound was that of the companions’ breathing.

Musadoc was the first to enter. He looked around, went on a knee to observe the floor, and sniffed the air like a dog.

“Little to no dust. No humidity. The air is a bit stale but breathable. No cracks apparent in the masonry.” He turned to Eirak in wonderment. “Your ancestors certainly knew their trade!”

Eirak grimaced and muttered something unintelligible.

Pelrind followed the halfling in the vault. He touched a wall delicately with a hand and closed his eyes, as if he was listening to something. When he opened them again, he looked genuinely impressed. “The Earth.. approves? My kin know how to mold stone without displeasing the Earth but this is the first time I find a construction that gives off the same feeling of being ‘of’ our world. Intriguing...” He looked at Eirak with newfound respect.

The dwarf seemed not to have heard him. He was looking deeper into the vault, as if sizing an enemy up. His grip on his waraxe was so strong that his knuckles had gone white.

“Brother, do you wish me to request light from the Lady?” asked Siubhan quietly to Kalveig.

“No Sister, conserve your strength. I have a feeling we’ll need it soon enough. I brought a lantern.” He lit it, walked a few paces, and handed it to the elf. “Since you are obviously no fighter, could you carry it? I need my shield-hand.”

Pelrind shrugged and took it. “As you wish.”

After equipping both his shield and his flail, Kalveig took the lead. “Sister, please stay 10 feet behind me. Elf-”

“My name is Pelrind, _human_.”

Kalveig bowed his head slightly in silent apology. “Understood. _Pelrind_, stay on the priestess’ right side. If something jumps us, try to give me as much light as you can. I need to see what I hit. You - Musadoc, is it? - stay on my left side, 5 feet behind. I want you to stop anything that passes me from reaching her.” He pointed at Siubhan. “Got it?”

Musadoc nodded and equipped his own shield and pickaxe.

“Seems ye’re forgettin’ ‘bout me” growled Eirak.

“I haven’t. You’ll bring up the rear.. if you think you’re up to the task...” answered Kalveig.

Eirak got into a huff. “Why! Ye arrogant whelp! I was leadin’ _real_ men into battle when ye were but a kid, and-”

“Good. Then you must know about a little something called ‘discipline’.” And, without sparing the dwarf another glance, Kalveig strode forth.

Ordinarily, Eirak would have grabbed the man and pounded some politeness into him.. but this was no ordinary circumstance. As he watched the others advancing into the vault, he felt the icy grip of the _Kun-Orun_ (8) on his heart for the first time in decades.

_Come on Eirak! T’is just a stupid vault. The halfling said it himself, it’s safe and secure. No loose rock._

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes, took a step forward, and crossed the vault’s threshold.

_See? Ain’t nothin’ to it._

But he could feel his hands starting to shake and cold sweat slowly forming on his brow.

Silently cursing his own weakness, he hastened to join the group.

**

The companions came almost immediately upon an intersection. The main corridor continued straight ahead, still wreathed in darkness except for the flickering light which had grown marginally closer. On their left and right, secondary corridors led to doors. The left one was closest but closed, while the right one was a bit further away but half-opened. Mindful of a potential ambush, Kalveig went for the latter and pushed it open all the way with his shield.

The room beyond appeared to have once served as a larder of some sort. A large pantry dominated the wall facing the entrance, its doors ajar. On the right, chests had been smashed open, and their contents spilled on the floor. On the far side of the room, great barrels had been broken open, and a pungent vinegar smell plagued the air. Shelves along the left wall had been toppled, their contents strewn across the floor. All in all, the place looked like it had been looted by a band of famished thugs.

Kalveig was about to investigate the room when Musadoc stepped in front of him and raised his pickaxe to indicate he should stop.

“Wait. Can you hear it?” The halfling was gazing intently in the direction of the broken chests.

Kalveig listened carefully. After a few seconds, he caught it. Slight noises, as if _things_ were crawling through the debris. He nodded slowly to Musadoc. The latter whispered “Follow me. Once I uncover them, strike immediately. Careful, the buggers are fast.”

The halfling walked toward the chests, holding his shield very close to the ground. Then, with the tip of his pickaxe, he started to shift through the wreckage. Suddenly, three large, undulating, insect-like creatures poured out of the heap, each as long as a human arm, with a sickly yellow fluid dripping from their mandibles. Two tried to reach the halfling’s legs, while the last went for the human’s. Kalveig’s reflexes proved faster and his flail caught the third creature in the open, smashing it against the floor. Meanwhile, Musadoc had successfully pinned one under his shield and was trying to keep the other at bay with his pickaxe.

Kalveig immediately stepped in and struck it violently, splattering both the halfling and himself with foul ichor. This didn’t seem to bother Musadoc who simply disengaged his arm from his shield and then jumped with his feet together on it, crushing the remaining critter underneath. He turned to face the others and grinned. “Giant centipedes, stupid but they have a nasty bite.”

Mistaking Siubhan’s disgusted look for incredulity, he added “Oh but I’ve seen bigger specimens. I can still remember a hunt in the Ninth Depth that turned up a whole nest of those. You should have seen the _mamatipede_! I swear, the thing must have been the size of a pony. The pit boss had half a mind to harness it to an ore cart!” He burst out laughing.

The priestess turned a pale shade of green while Pelrind chuckled and Kalveig couldn’t help but crack a smile. Alone at the rear, Eirak was leaning against a wall. Just looking at the creatures from afar had been enough to create a knot in his stomach. He wondered how much longer he would be able to hold on.

**

After making sure more creatures weren’t hiding in the room, Kalveig and Musadoc searched it thoroughly for clues while Pelrind examined the centipedes’ remains.  When their investigation failed to turn up anything new after 5 minutes, they decided to try to the other door.

It appeared quite sturdy. A sheet of beaten copper had been affixed to its center and something engraved on it. The etching represented a tall mountain enclosed within a diamond-like shape.

“If I am not mistaken, this is a symbolic representation of Rontra” said Kalveig. “Mayhap the entrance to the chapel the mayor spoke of?”

“Look!” Musadoc was pointing at some strange grooves in the door’s wooden surface.

The companions gathered closer to get a better look at them, and Pelrind was the first to voice an opinion. “These look like claw-marks to me.” He took a step back to have a better view. “Yes, definitely claws.. and belonging to someone or something about your height” he added, turning toward Siubhan.

“Someone attempted to batter down the door?” asked Musadoc.

“Unlikely.” Pelrind shook his head. “The marks aren’t very deep. Whoever - or whatever - made them didn’t have the strength to break through and, by the look of it, didn’t attempt to either. No, I rather think they are marks of frustration. My guess is their maker tried to gain entry, failed and then took it out on the door.. unsuccessfully, obviously.”

“.. which means we’re not alone in here. Look alive people!” warned Kalveig.

The companions turned around, scrutinizing the darkness at the edge of the lantern’s light. When an immediate threat failed to materialize, they went back to the business of opening the door while Eirak was watching their back.

Musadoc looked at Kalveig. “Do you think it’s trapped?”

“I can see no lock, nor any glyph or rune that could cause us harm.. but I am no expert.”

“If you would allow me..?” Pelrind stepped toward the door, his hands outstretched, and furrowed his brow in concentration. After a few seconds, he started talking slowly, as if he was still assimilating information. “The door itself isn’t magical but the area beyond is. I can perceive two.. no, make that three.. different auras.” He turned toward Kalveig. “I can’t be more precise within looking directly at whatever lies on the other side, sorry.”

“It’s alright. Still, the door could be protected by a mechanical trap. Move back everyone, I’ll attempt to force it.” Putting himself squarely in front of it and protecting his face with his shield, he grabbed the handle with his right hand and pushed hard. Surprisingly, the door opened without so much as squeaking in protest. Indeed, Kalveig almost lost his equilibrium in the process!

At first, the companions thought they were looking at a large pit but then realized the floor was some type of dark glass which had been polished to a smooth finish. The 30 ft.-by-30 ft. room featured a stone pool in its center, approximately four feet high, and ten feet in diameter, with white marble steps leading to its rim on three sides. From its center rose a granite pedestal on which stood the statue of a plump dwarven maiden clad in ornate plate armor. She was holding a stone jug over the pool in her right hand, as if emptying it, while her left hand was thrusting a long metallic rod into the pool, as if measuring its depth. Her expression under her open-faced helm was stern but serene.

It was difficult to see because of the pool, but a statue of some kind stood against the far wall, facing the entrance.

A small niche was barely visible in the middle of the left wall.

The right wall was covered by a floor-to-ceiling tapestry depicting the exploits of a valiant figure performing heroic deeds. Three scenes pictured him battling demonic creatures, rescuing an elven maiden from bestial-looking humanoids, and leading elves and humans into battle against the same humanoids.

Pelrind concentrated again. “The three auras are centered over - respectively - the stone jug, the metallic rod, and the whole room. The first two are weak. The third is of moderate strength. The jug seems linked to summoning magic.. wait.. I think it is elemental in nature. The rod has been imbued with powers of transformation.. ah, interesting.. also elemental in nature. As for the room, we are dealing with a protective aura.” He turned to the others. “If I had to hazard a guess, I would say it’s the last spell that prevented our mysterious guest from entering.”

“Well.. only one way to know for sure” said Kalveig, and he stepped inside.

Nothing happened.

The holy warrior addressed a silent prayer of thanks to Morwyn and started looking around. Siubhan, Musadoc and Eirak followed him inside without trouble. As Pelrind was crossing the threshold, he suddenly felt a tingling sensation all over his skin, followed by rapidly increasing pain. His body reacted instinctively and he threw himself out of the room, landing hard on the floor. Bewildered, he looked at his clothes which were smoking as if he had just been through fire (9).

All the others - except for Eirak - rushed to his side.

**

The dwarf just stood there, looking up at the statue in the pool. For the first time since they had entered the vault, the Kun-Orun had relaxed its grip on him.. and it had begun on the exact moment he had crossed this room’s doorstep.

The statue seemed to look down and smile at him.

Glancing around, Eirak experienced something he had never felt before: pride for his ancestors’ accomplishment. In the whole room, no seam could be seen, no mortar connecting the different blocks. Indeed, despite being obviously built from different types of stones, the place appeared more ‘carved’ than ‘constructed’. It was a marvel of austere elegance, its Spartan aspect heightening the importance of the few items that decorated it by removing anything that could prevent a spectator’s gaze from being drawn to them.

Two tears fell from his eyes as he became keenly aware of just how skilled his forefathers had once been.. and of how low their descendants had fallen.

But sadness and self-pity were swiftly replaced by anger in his heart as he looked again at the statue, this time with pure hatred, and he remembered the countless hours spent at the feet of his elders, listening to the litany of grievances that had become his race’s inheritance.

_*.. She forsook us, Her favored! ..

.. brought down the whole place on us ..

.. your great-grandmother, torn limb from limb by a fell beast ..

.. ruin and destruction, no answer to our pleas of mercy ..

.. whenever you know pain, blame Her for it, and then blame Her some more! ..

.. never forget, nor forgive ..*_

Snarling, he started to swing his waraxe.

**

Siubhan having examined him and bandaged wounds that were - luckily - only superficial, Pelrind got up and dusted himself off.

“Well, friends, it seems that the powers warding this chamber have deemed me as unworthy as whomever left marks on the door.” He sighed.

“This is absurd” commented Kalveig. “Why deny access to an elf? I thought the NeMoren and your kinsmen were friends!”

“Be that as it may, my human friend, the fact remains that entering this room would undoubtedly seal my fate. I confess I was looking forward to investigating its contents, especially the floor that - if I am not mistaken - is a sheet of obsidian of colossal size.” He shrugged helplessly, having apparently resigned himself, but the others could see he was saddened by the turn of events.

“I see two main possibilities” announced a pensive Siubhan. “Either the room is warded to allow entrance only to members of the Races of the Tree, or to deny access to persons - forgive me - lacking a soul (10).”

“A definite possibility, I’ll admit. I guess having fey-blood in my veins does carry some significance in certain circumstances. Ah well...” He put his hand on Musadoc’s shoulder. “Could I prevail upon you to act as my eyes and hands in the room yonder? As someone used to digging, I am sure you share my fascination for all ‘earthly’ things, eh?” He winked.

Musadoc grinned and nodded. “Gladly!”

Suddenly, the harsh sound of metal hitting stone interrupted them. As one they turned toward the chapel barely in time to watch Eirak’s axe bounce off the statue’s head. The statue appeared only slightly damaged but the axe’s blade was chipped.. which did nothing to improve the dwarf’s mood. The latter raised a vengeful fist toward the statue and uttered a string of insults that would have made a bugbear blush.

Musadoc and Siubhan gasped at the sacrilege. Pelrind, helpless to intervene, rolled his eyes at the sheer stupidity of the brazen attack. As for Kalveig, he chose to act. As all holy warriors, part of his sacred duty was to defend sanctuaries dedicated to the Gods of the Tree. He had been very lenient with the dwarf till now, but the latter had crossed the line with this latest outburst of violence.

Running into the room, he dropped his weapon and shield and jumped at Eirak, trying to pin him down. If he thought size or momentum would give him the advantage, though, he was sadly mistaken. The dwarf had 20 years of combat experience under his belt, gained fighting things a lot tougher and wilder than the holy warrior. He dodged the attack easily and punched Kalveig in the face as the latter flew past.

Kalveig rolled with the blow to avoid injuring himself and got up again as soon as he hit the floor. Blood was dripping from his lower lip. He wiped it with the back of his hand and crouched, observing his adversary through narrowed eyes. Eirak was facing him, fists raised, ready for a brawl. “If it’s a fight ye want, a fight ye’ll get, boy!”

“Stop this instant!” Siubhan had rushed in-between the two warriors, one arm extended toward each, palm outstretched. “Have you both gone mad? We are supposed to be cooperating, not fighting among ourselves!”

Eirak made a gesture of dismissal. “Leave us be, girl. It ain’t yer problem.”

“He is right.. at least on that account, Sister. With all due respect, I would ask you to let me teach the cur a lesson. It is overdue.”

Siubhan looked at Kalveig as if unable to believe what he had just said.

“Gentlesirs, you _will_ stop this nonsense *now* or I will put some wisdom into those stubborn heads of yours, even if I have to hammer it in!”

The three turned to look at Musadoc. The latter had planted himself in front of the chapel’s entrance, hands on his hips, the very figure of paternal authority. His voice had sounded deeper than usual and had resonated with a self-confidence he hadn’t displayed before. Had his puny-looking aspect not contradicted what their ears had just heard, they could have sworn it had been a totally different person speaking.

Then, as if suddenly conscious everyone’s attention was now focused on him, his face contorted into an expression of utter embarrassment. When he spoke again, his voice had returned to its normal tone and, if anything, sounded even shier. “Er.. that is, if you don’t mind.”

They continued to look at him, each and every one of them completely taken aback.

He looked timidly at Eirak. “I mean.. why are you so angry at Her anyway? At least, you could enter Her chapel. Mister Pelrind here couldn’t, and I know he really wanted to. It just doesn’t seem..” - he struggled for a word - “.. fair.”

Anger replaced bewilderment in Eirak’s eyes.

“Ye’re askin’ me why I can’t stand Her? Tell me first why _you_ like Her!”

“Well.. uh.. She has always been good to us, I guess. Plentiful harvests, healthy children, few cave-ins in our mines.. that sort of thing.”

“And I s’pose ye think yerself ‘blessed’ for it, eh?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Ye wouldn’t recognize ‘blessed’ if it hit ye in the face, boy!” He started to walk toward Musadoc, his steps punctuated by a discourse that sounded both like a profession of faith and a curse. “*We* were Her Blessed Ones and She was _everythin’_ to us. Our underground cities were towerin’ monuments to Her sole glory. Her name was the first word we uttered upon wakin’, and the last we whispered before goin’ to sleep. Her temples received offerin’s you can’t even begin to conceive. We raised altars for Her that were crafted of metals you haven’t yet discovered, covered by gemstones that would have put a rainbow to shame. Apart from Korak - blessed be the Maker! - none received as much devotion. Truly, we were First among Her children!”

He stopped a few seconds, not to find his words but to resist the urge to spit in disgust.

“And then She betrayed us. Yeah, that’s right. She turned Her back on us without so much as a ‘thank ye’. Oh but it gets better, ‘cause She didn’t just abandon us. Oh no, t’would have been too easy. She made our caverns crash down on us!” He now stood in front of the halfling and grabbed the latter by his leather jerkin. “When ye deal with a cave-in, how many people do ye lose? 5? 10? 50?” He marked a pause for dramatic effect. “In a *single* day, _we_ lost more than 100,000! But wait! It ain’t over yet. When survivors fled to the surface, guess who was waitin’ for them?”

“I.. I don’t know” replied a trembling Musadoc.

“Our enemies were, that’s who! I’ve been in battles, so ye can trust me when I tell ye that wasn’t one. T’was a bloody slaughter, that’s what it was! Ever seen what giants or trolls do to their victims? It ain’t pretty. Out o’ every 10 dwarves who woke up on that fateful day, barely one lived to tell the tale.”

He pulled Musadoc closer to him, so that their faces were but an inch apart. His next words were literally dripping with hatred. “We placed Her above all others, and our reward was the destruction of our civilization and our race. *That*’s why they call us the _Sundered_, and the reason o’ me ‘dislike’ for Her. Good enough answer for ye?”

Musadoc blanched, though whether it was because of the story or due to the fact that his feet were now dangling in the air was uncertain.

“That’s enough! Unhand him. You made your point.” Kalveig had come to stand behind the dwarf.. and he had picked up his flail on the way. “Besides, your people weren’t the only ones to suffer. The event you speak of was the Cataclysm. Are you so egocentric that you think your kinsmen were the only ones affected by it?”

Eirak put the halfling down and whirled on Kalveig. “And what do _ye_ know about sufferin’, eh?”

“If you have something to add, dwarf, say it. I am not afraid of truth.”

“Ye sanctimonious bastard! Ye would do well to stick yer head out o’ yer arse! When was the last time one of ye was hungry? Or worryin’ sick ‘bout yer pups ‘cause ye don’t earn enough silver to buy them decent clothes and they’re burnin’ with fever in winter?”

“You are exaggerating! Our kings made you welcome in the cities, and-”

“Yer kings? Ye wanna talk ‘bout yer kings? Do ye know what yer oh-so-great Wolfgang (11) did when he arrived? He kicked us out o’ every town and village, that’s what he did! ‘Cause we reminded him of _dverges_ (12) - whatever those are - and he didn’t like them. Her folks” - he pointed at Siubhan - “didn’t do much for us, but at least they tried. For three decades, ye treated us worse than dogs! And then, one o’ yer kings had the bright idea to attack the elves. O’ course, they resisted and he had to run with his tail between his legs, and then came cryin’ for our help. We won yer war for ye and what was our reward, eh? The right to join yer bloody army and continue to die for ye!”

“Unfair! You aren’t barred from any profession-”

“No, ‘course not. But whenever there is an openin’, it just happens they’ve a better candidate for the job. Oh wait, it’s a Drachen! What a surprise...”

“Are you saying we are discriminating against you?”

“Open yer eyes, boy! Ever remember seein’ a Drachen beggar or farmer? Yer folks have the best this land can offer. Ye’re all officers, diplomats, merchants, officials, priests, nobles, etc... Oh sure, some o’ the Traladarans and Russ are too. Just enough to please the crowd, but nowhere near what they would need for the ‘leash to change hands’.. if ye see what I mean. And in the meantime, we dwarves are confined to ghettoes and ‘generously’ allowed to join the military.”

“You have officers, priests and merchants of your own!”

“Barely enough to give ye good conscience! And what little we have, we owe to the laws o’ the only Drachen we truly called ‘king’: Lysander (13).”

“I am sorry for your people. I honestly didn’t know you folks had it so bad.” Musadoc looked at the ground sheepishly.

“Aye, I am sorry too..” began Kalveig. “.. sorry that you feel what happened to your ancestors is a valid excuse to act no better than a troll!”

Eirak’s eyes bulged.

“You told me to open my eyes. Well, I now return that piece of advice to you. You think Rontra betrayed you? *No* god answered *any* prayer during the Cataclysm because they were all too busy trying to keep our world in one piece! You lost most of your people - may their souls rest in peace - but that’s no reason to lash out in anger at us or to desecrate this place. You want to hate Rontra? Fine, but the NeMorens believed in her with all their heart and destroying this chapel would be like attacking those beliefs. I cannot allow that. You want to hate me because you think my people were unjust to yours? Fine too. If your kinsmen all react the way you do, it’s no wonder dwarves are still sulking in their ‘ghettoes’ instead of becoming integrated into the society we’re trying to build. Now, you have two choices. Either you start behaving like a responsible member of this team and you can continue with us, or you leave and wait for us outside. We will save your share.”

“Who died and made ye chief?” replied the dwarf.

Kalveig’s sole answer was to lock gaze with Eirak. The tension between them was almost palpable as a silent contest of will raged in the minds of the two warriors.

In the end, Eirak was the first to break eye-contact. “Bah, it ain’t worth it. Keep yer precious statue!” He gathered his equipment and stormed out of the chapel, going back to the intersection and brooding there.

Pelrind broke the awkward silence that followed. “Musadoc, could you please go to the pool and describe to me what’s inside?”

The halfling nodded, only too happy to have something to do after what had just happened. Meanwhile, Kalveig and Siubhan resumed their investigation of the room.

The niche in the left wall was cube-shaped and contained a small bowl-like depression, as if a spherical object was supposed to fit in it. Upon closer examination, it turned out the depression’s interior was lined with what appeared to be brass or gold. Musadoc wasn’t sure and Pelrind was too far to tell.

The statue on the other side of the pool represented a breastplate-wearing warrior seated on a stump and holding a peculiar-looking warhammer in his right hand, as if wielding a scepter. A curious detail was that the warrior was depicted with neither shoes nor sollerets. A copper plate covered with a beautiful script was affixed to the statue’s base. Siubhan identified it as Celestial and managed to translate it: “Sir Kragor NeMoren, Elf-friend, Fiendslayer. Had he twenty hands, still he would not be able to count his great deeds.”

As for the stone pool, Musadoc found it to be nearly full of dried mud. At Pelrind’s request, he scraped a bit of it and brought it back to the elf, which began to rub it between his fingers pensively.

“Hmm.. intriguing. If the vault has been sealed for the past decades, this mud ought to be dry and brittle. Yet, while dry, it still retains some malleability as if unable - or unwilling - to lose cohesion.” He bit a small sample, rolled it in his mouth with his tongue, and then spat it back in his hand. “Mud is the communion of Earth and Water. The former is associated with the physical, while the latter is linked to the spiritual. In other words, the body and the soul. Together, they are often used for rejuvenating purposes. In fact, I remember my master telling me about unusual places whose mud was imbued with healing properties, usually limited to the treatment of skin diseases but - in rarer cases – able to cure all types of wounds.”

“And you believe this is the kind of pool we found?” inquired Siubhan.

“Aye, albeit an artificial one. Obviously, there is no way for us to benefit from it in its present condition.. but under the right circumstances...”

Kalveig looked at the pool and then back at the elf. “Am I correct in assuming you have divined how to activate it?”

Pelrind smiled enigmatically. “Let’s just say I made an educated guess...”

**

The companions, having no reason to linger in the chapel, returned to the main corridor and continued to follow it. They climbed a short stair and arrived on a large landing. Directly ahead of them, another stair rose in shadows and, beyond it, they could see the flickering light that had intrigued them earlier - much closer this time. On their left, a secondary corridor led to a stone door. Once more, Kalveig chose to head for the door first, unwilling to risk having their retreat cut out by hidden enemies.

The door was rather heavy, and it took two of them to push it open. Past it, a five-foot ledge lay level with the entryway. Apparently, it served as a walkway around the upper level of a large room. A stairway at the edge of the walkway descended 10 feet from the entrance to the lower level. Small doors lined the upper and lower levels of the room, each with a small plaque fastened to it. Several of the lower doors had been wrenched from their hinges, and the smell of rotting flesh permeated the air. The bottom of the room had a floor made of packed earth, not stone.

“Ugh! I think we found the family mausoleum.” Musadoc was pinching his nose in disgust.

“.. and, evidently, it has been desecrated” Siubhan sighed.

Kalveig couldn’t help it, he glanced suspiciously at Eirak. The dwarf saw it.

“What the..! Ye think I did it?! I ain’t no grave robber!”

“No, I don’t think you are.. sorry.”

_If only because you couldn’t have opened the door on your own_ he added silently.

“Come. Let us see what damage has been done.” Kalveig started to walk down to the lower level, quickly followed by Pelrind and a grumbling Eirak. A cursory examination revealed only the most recent tombs had been forced, those whose ‘occupants’ must still have had a bit of flesh. That is, ‘had’ before someone - or something - had gnawed at them till only bones were left. The latter lay in small piles on the floor.

They discovered that the last two tombs whose plaques had been engraved were apparently meant for Paytro NeMoren and his wife, Amelia. In her case, however, someone had scratched out her name and carved ‘Always Lisette’ over it. Both tombs were, of course, unoccupied.

As they were puzzling over this latest mystery, they failed to notice the bones slowly sinking into the floor all around them.

**

[awareness]

_Flesh pillars return_

[sensing]

_No carry ward-token_

[memory-order]

_No ward-token = despoiler = kill_

[memory-pain]

_Last despoilers hurt Self_

[feeling-anger]

_Self hurt despoilers before kill!_

[feeling-happiness]

**

Pelrind felt a slight vibration through his legs. His eyes widened in surprise as his heart recognized it for what it was. “Quick! Get on the stairs!” He turned and started running.. but it was already too late. When properly motivated, the Earth can be as swift as any of the other elements...

The packed earth of the mausoleum’s floor began to rise in-between the three men and the stairway, clumps of moist dirt clinging to each others and piling up rapidly to form a hideous creature. Shaped like a human figure, rotted fingers, teeth, and other unidentifiable bits of decayed corpses could be seen protruding from it, while a dirt-encrusted skull served as its ‘head’.

Pelrind felt sick in his stomach.

_This is no ordinary Earth-Child! Somehow, something evil has corrupted it, warping its perfect form into.. this. Yet, maybe I can still reason with it..._

“Wait! Nobody moves! I think I can talk to it. Maybe avoid a needless confrontation.”

“Are you sure about this, Pelrind?” Kalveig’s tone was dubious.

“All I ask is that you give me a chance. Trust me, this is one creature you do _not_ want to fight.” Without waiting for the human’s approval, he went silently through the list of what he had to do as per his masters’ teachings. Planting his staff in the ground, he put the lantern on the floor and walked two paces in the creature’s direction. Then, he stood very still, one hand turned palm down toward the soil at a slight angle and the other holding his medallion so that the creature could see it clearly.

His voice, when he started to talk, sounded more like the grinding noise of rocks being rubbed together than a coherent language. Yet, it seemed to produce an effect as the creature recoiled in surprise.

**

[hearing]

_Earth-Talk?!_

[feeling-puzzlement]

_Earth-Talk = friend = no kill_

[feeling-confusion]

_But Earth-Talk ≠ ward-token_

[feeling-indecision]

_If no ward-token, then friend = no friend_

[feeling-anger]

_no friend = trickster_

[feeling-rage]

_trickster = despoiler_

[attack]

**

Pelrind had been talking to the creature for a good minute now. In truth, it had been more a monologue than a dialogue given he was the only one speaking but at least the monster seemed to be listening. Or rather, his companions hoped that’s what it was doing. Hard to tell when the only indications it was still ‘animate’ were occasional tremors...

When the creature’s right ‘arm’ slammed into Pelrind, it took everyone by surprise (14). The elf flew across the room and crashed against the far wall, his body falling to the ground where it lay unmoving. Kalveig turned to Eirak. “You have to hold it back a few moments while I stabilize him.. if he is still alive!”

Eirak looked at the monster and grimaced. He could feel the Kun-Orun lurking at the back of his mind, ready to pounce at the first opportunity. Yet, the others were counting on him and he couldn’t let them see his race’s curse. Yelling a battle cry to give himself courage, he rushed the creature. His attack was a powerful blow aimed at the midsection. The waraxe cleaved through the compacted earth with some difficulty, the blade being slowed down by bones that were part of the structure. Far from being an impediment though, that fact actually turned to the dwarf’s advantage as it insured a good chunk of the creature was pulled along when the axe re-emerged.

**

[feeling-pain]

_Flesh boulder = threat to Self_

[concentration]

_Summon Earth-Jail_

**

Twin points of crimson light appeared in the skull’s orbits, focusing their hellish glare on Eirak. The latter had stepped back a bit, preferring to wait for some indication that his attack had had an effect before making another attempt. It proved his undoing...

Worm-eaten, bony arms burst up from the ground all around him and latched on. They began to drag him straight down.

**

Among dwarves, the Kun-Orun is compared to the Ash Viper because, like it, it takes pleasure in stalking its preys before 'making the kill'. It bites you a few times, never injecting enough poison - in this case, fear - to do real damage, just an adequate amount to insure you are properly ‘conditioned’ for the hunt. Sometimes, it even lets you think you have escaped if that’s what it takes to heighten the thrill of the final struggle. But, in the end, it always wins.

To Eirak’s people, the Kun-Orun is the ultimate bogeyman.. except that, in their case, they know it’s real. And they are right. It _is_ real. In fact, it’s far worse than what they imagine...

As Eirak’s anxiety increased, an invisible tendril linking him to the ethereal grew stronger second by second.

**

Kalveig was bandaging Pelrind as best as his could when an inarticulate scream forced him to leave the elf to take care of a more urgent problem.

Eirak had let his shield fall to the ground and, wielding his waraxe two-handed, was hacking like a madman at the rotten appendages that were trying to bury him alive. Unfortunately, every arm he cut down was instantly replaced by two others. His situation appeared desperate.

Musadoc was running down the stairway to come to his help, and Siubhan had begun to cast a spell.

Kalveig rapidly appraised the situation and decided the best way to help the dwarf was to tackle the cause instead of the effects. He charged the creature, hoping to break its concentration by hitting it repeatedly with his flail.

Alas, by that time, Eirak was already buried to the waist. The bony arms were now grabbing him by the arms, the head, even the beard, and he couldn’t defend himself anymore. Musadoc had arrived, but wasn’t strong enough to pry him loose. And he didn’t dare to use his pickaxe for fear of hitting Eirak.

Suddenly, a silvery radiance enveloped them all, bolstering their courage and strengthening their resolve. Above them, on the walkway, Siubhan frowned. Invoking Morwyn’s blessing was the only thing she could do to help, but she doubted it would prove sufficient.

Regrettably, it didn’t. Despite the companions’ best efforts, Eirak’s head disappeared under the ground. Just before it did, Musadoc locked gaze with him and nearly fainted for, in Eirak’s pupils, he saw for a split second the quintessence of fear and hopelessness.. and something else too.. _something_ not of their world!

**

Somewhere in the deep ethereal, a large shape finished sucking hungrily a silvery-grey tendril that extended all the way back to the Prime Material. It had fed well today. But, then again, with those dwarves it always did...

**********
(8) Literally: ‘empty cave’ (in Dwarven). See the Rogues Gallery for details.

(9) Pelrind’s player was both lucky and unlucky here. The room was warded by a _Forbiddance_ spell, keyed to the Lawful Good alignment. Of all the people in the party, Pelrind was the one who yearned the most to examine the room.. and the only one who couldn’t enter. Normally, he would have taken 6d6 pts of damage just by stepping inside but given the place wasn’t supposed to be a death-trap for my players, I allowed him a Reflex save to step back out as soon as he felt the magic take hold. Luckily, he made it. Else, I doubt he would have survived...

The mayor knew the password to enter, even though he didn’t recognize it for what it was. Had they questioned him a bit more, they could have learnt it from him. Tough luck!

Arguably, I could have replaced _Forbiddance_ by _Hallow_ but it wouldn’t have explained why the main villain of the adventure had been unable to enter the room and I like my dungeons to be logical. Plus, I wanted the players to have a ‘safe haven’ to retreat to during their first mission together. Of course, it didn’t work out as I had intended with Eirak stubbornly refusing to return to the chapel and Pelrind unable to enter at all <sigh>

(10) Supposedly, only members of the following races (which grew on the World-Tree) have a soul: dwarves, gobbers, halflings, and humans.

(11) Wolfgang of Werax was the warleader of the Drachens when they invaded what was left of Pellham and, later, went on to become Drachenhold’s first king. To Drachens, he is nothing short of a legendary national hero.

(12) Drachens had legends from their homeland about short, stunted creatures that lived under the earth and liked to play cruel tricks on humans. So, when they met the dwarves, they decided at first to keep them at spear’s length.

(13) King Lysander I, known as the ‘Peace-Maker’. Apart from Wolfgang I, he is held to be Drachenhold’s greatest hero. He ended a decades-long war with the Suressian elves and vanquished the druids and their humanoid minions who threatened to lay waste to the kingdom. He was also the first to show true respect for the dwarves, going so far as to trust them with his life (and crown!) on several occasions. To this day, dwarves won’t allow others to speak ill of him in their presence.

(14) Translation: Pelrind had botched his Elemental Empathy attempt and learnt the price of failure.

**********


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## Mortepierre (Jan 6, 2005)

The new year is upon us and I promised an update, so here it is!

However, that's not the end of Chapter 1 yet. That update was so massive I decided to post part of it directly. Stay tuned for the next!

1.3 Courage and Friendship:

The companions’ situation was far from idyllic. Pelrind, hurt and unconscious, possibly dying. Eirak, grabbed by rotten arms and forcibly buried alive. Siubhan watching helplessly from upstairs. And Musadoc, on his knees on the cold ground, frozen into inaction by what he had glimpsed in Eirak’s eyes before the latter disappeared.

Kalveig grimaced, realizing the fate of the group now rested with him. He had been unable to distract the creature while it concentrated on eliminating Eirak but at least the respite had allowed him to land two good hits. However, now that the dwarf was gone, the monster would undoubtedly turn to the next threat: him.

The holy warrior took two steps back and concentrated on his defense. “Musadoc!”

The halfling continued to look at the ground as if unable to accept what had happened.

“Musadoc, on your feet! I need you here and NOW!”

The halfling jerked, as a marionette whose strings had just been pulled. His expression changed from overwhelmed to furious in a heartbeat. Grabbing his pickaxe, he stood up and started to circle the monster warily. “Keep it busy, I’ll flank it.” There was steel in his voice, and the grim promise of revenge.

The blow came, swift and powerful, as expected. Kalveig managed to hold on to his shield and stay on his feet.. barely. And then the creature howled, the sound similar to a stone shattering due to intense cold. Musadoc had attacked it from behind, his pickaxe digging deeply into the monster’s right ‘leg’.

_Now or never!_

Kalveig dropped his shield and rushed forward, wielding his flail two-handed. He aimed for the skull and struck as strong a blow as he could manage (15). For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, cracks began to appear not only on the skull but all over the creature’s body. The monster shuddered once and crumbled to pieces at their feet.

**

“And you say undeads dragged the dwarf beneath the ground?”

Pelrind had been questioning extensively both Kalveig and Musadoc on what had happened after he had lost consciousness. He tried to sit against the wall but relented. Despite the fact that Siubhan had healed the worst of the damage by calling upon Morwyn, his ribcage was still giving him pain.

Kalveig helped him to lie down again and nodded. “That’s what it looked like. However, I was rather busy confronting the creature at the time so I can’t be sure. Musadoc got a better look at them though.”

“I saw only arms and hands, some rotten, some skeletal. They seemed strong and single-minded given it didn’t take them more than a dozen heartbeats to drag him down” the halfling commented. There was exasperation in his voice. He paced the mausoleum nervously, clearly ruminating over something.

When the elf looked at him interrogatively, Kalveig leaned forward and whispered “I think he blames himself for not being able to save the dwarf.”

Pelrind shrugged. To him, railing against Fate was pointless if not counterproductive.

“I still can’t figure out what it was exactly that you fought” he thought aloud. “Clearly, it had an elemental nature since it understood me when I spoke to it. But the body parts included into its physical matrix suggest necromancy as well. That’s puzzling. Generally those two kinds of magic don’t mesh well. They are even antagonistic to some degree. And yet-”

“Could you please stop debating this so dispassionately? Eirak just *died* in case you didn’t notice!” interrupted Musadoc.

Pelrind looked at him calmly. “Actually, I don’t think he did.”

“Uh?”

“If you had let me finish, I would have said that the act of burying an opponent alive is a standard tactic for earth-creatures, except it’s used to capture, not to kill...”

“You mean he could still be alive?!”

“I meant exactly that. Whenever they try to protect something or place it ‘out of the way’, earth-creatures nearly always resort to what we call _geostasis_. In layman’s terms, ‘underground hibernation’. Of course, I can’t be certain given the.. ah.. ‘peculiarities’ the creature exhibited, but it’s a strong possibility. And, even if I am wrong, let me remind you all that we need Eirak’s key to reach the inner vault. Without it, our little expedition stops here and now.”

By the time the elf had finished his explanation, Musadoc was already hard at work digging. He stopped only long enough to harangue the others. “Well? Don’t just stand there! Grab something and help me. We’ve got ourselves a dwarf-mine and I intend to hit the mother-lode in record time.”

The others grinned. They had to give it to the halfling, his good humor was contagious.

Kalveig left Pelrind to Siubhan’s care and ran back to the cellar to fetch some tools. Luckily, he found an old shovel and was soon back to give the halfling a hand.

It took them a full day, their work being complicated by the fact that they had to stop frequently to make sure they weren’t about to hit the dwarf’s head. Finally, they uncovered a big ovoid object entirely encased in bones. All in all, it looked like some kind of macabre chrysalis.

“Fascinating!” Pelrind had climbed down the excavation and was busy inspecting the _thing_.

“You think it’s him?” Kalveig was clearly a bit leery of their discovery.

The elf continued his examination for a few minutes before he nodded slowly. “Quite possibly. Usually, geostasis is implemented through the creation of a stone ‘cyst’ around the subject but given the creature had affinities for necromancy, this may well be its distinctive way of doing it.”

“What should we expect if we break it open?”

“Normally, the subj-”

Musadoc gave him a reproachful look.

“Ahem.. I meant, _Eirak_ should be inside, alive and well, though ‘asleep’. Opening the cyst and shaking him up should do the trick. Of course, I could be wrong. Perhaps he will have been drained of life or even necroanimated.” Pelrind shrugged. “Hard to predict, but a fasci.. er.. gruesome yet intriguing prospect.” He smiled at the halfling apologetically.

Cautiously, they proceeded to peel the bones, slowly revealing the unconscious form of the dwarf. The latter was curled up in fetal position. Apart from a few scratches and bruises, he appeared healthy enough.. except for the fact that, though clearly comatose, his eyes were wide open and his face was a mask of frozen terror.

“Morwyn’s mercy! He sure didn’t go down quietly. Give me a hand Musadoc.” Kalveig, helped by the halfling, finished freeing Eirak of his grisly ‘gangue’. Then, gently, they tried to wake him. Unfortunately, it didn’t exactly go as planned...

One minute, the dwarf was inert as a boulder, and the next he was screaming at the top of his lungs as if all the nightmares he had ever experienced were suddenly revisiting him. He started to flail around, knocking over the human and the halfling, before attempting to flee up the stairs.

“Quick, grab him! He is liable to hurt himself!” Back when she was still an apprentice, Siubhan’s instructors had told her that while some physical wounds were both terrible to behold and difficult to treat, there would come a time when she would have to face mental wounds that ran even deeper. Those, they warned, were by far the worst for it would take more than prayers to cure them. Up to now, she had doubted the veracity of such statement. But no more.

When the dwarf had started screaming, she had felt his pain keenly from across the room, something that had never happened before! Normally, she had to be in physical contact with a patient to experience anguish to such a degree. Still, she hadn’t come totally unprepared. She didn’t know if what she had in mind would work, but she was prepared to try her best.

**

To Eirak, the world was Chaos. He recalled only dimly the battle against the _thing_, his failure to stop it, and his distress when he had been dragged down. While his body had been held in stasis underground by the creature’s magic, his mind had remained fully active, easy prey for the Kun-Orun. He had spent the last day locked inside a living nightmare built of the tales of his ancestors. He had run dozens of miles in tunnels forever collapsing, had been scorched by lava flows barring his path, had felt his lungs dissolve due to acidic fumes he was forced to breathe, and had been hunted down by creatures to which mercy had no meaning.

Now, at last, escape was at hand! A slope had materialized that seemed to lead upwards, perhaps even to the surface! Yet, misshapen creatures were already in hot pursuit. No doubt, they intended to drag him back to their world of darkness and misery. He couldn’t let them succeed. He couldn’t!

**

Kalveig was the first to reach Eirak, tackling him just as the latter was reaching the walkway. He was rewarded by a sharp blow to the face from the dwarf’s elbow. Half-groggy, he managed to hold on long enough for Musadoc to reach them. The halfling did the first thing that crossed his mind; he sat astride Eirak’s back, slid his pickaxe’s handle under the dwarf’s throat, and used it to crush his windpipe. Not lethally, of course, but enough to force him to stop.

“Hold him still! I am going to try to bring him out of it.” Siubhan had caught up with them. Her left hand was wrapped around her holy symbol while the right one was surrounded by a nimbus of soft, white light. She extended it towards Eirak and the radiance streamed from her hand to settle around the warrior’s chest and head.

**

Would this nightmare never end? He had almost reached the top of the slope when one of the earth-demons had grabbed his legs, making him fall to the ground. No sooner had he hit it to break its hold that another demon - smaller but twice as wicked - had jumped on his back and tried to throttle him!

Suddenly, he saw her. Contrarily to the other creatures he had met so far, her form was well-defined rather than blurry and awoke neither fear nor revulsion in him. She was so bright that it was hard to make out her features.. except for her eyes. Those were twin oases of calm, one blue like the sky on a sunny day, the other green like a deep forest lake. There was kindness in them, and the unspoken promise that hope was eternal. At her silent command, the demons stopped hurting him. Gradually, he started to relax.

**

It was working! Her spell was slowly countering the irrational terror that had seized the doughty warrior. Siubhan knelt in front of him and hugged the dwarf as if he was a long-lost kinsman, willing her mental strength to bolster his.

**

The Kun-Orun was still wrapped around his heart, its fangs dripping their debilitating poison: unadulterated fear. Yet, he could feel its grip weakening. The ‘beast’ didn’t like his newfound ally. Her very essence was inimical to its own.

Eirak’s strength was returning and he used every bit of it to fight his way back to reality.

**

Siubhan knew something was wrong. Like all White Hands of Morwyn, healing someone involved more than mere spells. It established a communion of spirits, for only in experiencing the pain could the healer enact a cure. And the deeper the wound, the greater the emphatic link, and thus the grief shared.

As she allowed Eirak’s emotions to flood her own mind, she felt her sanity shattering under the assault. For it was a deliberate attack, not the result of a ‘simple’ trauma. Whatever was affecting the dwarf possessed a life of its own. _It_ knew purpose, and that purpose was to inflict pain!

For a few seconds, she saw herself running in dark tunnels as a dwarf maiden, and experienced raw fear on a scale she had never imagined. And then, she spotted Eirak. The warrior was lying on the ground, something dark and sinewy coiled around him. He was struggling to free himself but the _thing_ didn’t want to let go. As she approached, fully intent on helping him, the creature looked at her with sulfurous eyes and shot a glance of pure hatred.

Her resolve faltered and she stopped, unsure about what to do next.. until she noticed that her holy symbol was glowing and that the light it shed seemed to cause pain to the monster. She didn’t hesitate any longer. Grabbing it, she thrust it in the creature’s face. The latter hissed in impotent rage and uncoiled, fleeing to a hidden corner of the nightmare it had spawned (16).

**

In the NeMoren’s mausoleum, Eirak blinked at a world that was no longer quite so terrifying. He could feel the Kun-Orun lurking in a dark recess of his mind but, for now, it had been subdued. The human priestess was still hugging him, her face drenched in sweat. She seemed exhausted. With a gentleness he had never shown outside of his own race before, he disentangled himself from her arms and helped her to her feet. He read an unspoken question in her eyes and answered it in a whisper. “Don’t worry lass, I may be ‘sundered’ but I ain’t broken yet.” He winked at her for good measure, a simple gesture but - considering how he had acted up to now - one that spoke volumes about how grateful he was to her.

He was a bit surprised though when Kalveig and Musadoc took turn patting him on the back and telling him how glad they were that he was back safe and sound. Even Pelrind smiled at him and nodded once in silent welcome.

**

The companions had decided to leave the vault for a well-earned night of rest on the surface. Not even Musadoc was tempted to spend it underground! However, before leaving, they resolved to check on the source of light that had beckoned them from the main corridor’s end.

As it turned out, they hadn’t to go far to solve the mystery.

The last stair rose to a 10 ft. square hallway that was blocked by a massive iron door. It showed no visible keyhole or handle, and stretched from floor to ceiling. To the immediate left of the door, there was a small niche in the wall, very similar to the one they had found in the chapel. A small crystal sphere sat on the ground near the niche. Light dimly radiated from the sphere, giving the doorway an eerie glow.

Pelrind picked it up and grinned broadly. “This is a _Calisil_, an ‘Orb of Light’ you might say.”

“What does it do?” Musadoc was standing on his toes, trying to get a better look at it.

“Watch.” The elf closed his hand around it for a few seconds, allowing his body heat to suffuse the crystal globe, and then opened it up again. The orb flared up, suddenly bathing the adventurers in bright light.

“Amazing! It’s as if we were outside in the sun. Well, minus the warmth of course.” The halfling was practically jumping up and down in excitement, no doubt already imagining how advantageous such an item could be in a mine. Still, the others were suitably impressed too. This orb would be a great boon in their exploration of the vault!

“Wait, that’s not all.” Pelrind went to examine the alcove. “Ah ha! As I suspected. The metal lining the interior of the depression is elvish brass.” Seeing the others didn’t know what he was talking about, he continued. “It is a rare alloy whose secret of creation is shared only by a few of my people. When exposed to certain forms of light, it vibrates. For that reason, it is used mainly to decorate ceremonial armors or musical instruments. Frankly, I am surprised Kragor NeMoren was entrusted with it, not to mention a calisil!”

“So, t’is good news?” Eirak didn’t seem to understand how it would help them.

“_Very_ good news.” Pelrind smiled mischievously and placed the orb in the hollow of the niche. Immediately, they heard a subtle but pleasing hum coming from the alcove.. and the door began to slide upwards into the ceiling.

“Nifty!” was Musadoc’s only comment.

Kalveig, always suspicious, positioned himself in front of the door. Eirak came to stand at his side and the others arrayed themselves behind them.

It took a minute for the door to retract fully but by the time it was halfway up, the companions could already look beyond.. and what they saw wiped the smile from their faces.

The corridor continued into darkness further than their source of light could penetrate. Fungi covered the walls and ceiling. Water dripped down from the ceiling, disturbing the dust that coated the floor. As for the air, it was both humid and sticky.

Just on the other side of the door, there was another small alcove. However, this one lay empty.

More worrying by far was the bent crowbar lying on the floor and the word that had been scrawled in crimson letters above it on the wall: BETRAYER.

“Uh oh..” was the halfling’s only comment.

And that’s when they heard it, the grinding sound of hidden mechanisms in action behind the walls, all the way back to the vault’s entrance.. and its door!

As the truth of their situation dawned on them, they ran back, desperately trying to reach the exit in time.. but to no avail. The door had closed and there were no keyholes to use the silver keys on their side.

Pelrind suggested removing the orb from the alcove to reverse the process, so they tried it. Alas, though it made the secondary door close again, it failed to reopen the first.

Grimly, they realized they were now part of the NeMoren’s hoard.. possibly forever!

**********
(15) I swear, they had luck on their side! Both of them scored a critical hit. Up to then, I hadn’t really thought much of the halfling’s pickaxe but with a x4 dmg multiplier, it sure was an eye-opener! I shudder to think of the kind of damage he would dish out if he was wielding a medium-sized one...

(16) She had cast - you guessed it - _Remove Fear_, and Eirak finally made his Will save.. but only just! (detailed explanation in the Rogues Gallery)

**********


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## Mortepierre (Feb 10, 2005)

Sorry folks, life has been hectic lately and I am a bit behind in my updates <grumbles>

1.4 Desperate Measures:

Eirak was swearing loudly.. again. Come to think of it, he had been swearing for the past hour, almost from the moment they had discovered they were trapped inside the vault.

Siubhan was meditating quietly, sitting cross-legged on the floor, while Kalveig was pacing back and forth in front of her, trying to come up with a solution.

Pelrind was studying the door and its stone lintel. He didn’t have much hope of discovering a flaw in their design but at least it kept his mind busy.

As for Musadoc, he was exploring thoroughly the first part of the vault, in case they had missed something.. anything at all.

As time passed, however, the companions had to admit there was no easy way out anywhere in sight.

“I tell ye, it’s that dead bugger who’s responsible! He planned it from the start. ‘Treasure hoard’ my arse! T’was a damn trap, that’s what it was!”

Kalveig turned to Eirak. “But it makes no sense! Why would he give away the keys to the vault, seemingly at random, just to trap some unknown persons in it after his death?”

“On the contrary, it makes a lot of sense.” Pelrind’s face, for once, betrayed concern. “Think about it. He admitted in his will that he had committed something bad, possibly involving his wife. Let’s say he locked her inside the vault - for whatever reason. The word we found scribbled on the wall behind the second door seems to support that hypothesis. At the time, he sought to prevent anyone from discovering what he had done, so he gave the four keys to different persons and sent them away. As time went by, however, he came to realize that there was still a chance those persons could come together and open the vault, hence unveiling his dirty little secret.

So, he decides to take the initiative. Instead of waiting for them to show up, he actually makes sure they _will_ show up.. but on his terms. He knows the reputation of his family’s fortune has spread far and wide, thus ensuring greed would override any concern the ‘heirs’ could possibly harbor about what awaits them in the vault. Once they are inside, he is certain they will open the second door.. which will automatically close the first for good. Now, the keys are all inside the vault too, so nobody can rescue the ‘heirs’ or open it again. His secret is finally safe.”

“But the mayor and his elven friend know what’s in the will too, don’t they? So, they _do_ know about his secret” interjected Kalveig.

“Ah but they only know he _has_ a secret. They are ignorant of what it is exactly and since the trade agreement the region has with Suress depends on the NeMoren’s good name, they won’t dare besmirch it. I have to admit, it was rather clever of him.”

Eirak swore. “Rotten pumice! The elf be right! If only I could get my hands on that Paytro..”

“If we die here, you’ll get your wish soon enough..” remarked Kalveig sarcastically. “But, in any case, I hope to stand before Maal long enough to insure that man gets his just ‘reward’ in the afterlife.”

“Wait, I think you’re all burying us a wee bit fast.” Musadoc was rubbing his chin, seemingly pondering something. “Remember how ‘pristine’ the vault looked when we opened the first door? What’s beyond the second door didn’t look the same at all. Fungi means humidity, which means water. And the air didn’t smell stale either. I could be wrong, but I believe the second part of the vault is no longer as ‘secure’ as it used to be...”

“Oooh, of course!” Pelrind slapped his forehead. “I must be weary indeed not to have jumped to the same conclusion sooner. Our young friend is quite correct; there might yet be a way out for us. I suggest we open the second door again and explore what lies beyond. At worst, it will give us something to do, and at best.. well, who knows what we may find?”

No one having a better idea, they all agreed but Siubhan insisted on getting some sleep first. She had used almost all her power on Eirak and Pelrind after the battle against the ‘necromental’. If they were about to explore new - and thus potentially dangerous - areas, she wanted to be able to heal them. Besides, most of them had considerably exerted themselves during this first day so they were all in need of rest.

They retired to Rontra’s Chapel, the most secure room in their point of view, and spent the night there. All except Eirak, that is. The stubborn dwarf refused to set foot inside again and, instead, camped in the corridor just beyond the entrance.

Luckily, nothing came disturb their sleep (17).

**

Fully rested, the companions quickly ate what little food they had (18) and prepared themselves for the task ahead. Before opening the second door, Siubhan invoked Morwyn’s favor upon Eirak again (19). After what she had witnessed the previous day, she wasn’t inclined to take any chance...

The first problem they faced was to decide what to do with the calisil. On one hand, leaving it behind meant the door would still be open if they had to retreat in a hurry. On the other, if they carried it with them, they would have constant access to a powerful light source that consumed neither air nor oil. In the end, caution won the day and they chose to leave it behind to insure steady access to the first part of the vault.

The area beyond the second door proved to be somewhat disappointing, the corridor quickly reaching an intersection. One branch continued straight ahead, while the other led right. Taking the former, they soon reached a second intersection. They couldn’t continue directly ahead, for that part of the corridor had caved in. According to Musadoc, it would take some expert miners to dig through the rubble. Moreover, he advised not to attempt it without some sort of props to shore up the walls. Taking left wasn’t possible either. A massive pit stretched across the corridor at this point. It extended ten feet in every direction, leaving no space between the pit and the walls. They couldn’t even see the bottom as it disappeared into the darkness!

Since none of them fancied jumping over the pit and no amount of searching turned up any mechanical mean of bypassing the obstacle, they wisely retraced their steps to the first intersection and went right this time.

They found a small stairway leading away (and down) from the corridor to a room smelling of lichen and fungus. Once a wine cellar, its racks were now all but empty. A small pool of stagnant murky brown water filled a corner, apparently the result of seepage. The only occupant was a rather large frog that mistook Musadoc for an insect as it immediately attempted to gobble him up! Unfortunately for the hungry batrachian, the halfling proved to be made of sterner stuff than the average giant cave cricket as he managed to defend himself long enough for Kalveig and Eirak to step in and finish the beast.

Pelrind’s remark about how their problem of food shortage was now solved failed to amuse anyone, including the halfling for once!

**

Pain! He couldn’t open his upper eyes anymore without experiencing it.

The cursed midget that had wounded him by sheer luck had paid the price for his folly. Rending him apart had been most satisfying, albeit short-lived. His companions had quickly disappeared in the galleries as the cowardly rats that they were. He almost followed them to lay waste to their warren but the pain stopped him in his tracks.

His claws, sharp and powerful, tore reflexively a chunk of rock from the wall as the unfamiliar sensation coursed through his nerves.

By the Fiery One! He hadn’t endured such wound in decades! How could such a measly stick of wood hurt so much!?

He tried to pluck the offending object but the sharp pain that resulted immediately from the attempt convinced him it was a bad idea.

Rage built up in him. He needed to make others suffer as he himself was suffering.

Suddenly, he felt it. Vibrations propagating through the bedrock. They were minute but, to his acute senses, they spoke volumes. Bipedal creatures were in the cave-that-wasn’t-a-cave, and coming closer to his tunnels. They weren’t midgets, nor the walking-sticks that annoyed him so much.

Perfect. He would take it out on them.

He began moving towards them, earth and stone yielding easily at his touch.

**

After dealing with the frog, the companion had returned to the corridor and continued forward. They had soon reached a corner (going left) beyond which the hallway was blocked by another cave-in. This time, however, there was also a rough tunnel leading through a nearby wall. Its opening was jagged, and a lot of small stones covered the floor.

Musadoc shook his head. “T’is the same as in the other corridor. We would need several days to clear the rubble away, and the ceiling doesn’t look very safe. We ought to go back to the pit and explore its depth by tying all our ropes together. Maybe it connects to a cavern or something?”

Pelrind was examining the tunnel. “I wonder what kind of creature dug that. The marks on the walls indicate that what- or whoever did it didn’t resort to conventional tools. It’s too big for a badger or a mole, even one of the big ones. Intriguing...”

“Big ones?” wondered aloud Siubhan. “Exactly _how_ big can they grow?”

“Pretty big. Up to the size of a horse, I would say.” Pelrind couldn’t help but grin a bit as the priestess turned pale.

“Don’t worry lady. Back at home, we use giant moles to help us in the mines. They are pretty harmless if you keep them well-fed. Giant badgers now, that’s a different story and-” Musadoc broke off, his ears having registered a suspicious noise. “Pelrind, did you catch that?”

The elf nodded and put his hand against a wall, closing his eyes to concentrate. “Something moving through the rock.. something big..”

No sooner had the words left his mouth that the wall burst open behind them and a nightmarish creature appeared in a cloud of dust and an avalanche of debris. Bulky and powerfully built, vaguely humanoid, it looked like a giant insect that would have learnt to walk on its hind legs. Its low, rounded head was dominated by a massive pair of mandibles and two big compound eyes, while its body was almost entirely covered by chitinous plates.

Each of the companion reacted differently to it.

To Eirak, the _thing_ was the living embodiment of the Kun-Orun, nameless terror born from Rontra’s bosom. His legs started shaking and if his courage hadn’t been bolstered earlier by Siubhan he would probably have fled.

Musadoc blanched. He looked at the beast goggle-eyed and fear made him stutter. “Un.. Undra.. Undrathar! (20)”

Kalveig stepped protectively in front of Siubhan, clearly aware that he stood no chance but unwilling to desert his charge. “By the White Lady! A living weapon of the Gods’ War!?!”

The priestess, reacting instinctively, invoked Morwyn’s protection over herself. Instantly, she was encased in a column of pure white light.

As for Pelrind, he was torn between amazement and panic. A Burrower! His master had told him about that species but he hadn’t expected to meet one any time soon.

For a few seconds, there was silence.. and then the creature roared a challenge.

Weirdly, instead of immediately attacking them, the beast ‘gazed’ at them intently. Something must have been wrong because the only consequence was that it roared again – apparently in pain this time – and clutched its head.

Pelrind, who knew something of their foe’s peculiar anatomy, squinted until he discerned a broken spear point lodged firmly in-between a secondary pair of eyes above the (insect-like) first. Those were tightly shut, the way you close your eyes when they hurt. “WAIT! It’s wounded! Maybe if we help it won’t attack us?”

“What?! Ye’ve got to be kiddin’ me!” Eirak wasn’t going to come anywhere near the beast if he could help it. The last time the elf had tried to solve a situation peacefully, he had ended up buried alive. He wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

The pain was driving the creature mad. Its mandibles opened and closed reflexively, and it charged the companions.

Its hammer-like left fist drove Kalveig to his knees in one hit. The man’s shield had buckled under the impact!

Its other claw lifted Eirak from the ground in a vicious backhanded blow.

It bent forward, ready to cleave Siubhan in two with its mandibles but seemed to hesitate at the last moment when they touched the pillar of light surrounding her. Musadoc used the respite to charge the beast and hit it in the right leg. Alas, his pickaxe bounced off the chitin ineffectively.

Pelrind sighed. Another occasion to add to his knowledge gone because of flaring tempers. Well, now that the damage was done, he had no choice but to help his companions. Although, knowing something of the creature’s sheer physical power, he doubted they would survive the encounter. Stepping forward, he raised his hands toward the beast’s head and invoked the power of the Earth’s Blood. Instantly, a cone of searing flames shot out of his fingertips, engulfing the beast whose body – ironically enough – shielded Kalveig and Siubhan from the fire.

The creature roared in agony. Not only had the flames burnt it, but the wooden spear point stuck in its head was now on fire as well!

It whirled around like a mad dervish, its arms flailing. As luck would have it, one caught Pelrind square in the chest. The elf was thrown a good 10 feet away and, before passing out, his last thought was that, given how often he had been ‘flying’ recently, he should really have specialized in aeromancy!

Meanwhile, Eirak was on his feet again. He swiftly ducked under the beast’s arms and delivered a hit to the joint between two chitinous plates on the rear left leg. Though his aim was true, it lacked his usual strength (21) and failed to penetrate.. albeit not by much.

Musadoc was at his wit’s end. Pelrind out of action – again! Siubhan, useless. Kalveig, trying to get his second wind. Eirak, attacking but – evidently – without success. 

He groaned and prepared to ask for Anwyn’s strength. He didn’t delude himself into thinking it would allow him to kill the beast but maybe it would buy him a few precious seconds. His medallion started to glow...

As for the creature, its uncoordinated movements had succeeded where his previous attempts had failed. The spear point had finally come loose! As its charred remains fell to the ground, the beast opened its upper eyes wide and gazed at the priestess and her defender. At about the same time, the light protecting Siubhan disappeared, leaving her defenseless.

Kalveig’s body went limp, and he started to babble incoherently, drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

Terror blossomed in Siubhan’s eyes and she tried to flee down the corridor past the beast, unable to control herself anymore. As she did so, she turned her back to the creature who used the opportunity to strike her nastily from behind. Her body collapsed to the floor, a red spot blossoming rapidly on the back of her white robe.

Eirak struck the beast again and, again, failed to wound it. It turned on him, its gaze catching him straight in the eyes. The dwarf stiffened and slowly turned toward Musadoc. He growled and raised his axe. Before he could attack the halfling though, the creature struck him from behind too. Amazingly, he didn’t fall immediately, taking two steps toward Musadoc, driven by a supernatural desire to harm him, before his strength failed and he collapsed.

The halfling could feel raw energy coursing through his veins. The world slowed down around him and he managed to resist the beast’s gaze by a supreme effort of will. Still, he didn’t see how he could possibly vanquish that soulless monster.. unless...

A desperate idea germinated in his mind.

He raised his pickaxe, as if preparing to fight, and started to charge the monster. The latter crouched and raised his claws, ready to grab and rend the halfling the minute he came within range. Yet, at the last second, Musadoc threw his weapon at the beast – distracting it momentarily – and darted on the side, rolling under a massive arm that missed him by less than an inch.

The halfling ran as fast as his legs would carry him, experiencing a feeling of déjà vu (22). Despite the throbbing of his heart that filled his ears, he could hear the creature running after him, its claws digging gouges in the walls as they tried to grab their elusive prey. Down the corridor he ran, back toward the first part of the vault. As he passed the niche holding the calisil, he was half-tempted to snatch it but gave up the idea. By the time the door closed, the monster would have gone through. Besides, he _wanted_ it to follow him...

Finally, the intersection came in sight. He turned right. The doorway was almost in range, the door wide open as they had left it. He gathered the last of his strength and dove forward into the room, sliding over the obsidian floor. Behind him, the beast lunged forward.. and was immediately engulfed by white-hot flames (23) that translated the wrath of a god for a being that was the antithesis of all that is good and just.

The Undrathar screamed as holy fire consumed him, both divine punishment and funeral pyre. When it was over, not even ashes remained to desecrate the holy chapel...

**********
(17) Luckily indeed, given they didn’t bother to take turn watching for trouble! Of course, from their point of view (and limited understanding of the layout of the place), there didn’t seem to be anything that could still threaten them at this point. They were wrong, but that would become obvious soon enough...

(18) Another disappointment: none of them had brought more than one day’s worth of rations. They had thought they could get out of the vault at any time, and so some of their supplies were quite limited. At least, Kalveig had brought enough oil to light their way for three days straight (albeit only because he had originally planned to throw it on nasty critters!)

(19) _Remove Fear_ actually, and Eirak made his save, again. By this time, however, he was already ‘enjoying’ a nice -2 penalty to all his attack rolls (see the Rogues Gallery for details).

(20) Literally: “Tunnel-Scourge” in Halfling.

(21) Remember that -2 to all attack rolls?  

(22) To know why, see Prelude - part 3.

(23) The direct consequence of the _Forbiddance_ spell. The monster failed its save and took 12d6 damage. I must say, I was floored. I had totally failed to predict that kind of use for what had been intended only as a safe haven. Moreover, that the idea came from a player who was still pretty much a newbie really struck me as extraordinary. The funniest part was that, in the module, the Undrathar was supposed to be only a tool to scare players. He would attack 1d3 rounds and then leave. But when Pelrind’s spell destroyed the spear point that was bugging it so much, things changed. If not for Musadoc, it would have ended up as a TPK.

**********


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Mar 21, 2005)

Hi Mortepierre

I followed you here from Herremann's storyhour ... and I like what I've found!

Your campaign world obviously has tremendous background development, your players have come up with terrific backgrounds for the PCs, they're obviously putting in some great RPing, and your writing is very good indeed. (As others have said, you really don't need to feel at all defensive about your English - it's better than that of most of the native English speakers on the boards!)

There's only one thing I don't like about your storyhour ... there isn't enough of it   !

Hope you can find the time to update soon   .


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## Mortepierre (Mar 22, 2005)

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Hi Mortepierre
> 
> I followed you here from Herremann's storyhour ... and I like what I've found!
> 
> ...




Thank you for the compliments  

I'll be sure to pass them along to my players.. er.. at least to the one who is aware of this SH   

To tell the truth, I am both very busy (change of job) and a bit disheartened right now, which explains the lack of recent updates.

I follow a certain number of 'young' (compared to, say, Piratecat's own) SH on this board and they seem (mine included) 'buried' almost instantly. What I mean is that 'bumps' to the oldest (and more popular) SH are pushing back the newest ones to page 2 or beyond faster than their authors can update them. Take mine for instance. I posted the last update on Feb. the 10th and yet, TWO days later, it was already back to page 3. Hence a feeling that no matter how well or fast we write, we're all doomed to anonymity.

Never fear though. I have no intention of stopping. Part V of chapter 1 is underway as we speak...

Just remember that though my english is decent enough (I'll take your word for it), it still remains a foreign language to me. Were I able to write in my mother language, updates would be easier to handle as I wouldn't have to spend so much time searching for the right word to 'please the crowd'


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Mar 22, 2005)

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> Thank you for the compliments




You're most welcome - they were quite sincerely meant.



> I'll be sure to pass them along to my players.. er.. at least to the one who is aware of this SH
> 
> To tell the truth, I am both very busy (change of job) and a bit disheartened right now, which explains the lack of recent updates.




Believe me, I know all about real life getting in the way of gaming and associated activities. I hope things look brighter for you soon.



> I follow a certain number of 'young' (compared to, say, Piratecat's own) SH on this board and they seem (mine included) 'buried' almost instantly. What I mean is that 'bumps' to the oldest (and more popular) SH are pushing back the newest ones to page 2 or beyond faster than their authors can update them. Take mine for instance. I posted the last update on Feb. the 10th and yet, TWO days later, it was already back to page 3. Hence a feeling that no matter how well or fast we write, we're all doomed to anonymity.




I've noticed this too. It must be rather disheartening, but I'm sure that if you persist, the sheer quality of your writing will pick up more readers and help keep your SH more prominently placed.



> Never fear though. I have no intention of stopping. Part V of chapter 1 is underway as we speak...




 



> Just remember that though my english is decent enough (I'll take your word for it), it still remains a foreign language to me. Were I able to write in my mother language, updates would be easier to handle as I wouldn't have to spend so much time searching for the right word to 'please the crowd'




Oh I believe you! I'm reasonably fluent reading French, but I coudn't even begin to contemplate writing a SH in anything other than English. And believe me, without your admission no-one reading this would be aware that English was not your mother tongue. I've only noticed one real "wrong word" so far, whereas I've noticed plenty to several other SHs written by (apparently) native English speakers. And you've introduced me to the word "gangue", which I had no idea existed   .

Keep up the good work.


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## Mortepierre (Mar 22, 2005)

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Oh I believe you! I'm reasonably fluent reading French, but I coudn't even begin to contemplate writing a SH in anything other than English. And believe me, without your admission no-one reading this would be aware that English was not your mother tongue. I've only noticed one real "wrong word" so far, whereas I've noticed plenty to several other SHs written by (apparently) native English speakers. And you've introduced me to the word "gangue", which I had no idea existed   .
> 
> Keep up the good work.




Thank you. I'll try to please the customers and all that   

If you don't mind me asking, what was that "wrong word"?


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Mar 22, 2005)

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> If you don't mind me asking, what was that "wrong word"?




In the first part of Chapter One, the mayor says that the late baron named him as "executrix" of his will. However, "executrix" is feminine, so unless the mayor has had a sex change, he would have been appointed "executor".

Which, as I said, is a very minor error compared to some I've seen in other SH.


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## Eloy (Mar 24, 2005)

Hi!

First of all, Mortepierre, I must say congratulations on a job well done! You've really got me hooked to your SH. You have a truly refined writing style and it is really an enjoyable read, both for its rich storyline and for its excellent grammar and syntax. Storytelling truly is a gift, and it's not easy to do even if one has complete dominion of the language. 

As to the story itself, it sounds like you have a very nice group of players who've done great role-playing. Our own group is very similar. Our DM also does a nice job of integrating character backstory elements into the main storyline. I find it greatly enhances the experience and I'm sure your players enjoy it as well.

I was especially thrilled by the use of the Book of the Righteous pantheon in your campaign. The BOTR is, in my opinion, probably the most useful RPG supplement I have ever bought. I am seriously considering starting a new campaign just to use this material.

As to the frustrating aspect of posting your story hour on this board, all I can say is I sympathize! My group tried it once (though Real Life concerns have largely kept us from updating lately) and we were also dismayed at how fast we were dropped back. My private theory is that some of those really popular threads with thousands of views and bumps *may* just be helped along by their own  authors, using different login names... But I can't prove a thing.   

In any case, please continue to update, I for one await your next post eagerly. I have to say that, as a long time avid reader of fantasy novels, nowadays the best work is to be found in messageboards like these, and not in bookstore shelves.

Thanks,
Eloy

P.S. I have to ask (and I certainly do not mean to pry). Where in western Europe are you guys? and just what IS your first language (French, I presume)?
I only ask because my own group is based in Puerto Rico (an island in the Caribbean Sea, in  case some of you are wondering) and our first language is Spanish, and your group dynamic sounds near identical to our own. We even have our own short stories, character backgrounds and some of our group discussions in highly polished literary form, just like yours. And in English too! (It's just seems to be the official language of the genre).

Anyway, if you feel uncomfortable in anyway, you don't have to answer. I was just curious.   

E.


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## Mortepierre (Mar 24, 2005)

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> In the first part of Chapter One, the mayor says that the late baron named him as "executrix" of his will. However, "executrix" is feminine, so unless the mayor has had a sex change, he would have been appointed "executor".




DOH!  

Fixed. Thank you for pointing it out.


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## Mortepierre (Mar 24, 2005)

Eloy said:
			
		

> Hi!
> 
> First of all, Mortepierre, I must say congratulations on a job well done! You've really got me hooked to your SH. You have a truly refined writing style and it is really an enjoyable read, both for its rich storyline and for its excellent grammar and syntax. Storytelling truly is a gift, and it's not easy to do even if one has complete dominion of the language.




Hi and welcome to this SH!

Truly this is an auspicious week for me. Two new readers and my SH on page 1 for two days on a row!  

Thank you for your compliments. That's exactly what new authors such as myself need to be motivated to 'keep up the good work'.



			
				Eloy said:
			
		

> As to the story itself, it sounds like you have a very nice group of players who've done great role-playing. Our own group is very similar. Our DM also does a nice job of integrating character backstory elements into the main storyline. I find it greatly enhances the experience and I'm sure your players enjoy it as well.




I totally agree. Fact is, I can't stand a campaign where the PC don't have a background. I mean, they didn't just wake up one day and decided to become adventurers! We are the sum of our experiences. Our past guides us in our future choices. Thus, it's only logical that the characters we play should enjoy the same.. ah.. logical development.



			
				Eloy said:
			
		

> I was especially thrilled by the use of the Book of the Righteous pantheon in your campaign. The BOTR is, in my opinion, probably the most useful RPG supplement I have ever bought. I am seriously considering starting a new campaign just to use this material.




Best.. rpg accessory.. EVER!

GRP really outdid themselves with that one. Perfect, logical, and so full of details! Once I read it, I knew I had to use it in my campaign. Actually, the most difficult part was to decide which story hook _not_ to use!

Of course, due to one major secret (yes, the big C  ), I had to forbid my players from coming within 10 ft. of it but it was worth it. Oh, and its companion volume (the Book of Fiends) is solid gold too.



			
				Eloy said:
			
		

> As to the frustrating aspect of posting your story hour on this board, all I can say is I sympathize! My group tried it once (though Real Life concerns have largely kept us from updating lately) and we were also dismayed at how fast we were dropped back. My private theory is that some of those really popular threads with thousands of views and bumps *may* just be helped along by their own  authors, using different login names... But I can't prove a thing.




Well.. can't help with that. If they do, I find it sad (either that they can't stand the competition or that their ego requires them to resort to such means). I would rather see my thread 'bumped' back to page 1 by new readers such as yourself.

If you don't mind me asking, could you post a link to your group's SH? Even if it hasn't been updated in a while, I would like to take a look at it.



			
				Eloy said:
			
		

> In any case, please continue to update, I for one await your next post eagerly. I have to say that, as a long time avid reader of fantasy novels, nowadays the best work is to be found in messageboards like these, and not in bookstore shelves.




I couldn't agree more. Sep's work, for instance, is outstanding. I would buy a novel of his without a second thought. If I was an editor, I would visit these boards regularly to pick new authors on a daily basis.



			
				Eloy said:
			
		

> I have to ask (and I certainly do not mean to pry). Where in western Europe are you guys? and just what IS your first language (French, I presume)?
> I only ask because my own group is based in Puerto Rico (an island in the Caribbean Sea, in  case some of you are wondering) and our first language is Spanish, and your group dynamic sounds near identical to our own. We even have our own short stories, character backgrounds and some of our group discussions in highly polished literary form, just like yours. And in English too! (It's just seems to be the official language of the genre).
> 
> Anyway, if you feel uncomfortable in anyway, you don't have to answer. I was just curious.




T'is no big secret. The answer is Belgium, the french-speaking part of it actually. So, yes, you presumed correctly  

I wouldn't dare to jump to conclusions about the real influence of a group's country or language on the game. After all (and with apologies to our US friends), a common enough stereotype in Europe is that US gamers are mostly powergamers while europeans are role-players first and foremost. Having played (thanks to the RPGA) with gamers from both sides of the 'pond', I know nothing could be further from the truth but old ideas die hard it seems   

That said, it's true we europeans have generally a rich tradition of storytelling. Besides, if we want to know what a real castle looks like, all we have to do is take a trip to the next town. The countryside is full of them!


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## Eloy (Mar 24, 2005)

Well, thanks for your interest. Here's the link to the first part:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=43340

And the second part:

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=61058

Hope you enjoy!

This is updated up to session 11 of our game. We just finished playing session #23, but our official campaign records keeper is waaaay behind schedule  Maybe this'll motivate him back  into action.

We do have an additional series of short stories and interludes, based on posts at our group's messageboard, which I have collected. Unfortunately, they take place further on in the continuity. I hope we'll get to them soon.

Thanks, 
Eloy


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## Helfdan (Mar 24, 2005)

*Excellent work!*

This is updated up to session 11 of our game. We just finished playing session #23, but our official campaign records keeper is waaaay behind schedule  

This from the guy who wrote only ONE journal entry...  grrr    

But seriously, Mortepierre, your story hour is excellent!!   The descriptions, characterizations, pace, dialogue...  excellent is the only descriptive term I can use.  

I also like how you've brought the Book of the Righteous to life, and your character generation rules.  Great way to start characters of different levels in the same party.  

Hope you enjoy our story hour.  I believe one of our problems was how long each post was...  people just don't have that much attention span any more   

You'll soon see my character in that campaign has more than a passing resemblance to one of your characters...  down to the name   

Anyways, great job!  I'll make sure to keep an eye on this SH

Helfdan


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## Eloy (Mar 27, 2005)

Mortepierre:

I would be really interested in reading your changes to the BOTR Holy warrior classes (updated to 3.5). If you've done any writeups on the subject, please post them.

(And please don't tell me they're in French! I'd hate to have to dig up my old high-school Spanish/French dictionary... just how *do* you say 'hit point' in French???    )

Thanks,   

Eloy


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## Mortepierre (Mar 28, 2005)

Helfdan said:
			
		

> But seriously, Mortepierre, your story hour is excellent!!   The descriptions, characterizations, pace, dialogue...  excellent is the only descriptive term I can use.
> 
> I also like how you've brought the Book of the Righteous to life, and your character generation rules.  Great way to start characters of different levels in the same party.
> 
> ...




And yet another new reader!   

Thanks for the compliments! (now, why do I get the feeling I said something similar recently..    )

I am currently reading *Age of Blood* - part I - and, so far, I am loving what I see. Can't wait to dig into part II. Well done!


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## Mortepierre (Mar 28, 2005)

Eloy said:
			
		

> Mortepierre:
> 
> I would be really interested in reading your changes to the BOTR Holy warrior classes (updated to 3.5). If you've done any writeups on the subject, please post them.
> 
> ...




No, they're not in French. No worry on that account. Actually, all my campaign files are fully in English. I have quite a few DM pals around the world and we exchange campaign info and ideas on a regular basis, so doing it all in English from the start helps (else I would lose days translating it all).

Hmm, since it's formatted text, I don't think copy/paste to the board would work. I'll try attaching the file directly (my very first attempt!  ) and we'll see what happens.

Luckily for me, the material was OGL to begin with, so no copyright problem.

EDIT: "hit points" translate into "points de vie" in French


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## Mortepierre (Mar 28, 2005)

Well, I'll be! It worked. Seems technology isn't so bad compared to magic after all 

A fair warning:
I am aware GRP updated the Unholy Warrior to 3.5E in the *Book of Fiends* but I didn't like their version as it is different from the way the paladin is handled in 3.5E. My own version was done before the BoF was published and I used only the PHB and the BotR as material to re-design it.

So far, it has worked rather well in my campaign, both for PC and NPC.


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## Helfdan (Mar 29, 2005)

Good job on the conversion.  Makes one want to play one of them Holy warrior types....


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## Herremann the Wise (Apr 12, 2005)

Hi Mortepierre,

Just enquiring when a fresh update will be due. Your writing and the story you tell is too good to have on hold for too long.

By the way, for people, fresh to this Story Hour who are looking to partake in a good read, please go back to:
*Prelude - part 4: Pain and Remembrance*
There was something about this piece of writing that really made me go wow! I would put it up there with any update submitted to the Story Hour forums thus far - sharing the highest position with some wonderful moments from Sep's, Piratecat's and Destan's. For those who like to read and I mean really read a story hour, do yourself a favour, go back to the start and commence reading.   

Anyway, look forward to more and an update soon... pretty please!  

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Mortepierre (Apr 13, 2005)

Herremann the Wise said:
			
		

> Hi Mortepierre,
> 
> Just enquiring when a fresh update will be due. Your writing and the story you tell is too good to have on hold for too long.




As someone once said.. _Patience Highlander!_  

Seriously, the update is almost ready. 'Almost' because after finishing it, I reread myself and wasn't satisfied at all with the result. I guess I am my worst critic  :\ 

The extra delay is due to a totally unrelated problem. Long story short, the wife of one of my friends (and players) just died from liver cancer and we've been spending as much time as possible with him to.. well, 'cheer him up' (as unlikely as it is to work).

Before you ask, no, it's not one of the players behind the PCs of this SH. I happen to DM two campaigns. One set in Drachenhold, and one in Greyhawk. The player I am talking about belongs to the latter team.

So, I wasn't exactly in the proper mood to work on my SH. Sorry about that   

Anyway, l can promise an update _before_ the end of April and I swear it will close Chapter 1. I am as impatient as you all seem to be to move to the next chapter   



			
				Herremann the Wise said:
			
		

> By the way, for people, fresh to this Story Hour who are looking to partake in a good read, please go back to:
> *Prelude - part 4: Pain and Remembrance*
> There was something about this piece of writing that really made me go wow! I would put it up there with any update submitted to the Story Hour forums thus far - sharing the highest position with some wonderful moments from Sep's, Piratecat's and Destan's. For those who like to read and I mean really read a story hour, do yourself a favour, go back to the start and commence reading.




Why, thank you!   

Personally, my favorite is *Prelude - part 3* but I guess that's because I have a soft spot for unlikely heroes. 

Though I can take credit for the writing, I have to - once more - praise Kalveig's player for the background on which *Pain and Remembrance* was based. As I stated before, he is a great role-player with a vivid imagination.

EDIT: to make the long wait more bearable, I have included Drachenhold's map in the Rogues Gallery


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## Mortepierre (Apr 25, 2005)

There we go at long last! Sorry again for the delay folks. I wish to thank all those who kept this thread from fading to page 4 and beyond, and who encouraged me to continue posting updates. This SH is yours as much as it is mine for without loyal readers, an author is nothing.

Oh and, Pogre & Herremann, don’t think for a minute that I didn’t notice your frequent advertising of my SH in other threads. It is much appreciated <bows>

The Rogues Gallery has been updated as well, including a spoiler for those who want to know what was _really_ going on in the Vault.

People (DMs & players alike) who have gone through this module on their own will no doubt have noticed that I made no mention of one specific ‘encounter’ (the glass room, to be precise). That’s because, of all the things in the Vault, that’s the one I modified the least for my campaign. Yes, my players dealt successfully with it (thanks to Pelrind) but, no, I won’t tell that story here. Why? Because I don’t want to spoil the fun of players whose DM is planning to use this module in the future. I hope their version of the Vault proves as challenging for you as it was for my players! 

And now, onward with the last part of Chapter 1 (bear with me, it’s a long one!)

1.5 Hell Hath no Fury..:

While Musadoc was dealing with the monster in a most unexpected manner, Kalveig – finally freed of the confusion the beast had cursed him with – quickly appraised the situation. Rushing to Siubhan’s side, he focused his faith and called upon the greatest gift of the Path of the Martyr, transferring her wounds onto himself. He couldn’t repeat the operation with the other two given how taxing it was on his body but, now that the priestess had regained consciousness, she could see to them herself.

He still lent her his help to amplify the effect of her healing touch upon Pelrind. As for Eirak, they managed to stabilize him but were unable to provide additional help.

By the time Musadoc returned with joyful news, Pelrind and Siubhan were fully healed while Eirak was still unconscious, and Kalveig was beginning to feel weak due to loss of blood.

They greeted him with a mixture of incredulity and astonishment. This young halfling’s resourcefulness didn’t cease to amaze them!

Still, they weren’t any closer to finding a way out and, even with Siubhan’s help, their two main warriors were in bad shape. That’s when Pelrind reminded them that they had yet to try the stone pool at Rontra’s chapel.

Retreating to the first part of the vault (and bringing the calisil along), they carried Eirak and Kalveig to the chapel and, following Pelrind’s instructions, Musadoc placed the orb of light in its alcove.

After a few seconds, a deep humming noise started to emanate from the statue of the goddess. It faded quickly enough but was replaced by two other sounds. First, a gurgling one - coming from the jug - and then a hissing one from the metallic rod.

Still stuck at the entrance (24), Pelrind gave a slight smile of satisfaction. “As I suspected..”

The jug began to disgorge a steady stream of water that quickly filled the top of the basin while the rod turned to red and then to white as it heated rapidly. The combination of the two induced a change in the mud. From dry, it slowly turned viscous again.

“Now, strip them to the skin and lower them into the mud. Just be careful to keep their heads above it so that they can breathe.”

“Strip them? You mean.. as in ‘completely naked’?” Siubhan looked up and blushed.

Pelrind rolled his eyes.

_Humans and their prudery.._

“You can leave them in loincloth.. if you deem it appropriate for decency’s sake.” He shrugged. “As long as those parts of their bodies that have sustained injuries are covered by the mud, it should suffice.”

“But most of these are open wounds. Won’t the mud mingling with their blood make things worse?”

“A wise query and one I should have anticipated from a healer.” Pelrind bowed his head slightly in recognition of her thoroughness. “The answer, however, is: no. Actually, the mud - if it acts as I anticipate it will - should cover their wounds and act as both a healing salve _and_ an insulating layer. It will harden, and by the time it peels off their wounds should have closed.”

Reassured, Siubhan returned to the task at hand, helped by the halfling. First, they took care of Kalveig and then began to undress Eirak. As they were removing his shirt, however, they discovered a detail that gave them pause.

Cursing his inability to enter the room for the hundredth time, Pelrind turned to Musadoc for an explanation. “Well, what is it now?”

“The dwarf.. he has been branded on the left shoulder.”

“A mark? Describe it to me, please.”

Musadoc frowned before answering. “It’s the Broken Claw...” (25)

The 3 companions remained silent for awhile, each weighing the implications of this unexpected discovery.

“I say it doesn’t matter. Let the past stay buried. We should only concern ourselves with what he has done till we met. He fought at our side and suffered, same as any of us. That’s the only thing that should count.” The young priestess’ voice sounded defiant, almost challenging them to prove her wrong.

“Well, I never could understand your human concept of ‘justice’ anyway” was the elf’s only comment.

Musadoc’s answer was a simple nod. To the halfling, no shameful mark could ever be more painful to bear than what he had glimpsed for a few seconds in the eyes of the dwarf just before the latter was buried by the earth-creature. If Eirak could find the strength to live with _that_ burden, then he had already been punished more than enough. Still there was one other matter to consider. “Should we tell Kalveig?”

“No.”

Surprised by the finality of her tone, the halfling and the elf stared at the priestess interrogatively.

She sighed. “Look, we all know the two of them aren’t exactly ‘getting along’ as it is. Informing Kalveig at this point would only make matters worse. If Eirak had wanted us to know about the brand, he would have told us by now. We uncovered his secret only because he is currently both unconscious and defenseless. In a sense, we violated his privacy. That’s why we have to keep that knowledge to ourselves. And, by the way, this raises another issue. I am not so sure we have the right to use the mud on him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this pool was meant for worshippers of Rontra, correct? I think he made it crystal clear he wasn’t one of them.”

“So?”

“So, what right do we have to _force_ him to use it?”

It was Pelrind’s turn to sigh, but in annoyance. “Your companion serves Morwyn and yet you didn’t balk at making _him_ benefit from it. What’s so different about Eirak?”

“You fail to understand. Brother Kalveig may serve the White Lady but he believes in the whole pantheon.”

“And so does the dwarf! Do you seriously think anyone could hate a goddess with such passion and not believe in her? Besides, it’s not like we have a choice. We’re stuck in here and the only possible way out is through the tunnels left by the Burrower. We’ll need our best warriors if we are to stand a chance to succeed. That means we need Eirak!”

Siubhan thought about it for a minute before giving up. “You are probably right.. but it doesn’t sit well with my conscience. The defining factor of a true worshipper is his free will, after all.”

“Duly noted, lady. Now, please proceed.”

The priestess was mildly annoyed by Pelrind’s paternal tone of voice but complied nonetheless. The dwarf was lowered into the mud, next to Kalveig. The two of them were placed with their back to the outer border of the stone pool, their arms stretched over it in order to prevent them from sinking down further.

Musadoc turned to Pelrind. “How long do you reckon they’ll have to stay in there?”

“Hmm.. hard to say. No more than half a day, I would think. If it took longer than that, it would be rather impractical considering humankind’s notorious lack of patience. Er.. no offense intended, lady.”

“None taken, sir elf. I was taught that if our lives are short, they burn all the brighter for it.” She smiled at him and her face betrayed neither displeasure nor irony.

Pelrind gazed at her in wonder. He hadn’t expected a human woman - and a rather young one at that - to display such poetic wisdom. He was beginning to understand the fascination some of his kind felt for this - to them - often bewildering race.

**

After a few hours had passed, both Eirak and Kalveig began to stir - which their companions interpreted as a good sign. They helped them out of the pool and marveled at the fact that their bodies seemed much healthier than before. However, this joyful news was counterbalanced by the fact that Eirak’s skin was now the same color as the mud.

Needless to say, the dwarf was far from pleased. Not only was he - in his opinion - owing his recovery to a goddess he would rather spit upon than worship, but he was probably cursed as well!

Since Pelrind had previously demonstrated advanced knowledge of all matters pertaining to the earth, they asked for his expert opinion. The latter examined Eirak for a full minute, sometimes rubbing his fingers on his skin, sometimes knocking lightly on it with his staff, before giving his conclusions.

“Well, the good news is that - unless I am mistaken (26) - your skin has apparently been _calcified_ without losing any of its flexibility. The bad news is that I have no idea of how long this condition will last. In the meantime, if I were you, I would enjoy the added security that derives from it.”

This caused Eirak to curse - yet again - but, since the only apparent way to get rid of it was to be skinned alive, he finally relented and settled for a steady stream of menacing grumbles interspersed with imaginative insults. Given this was fast becoming a habit of his, his companions simply chose to ignore it as best as they could...

**

They returned to the spot where they had been ambushed by the man-bug, and were immediately faced with a difficult choice. Did they try to follow the old tunnel or the newer one through which the monster had surprised them?

“I say go for the new one” said Musadoc. “At the very least, we know it must still be open since it came out of it”.

“On the contrary, my friend, I would argue that the oldest is also the safest” commented Pelrind.

“Why?”

“Because if it hasn’t collapsed by now, chances are that it won’t. At least, not while we’re inside.”

“Not to sound superstitious, but could the both o’ ye stop talkin’ ‘bout caves-in?” moaned Eirak from the rear.

The halfling ignored him. Though he liked the elf, he was determined to put his mining skills to good use in order to improve their odds of surviving this underground foray. “Nonsense. Time has nothing to do with it, at least not with tunnels such as these which were never properly shored up to begin with. I would add that the older the passageway, the higher the chance of encountering natural hazards such as an accumulation of explosive or lethal gas.”

“The soft chalk of my intuition crumbles against your diamond-hard yet-flawed logic.”

“Explosive gas? Now, wait a darn minute here. Nobody said anythin’ ‘bout gas before!” Eirak’s voice sounded decidedly apprehensive.

“Flawed?! In what way?”

“Do you concur that the biggest threat to our safety, right now, is the possibility of running into another Burrower?”

Musadoc couldn’t help but nod.

“Good. Then, let me inform you of a little something you may not be aware of. These creatures _never_ use the same tunnel twice. Their bulk would mean an immediate collapse. Oh, I dare say that it wouldn’t impede them much but they prefer to dig their way through solid ground rather than be buried under it every ten seconds. Their tunnels can crisscross - in fact, they frequently do - but they almost never overlap. Thus, by following the oldest of the two, we lessen the risk of hostile encounters.”

Eirak groaned as he pictured the ceiling coming down on them.

Siubhan stifled a laugh while Kalveig coughed a few times to bring the debate to a halt. “Gentlemen, this is all very interesting, but we ought to take a decision. Let me remind you that time is of the essence here. The more we delay, the less supplies - not to mention breathable air - we have at our disposal. Musadoc, while I respect your experience, it’s clear that Pelrind knows more about the perils we’re likely to face. Thus, for now, I suggest we follow his instructions.”

The halfling was clearly not thrilled by the proposal but yielded gracefully, though he still insisted on giving everyone a few tips about recognizing the early signs of potentially dangerous situations.

**

They followed the rough hewn tunnel for a hundred feet before it opened into (the western side of) a large subterranean cave. An underground river was running through the cavern from its slightly raised southern end, and disappearing into a hole in the northern wall. An odd smell tinged the air. A small log bridge spanned the water. A flickering campfire was visible near the eastern end of the cave, and the sound of a battle could be heard as weird shadows danced a macabre ballet on the walls.

Musadoc, who was opening the way, turned to Kalveig and shrugged helplessly, indicating he was unsure about what to do.

“If there is a fight, there are surely innocents to protect. Let’s go!” was his answer as he unslung his shield and readied it. At his command, the companions broke into a quick run toward the bridge. They would never forget the scene that greeted them...

**

Another tunnel, larger than those dug by the Undrathar, opened into the eastern wall. A small barricade made of wooden logs had been erected in front of it and the campfire they had sighted burnt right next to it.

A group of three small - about 4 ft. tall - humanoids (a fourth was lying on the ground, in a pool of blood) were struggling against two animated skeletons!

The humanoids had a mottled, greenish, gray skin that seemed somewhat greasy. Their head featured wide set eyes, big pointy ears, and a protrusive mug which opened into a mouth filled with jagged teeth. They wore studded leather but went barefoot. Two were armed with shield and shortspear. They were trying to keep the undeads at a distance while the third was frantically feeding wood to the fire, as if keeping it burning was of paramount importance.

The skeletons were humanoid-looking, probably even human. They had a strange coloration. Neither the ivory-white of bones bleached by the sun, nor the earth-brown of freshly exhumed corpses. Rusty-red would have been the closest equivalent. Not uniformly so, but enough that it was the predominant tinge.

Their finger bones had been sharpened into claws and their teeth filed to insure that any bite-attack would result in serious injuries to their opponents.

Something - it was hard to tell what exactly - had been placed inside their ribcage. From a distance, it looked like wet old rags. That only added to their ghastly appearance, as it would have been quite easy to mistake them for tattered lungs!

**

Kalveig was leading the charge over the bridge. As he neared the mêlée, he saw one of the humanoids fail to dodge an attack. When the undead’s teeth dug into his flesh, his skin turned a lighter shade of gray and his body froze, as if his muscles refused to respond anymore.

“Nethersleep-bite!” Kalveig hoped the others had heard and understood the implications. Silently, he berated himself for not having reviewed them with his companions before. He was so used to fighting alongside other Faithful Sons that he had completely forgotten to make sure his current brothers in arms were aware of a few basic things (27).

The monster didn’t lose time. It threw the poor creature to the ground and started to tear into him, frenzied with - apparently - hunger. Great chunks of flesh were torn from its still living victim and gobbled with alacrity. The humanoid died rapidly, of course, though whether of shock or massive loss of blood Kalveig would never know. What he _did_ know was that no living being should have to endure such agony. Thus, when his flail connected with the skeleton’s spine, it wasn’t just duty that guided his hand but also righteous anger.

The undead was lifted clear from the grisly remains of its feast and thrown back a good 5 feet, its ribcage half-shattered. If it noticed the damage, it didn’t give any indication of it. Instead, it simply crouched like an animal and then launched itself at Kalveig with the silent fury that only the Twice-Born (28) can display.

Meanwhile, Musadoc and Eirak had flanked the other skeleton and were taking turns hitting it, helping each other keep it at a safe distance. As for Pelrind and Siubhan, they stood clear of the battle, ready to help in case things went wrong.

The last two humanoids used the distraction to flee in the large tunnel, screaming in a language that none of the companions was familiar with. It didn’t take a genius to understand the general meaning though. Intruders had shown up and the surviving sentinels were sounding the alarm.

**

So far, the fight was going better than anticipated. Kalveig had managed to fend off all of the skeleton’s attacks, all the while inflicting decent damage thanks to his flail. It was time to finish it, after which he could help the others destroy the second one (29).

His next blow made the skull of his opponent burst into a thousand pieces. The undead’s remains crumbled to the cavern’s floor in a heap of bones. But, as the holy warrior was about to step over them, they suddenly leapt from the ground and reassembled in front of him, with no trace of previous damage! Green flames flickered for an instant in the skeleton’s orbits before it renewed its attack.

“Hellborn!” (30) was the only thing Kalveig had time to scream before he had to concentrate on defending himself again.

**

For a while, Siubhan had believed the warriors would be able to deal with the menace without her help. As a priestess of the White Lady, undeads represented the very antithesis of what she stood for: parasites who fed on humanity. Ever since her novitiate, she had hoped fervently that she would never run into any. Back then, the grim descriptions of veteran Matriarchs had given her nightmares on more than one occasion!

Now, however, it seemed the nightmare had turned into reality. Against monsters spawned by the Pit (31), she knew she was the group’s best weapon. She may not have been a servant of Mormekar, but the faith that sustained her was just as inimical to them, if a bit less destructive.

Brandishing her holy symbol, she called upon her goddess. “Morwyn, Queen of Heaven, let your light shine upon these desecrated shells that they may return to the peace they were denied!”

Her teardrop-shaped pendant emitted a powerful burst of blue light that washed over the combatants, leaving them unscathed. Leaving them _all_ unscathed, that is! She had failed to affect the undeads. The evil power that animated them was apparently stronger than her faith...

**

Pelrind could recognize a dangerous situation when he saw one. At his side, the priestess was still reeling from shock over her failure. She was useless for now. So, it was up to him to make a difference.

Stepping forward, he positioned himself where he had a clear view of the fight. Summoning arcane energies to his hands, he yelled a warning. “Kal, at my command, back off!”

The holy warrior nodded once to indicate he had heard, and shifted to a defensive stance.

“Now!”

Kalveig jumped backwards at the same time as Pelrind unleashed a cone of flames that caught the skeleton squarely. As the monster contorted itself in pain, the warrior stepped forward again and finished it with a powerful blow to the pelvis. Alas, once more, the bones rebuilt themselves almost instantly. Sighing, Pelrind prepared himself to flank it and was about to ready his staff when a shout from Kalveig stopped him.

“Look! They are vulnerable to fire!”

Indeed, while the undead had regenerated as before, the area of its body that had been damaged by the elf’s spell had failed to rejuvenate.

Pelrind grinned like a cat as he stepped back, calling upon his fire-spell again.

**

Eirak, having heard the exchange, hit upon a plan to get rid of his own adversary.

“Lad, try to put yerself in-between this bag o’ bones and the fire and, when I give ye the signal, kneel.”

Musadoc looked at him in confusion until understanding dawned on his face. He nodded and started to position himself according to the dwarf’s directives.

With the halfling in place, the dwarf suddenly bull rushed the skeleton while screaming “Down ye go!”

The undead, surprised, was caught off balance by the attack. The more than 200 lbs. of solid dwarvenhood barreling along pushed him back, over Musadoc, and right into the middle of the campfire where it crashed in a shower of sparks.

Eirak didn’t stop there. Throwing his shield over the skeleton, he jumped with both feet on it, pinning the burning carcass down while fire cleansed it of its evil taint. As he was standing in the middle of the flames, his mud-enhanced skin started to crack and, suddenly, fell off in bits and pieces, exposing him to the full fury of the blaze. It seemed he had been cleansed too! (32)

**

While the dwarf was finishing off their enemy, Musadoc rushed to help Kalveig and Pelrind. The two of them had inflicted some permanent damage but not enough to end the battle yet. Actually, the human was trying to reach the oil flasks in his backpack, Pelrind’s spells having proved efficient but not as devastating as they had hoped. However, with the undead constantly pressing them hard, Kalveig had been unable to spare the time. Now, with the halfling stepping into the fight, he was finally able to withdraw long enough to gather what he needed.

After that, it didn’t take long before the last skeleton was doused in burning oil and destroyed once and for all. The Battle of Underbridge was finally over (33).

**

While Siubhan was bandaging Eirak’s wounds, the other searched the cavern. They found another rough-looking tunnel departing from its northeastern end, close to the river’s siphon. According to Pelrind, the skeletons’ tracks came from there; not exactly the best enticement to check it out!

Kalveig was examining the corpses of the two dead humanoids. “Gobbers? I wonder what they’re doing in here. They have no communities in this area that I know of.”

“Nah, them buggers are boggers (34). Look at their head. See that bone ridge goin’ from the back o’ their skull to the forefront? That’s their mark, a’right. Fought enough o’ them in me days on the Wild Coast border to be sure. Trust me.” Eirak spat on one, a mark of his contempt.

The holy warrior frowned but refrained from making a comment. It wouldn’t do to start a dispute at this point. They needed cohesion, not another argument. Still, there would come a day...

Next, he turned to what was left of the undeads. The one he had helped destroy was in too bad a shape to determine anything useful, but the one ‘roasted alive’ by Eirak could perhaps still reveal a few things. He waited till the others were all busy elsewhere and then shifted through the remains with a dagger. What he found was disturbing enough that he decided not to inform his companions right away. The ‘old rags’ he had spied earlier had been in fact hessian crudely stitched to the ribs, with an opening left right where the throat would have been. In essence, whatever the skeletons ‘ate’ would fall within the ‘bag’, allowing it to be ‘collected’ later on...

“Kalveig?”

“Hmm?” He turned around quickly, screening his grisly discovery with his body. Musadoc was standing at the entrance of the larger tunnel, pointing at the walls and beckoning him over. He stood up and joined him.

“This is definitely man-made. Well, bogger-made rather, it would seem. And it’s not recent either. I would say.. oh, a few decades old. No more than half a century though.”

“Could it have been done at the time Baron Paytro sealed the Vault?”

“Quite possibly, although I fail to see the link. I doubt a human nobleman would have hired boggers, unless-”

“.. unless he needed them for some dirty work that had to be kept secret, aye” concluded Kalveig. “Perhaps Pelrind’s hypothesis was correct, after all.”

“Why, thank you for the vote of confidence!” The elf had crept up behind them as they were talking and was now seemingly in a huff.

_Oh, for the love of..! Am I surrounded by children!?_

Seeing that Kalveig was barely restraining a grimace, Pelrind burst out laughing. “Peace, noble leader! T’was just a jest, I assure you.” He lowered his voice and pointed surreptitiously towards Eirak. “Given our grumpy friend has grown less.. ah.. vocal in his criticisms lately, I thought you may have missed the ceaseless frustration.” He winked once and resumed the search.

Musadoc chuckled and, despite himself, Kalveig joined him. These folks were sometimes downright annoying but he had to admit they had a few redeeming qualities...

**

A thorough investigation of the cavern revealed little else. There was a small fissure in the ceiling through which the thin smoke of the fire escaped but, without specialized equipment, they had no hope of either enlarging or even reaching it.

The hole (in the northern wall) through which the subterranean river was flowing out was only two feet high and nearly filled to the brim, thus leaving too little breathing space to walk or swim.

Apart from the tunnel they had taken to reach this point, there were only two other ways out: the Burrower-dug tunnel in the northeastern corner, and the bogger-dug tunnel in the eastern wall. Of the two, the second seemed the most viable for the simply reason that if the humanoids had dug their way in, then it stood to reason that they had to begin somewhere _outside_.

The group adopted a wedge-shaped formation, Kalveig at the point with Eirak and Musadoc flanking him, followed by Pelrind and finally Siubhan. Cautiously, they started down the gallery.

**

The companions encountered several secondary caverns along the way, some serving as barracks, others as dormitories, but didn’t meet anyone.. till they reached another large cavern lit by several torches, probably some type of communal area. Another tunnel could be seen at the rear, near which huddled a few female boggers, apparently awaiting an order.

A large group of bogger warriors, some 15 strong, were standing in the middle of the cave, two ranks deep. The first rank was equipped with shortspears and shields, while the second rank was holding javelins at the ready. A rather big male, longsword drawn, was standing behind them. By the tattoos decorating his face, it was clear he was their leader (though the simple fact that he was _behind_ his troops should have been indication enough..).

Boggers and adventurers faced each others, both uncertain about how best to proceed.

The elf was the first to act. Using Kalveig’s body to hide, he quickly muttered a few arcane syllables and focused his attention on the bogger chieftain. The latter blinked a few times, as if clearing his thoughts and then looked at the trespassers again but with slightly less hostility than before. Taking this as a sign that his spell had taken hold, Pelrind began to walk slowly toward the boggers, both hands open and extended in front of him to show he meant no harm. As he passed his companions, he whispered. “Whatever you do, try not to act in a hostile manner.”

Arrived within striking distance of the first warriors, he stopped and bowed with a flourish. “Oh great and noble leader, would you be so kind as to step forward for a minute or two? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

The big bogger looked at him in perplexity, furrowing his brow as he attempted to make sense of the elaborate sentence. After a few seconds, he gave up and formulated the most complex answer he was capable of. “Uh?”

Pelrind sighed mentally.

_Lords of the Rocks and the Trees, allow me to meet ONE intelligent person before I pass away!_

He flashed a dazzling smile at the boss and tried again, talking as slowly as possible. “Me.. want.. talk.. to.. you.”

The face of the bogger brightened in understanding. He walked through the ranks of his underlings - who were clearly amazed at the sight - and came to stand in front of the elf.

“Me Chad’hakk. Me chief!” He thumped his chest to underscore his words.

“I bet you are.. er.. I mean, why yes! _Big_ chief Chad’hakk!” Pelrind bowed again, obsequiously this time.

The bogger puffed out his chest, relishing the thought that even the mighty elves were aware of who he was.

Seeing that his ruse worked, Pelrind continued. “Us travelers. Us no want fight big chief Chad’hakk.”

The boss nodded his agreement eagerly. He wasn’t too keen about starting a fight either!

“Us killed walking bones. Them bad. Them no hurt you again.”

That particular statement caused Chad’hakk’s eyes to almost bulge out. The strangers had defeated the Deathless Ones?!? Suddenly, the odds of his warriors winning against them seemed a lot less in their favor. Not only that but one of them was apparently..

Pelrind caught the surprise in the eyes of his interlocutor but also the fear that followed. However, when he turned to follow his gaze, he was taken aback by the fact that, of all his companions, it was Siubhan that seemed to positively terrify the chieftain.

“She wicca-boss?” the gobber asked, trembling.

Quick to capitalize on something he hadn’t expected, Pelrind nodded. “Yes, she boss. She big wicca. Powerful magic!”

The chieftain turned pale and threw himself on the ground, groveling before the priestess. He switched to a language they didn’t understand but, from the sound of it, it was clearly an apology of some sort, and an abject one at that.

Siubhan looked at Pelrind in puzzlement. The latter winked at her and tapped on Chad’hakk’s shoulder.

“Psst. She wants you go and no return. Never return! Understood?”

The big gobber nodded enthusiastically, as if very happy to get off so lightly. Quickly, he stood up, barked a few orders at his minions and they all fled down the other tunnel.

The others looked at Pelrind, flabbergasted. It was Eirak who translated their amazement into words. “Wha’ the heck just happened?!?”

Pelrind smirked. “That, my friend, is what I call _diplomacy_.”

**

The companions searched the bogger warren but, apart from a few valuables obviously pilfered from the Vault, didn’t find anything interesting. Next, they followed the tunnel the boggers had taken and emerged in a secluded clearing about a quarter mile east of Weston.

Now satisfied that they had an escape route at their disposal, they returned to the cavern where they had fought the undeads and took the other, rougher tunnel. They traveled about a hundred feet before reaching a Y-shaped intersection.

Taking right, they soon came upon a circular cavern whose thick smell nearly overwhelmed them. Clearly the nest of a large creature, dust and debris covered the floor. The western portion of the chamber held a pool of water fed by underground currents in which several bogger corpses were decomposing. Refuse and filth seemed to occupy another corner. No signs of cook fires or humanoid habitation were evident.

While the others were looking for anything suspicious, Siubhan stood near the pool, examining the rotting bodies. Finally, she called for Musadoc.

“Yes lady?”

“Do you think the river that feeds that pool could be the same one that the villagers use?”

“Hmm, let me take my bearings for a minute” The halfling turned around several times, as if trying to determine which direction he was facing, then threw some dirt into the pool and watched it closely as it disappeared, dragged by the underground stream.

“Yes, I think it is possible. There are many instances of subterranean rivers rising to the surface. And, of course, the reverse holds true.”

“Then I think we have cleared up the mystery of the disease that has plagued the villagers for years.”

“But.. how do you explain the Baron didn’t catch it?”

“Wasn’t there a well in the manor’s courtyard?”

The halfling struggled to remember. “Eh, that’s right! There was. And, if I am not mistaken, it must lie behind our current position-”

“.. which would mean he had access to unpolluted water!”

They grinned simultaneously and then began removing the corpses from the pool.

**

The only Burrower’s ‘mementoes’ they uncovered were a few gold bars and a tarnished silver ring. As far as Pelrind could tell, it had been the lair of a solitary monster and an infrequently used one at that. Once the halfling and the priestess finished cleaning the pool, the companions assembled and returned to the intersection, this time taking left.

A hundred and fifty feet further, they emerged into the Vault again, though on the other side of a cave-in, probably the last one they had encountered.

They were in a corridor that ended in a T-shaped intersection some 60 feet ahead. Two secondary hallways opened to their left. The second one looked like it had collapsed, so they checked the first.

The door to the room it led to had been smashed open. It appeared to have once been a resting area or a meeting place, as several decrepit chairs and small tables were toppled to the floor. It was hard to see the room in a pleasant fashion, however, as the stench of decay hung thickly in the air. Viscera and human remains were smeared across the walls, and piles of torn clothes and bones covered the floor.

Siubhan had to rush out, suddenly filled with an irresistible urge to vomit. Musadoc accompanied her, ostensibly to make certain she would be alright but, in truth, was feeling rather nauseous himself. They were soon followed by Eirak and Kalveig. Pelrind had requested to be left alone to be able to read potential tracks more easily.

The elf joined them 5 minutes later. For the first time since they had met, he was grim-faced, with no hint of mirth in his eyes. “This is.. _was_.. the lair of the two skeletons we defeated. Apparently, they dragged what was left of their victims here before.. well, you know. Most of the remains are those of boggers but I also found several humans. That fact leads me to believe that those two were responsible - one way or another - for the disappearances Mayor Varnsen reported. There is, however, something else which I find worrying. I found a third set of tracks - shoes, not feet – which belong to someone who _regularly_ visited this place. For what purpose, though, I cannot say.”

“I think I know..” declared Kalveig. As the others turned to him, he gritted his teeth and explained what he had found when he searched the body of the second undead.

“And it didn’t occur to you to share that specific piece of info with us?” Pelrind’s voice was heavy with reproach.. and he wasn’t joking this time. “We could be facing a necromancer!”

“In retrospect, I should have.. but I was trying to protect.. I mean, prevent-”

“You meant to protect me because you felt I wouldn’t react well to the news, isn’t it?” Siubhan’s tone conveyed both disappointment and remorse. The former because he apparently still thought of her only as his charge rather than as a full companion; the latter because she now understood that - for her sake - he sometimes reacted in ways that could prove detrimental to the group.

She took him by the hand and led him a short distance away to talk in private. When she spoke, her voice was gentle and pleading. “I know it is your duty to protect me, but you cannot shelter me from my own life. As a healer, I will have to witness terrible suffering and pain. It is only by experiencing these that I will be able to bring relief to others. Denying that something exists never made it go away. Please, allow me to fulfill my calling, just as the Lady allows you to fulfill yours. Will you do that for me?”

He nodded, tears welling in his eyes. That surprised her. She had expected denial, or even outright refusal, but tears? A little troubled, she hugged him, guided by her instinct (35). He froze under her tender ministration. She felt it and let go, wondering what dark corner of his past had come back to haunt him. Silently, she vowed to find out one day.. but not before she had earned his trust.

They came back to the group and Siubhan bowed formally to the others. “Please accept our apologies. Kalveig only thought he acted in my best interest. It won’t happen again. Let us return to the task at hand and speak no more of it.”

Pelrind coughed. “Well, alright then. No time to waste. The tracks lead down the corridor. I suggest we follow them.. cautiously.”

Nodding their assent, the companions set off again.

**

At the intersection, the passage continued left for about 20 feet before turning right. To the right, it went on for some 40 feet before turning left. However, the floor in that direction seemed odd, as if the stone was alive, and an unusual rushing sound filled the air. Upon closer inspection, they discovered that it wasn’t made of stone but glass! An underground stream was visible through it, its strong current causing the noise.

They quickly determined that anything too heavy would break the glass. Whoever fell through would be carried away by the river to an unknown location; clearly a risky proposal at best!

Musadoc volunteered to cross since he was the lightest of the team. They tied a rope around his waist and watched breathlessly as he moved slowly to the other side. Luckily, he made it easily. Once there, he informed them that the corridor ended in a door beyond the corner. He untied the rope and went to check it, after promising to return at the slightest hint of trouble.

He came back 5 minutes later and crossed back. The door led to an old laboratory filled with a variety of alchemical instruments and, possibly, some exotic components used for spells. Since it wasn’t his area of expertise, he had avoided touching anything remotely suspect.

**

Taking left beyond the intersection, the group reached a long hallway that ended in a room, some distance away. One door was visible to the right, about halfway through, and two to the left.

They inspected the various entrances. All but one led to rooms dedicated to exhibits (probably trophies gathered by previous Barons). Some had been ransacked, some not. Those that hadn’t were still protected by a variety of magical riddles, so they avoided them for the time being. The last door opened in what had once been a comfortable meeting room. However, any items of value or decoration had been viciously destroyed, and there was a carrion smell in the air. A single door had been left ajar at the back. It led to an ornate antechamber, as did the tracks.

A lush carpet adorned its floor. Large bookcases filled two walls and desks with oil lamps occupied the corners. A large leather chair sat near the door. The statue of a scholarly-looking man - who appeared to be reading a scroll - was in the farthest corner, beside a narrow passageway leading deeper into the Vault.

A quick search of the desks revealed two old scrolls and a vial labeled ‘health renewal’. They entrusted them to Siubhan for safekeeping and continued. As they passed the statue, it spoke in a ghostly yet loud voice.

*“Know your adversary before battle. Enemies can often be summed up by answering these three questions: One, what is their chief desire? Two, what are they willing to do to gain this desire? Three, what do they fear? When you know your enemy, you can be best prepared for battle!”*

Eirak swore. If anyone was waiting beyond, this unexpected piece of advice had just ruined their chances of surprise. He rushed down the passageway, followed by the others.

**

It seemed her groom had finally arrived! Hurriedly, she willed her clothes and skin to change. It wouldn’t do for him to catch her like that. After all, on her wedding day, a girl has to look her best.

Still, her sisters had always told her that discretion was the better part of valor. Whispering the ancient words of power they had taught her, she wove a spirit-shield around herself and then waited for her beloved.

**

Eirak charged down a passage some 20 feet long. There was another door at its end. Light shone beneath it. He kicked it open brutally and entered a large rectangular chamber 30 ft. across and 70 ft. wide. There were four statues, one in each corner, all of - again - scholarly-looking individuals. At the back of the room, a corridor led elsewhere. Oil lamps suspended to the walls illuminated the area. Facing him, about 20 feet away, stood a lone young woman in a wedding dress, looking demure.

Surprised, he stopped - a bit embarrassed by his thunderous entrance - while his companions fanned out slowly behind him.

The ‘bride’ gazed at them expectantly, as if searching for someone in particular.

The adventurers exchanged bewildered looks. Finally, Kalveig spoke up. “Lady Amelia? Is that you?”

Disappointment spread over her face, swiftly replaced by anger. “So, my Paytro hasn’t come, has he? Instead, he sends me ignorant thugs. Very well, I know how to deal with the likes of you. Paytro will be sorry he betrayed me again!” And with those words, she started to incant.

“Durn, spellcaster! SPREAD OUT!” The cry hadn’t left his mouth that Eirak was charging again, hoping against all odds to reach her before she finished her spell.

Kalveig froze, caught between his desire to charge too and his unwillingness to leave Siubhan exposed to hostile spells. As for the priestess, she had begun casting a spell of her own.

Pelrind cursed inwardly their inability to solve any situation without resorting to a fight. It was too late to try the same trick he had used on the gobbers, so he settled for an attack that would - perhaps - break her concentration. His hands moved quickly as they traced the outline of a cube in the air, invoking the Earth’s power.

Musadoc was puzzled. He had seen for a few seconds a beautiful lady dressed for a wedding before she had turned into an ugly old crone wearing blood-spattered rags. He shook his head in case he was hallucinating but her aspect didn’t change back.

The temporary hesitation of several of the group’s members cost them dearly...

The dwarf had almost reached the woman when the latter pointed her hand at him and released a coruscating ray that struck him squarely in the chest. Instantly, Eirak’s strength left him and he stumbled to the floor, not 5 feet from her, weak as an axeling and crushed beneath the weight of his own equipment.

Priestess and elf finished their casting almost simultaneously. Siubhan’s spell outlined each of her allies briefly in silvery light, instilling courage into their hearts. At Pelrind’s feet, a fragment of the stone floor broke off and flew straight at the sorceress. Alas, it barely grazed her brow. Still, it was enough to draw her attention to him. She incanted again.

Watching the dwarf fall had helped Kalveig come to a decision. He left Siubhan’s side and rushed their adversary, yelling loudly in the hope that it would force her to concentrate on him.

Musadoc was about to imitate him when an enormous rat with sulfurous eyes popped out of nowhere behind Pelrind and bit him cruelly in the tendon. Again, he hesitated. Which friend to help?

Meanwhile, Kalveig arrived within striking distance of the woman. He opted for a low swipe, attempting to trip her with his flail. Amazingly, he missed! It was as if something invisible had deflected his weapon as it was about to come into contact. She turned to him and spat an arcane word that left him dazed.

Pelrind was trying to get rid of the infernal rat, but without any success. The beast was not only vicious but relentless, a lethal combination! He rolled on the floor, hoping that would be enough to shake it loose, but to no avail. The creature was dead set on hamstringing him. Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. As he looked up, he saw Musadoc, his pickaxe raised as if to strike his friend!

As the weapon’s deadly arc came to an end, the elf closed his eyes instinctively.. and felt the rat release its grip upon his leg at the same time as he heard a thud. When he looked again, he discovered Musadoc had pinned the beast to the floor with his pick. The creature was dissolving into a foul-smelling mist.

Elsewhere in the room, Eirak was doing his level best to unsling his backpack in a desperate attempt to reduce his load. Unable to go through even such a simple effort, he drew his dagger and began to cut the straps.

Kalveig shook off the spell that had stopped him in his tracks just in time to be hit point-blank by the same ray that had affected the dwarf earlier. The ray’s impact didn’t affect him as much as Eirak had been but it was enough to make him groan as his now weaker muscles readjusted to the weight of what he was carrying. He still managed to make an attack, which - again - was deflected. Things were definitely not looking good...

The last strap finally sheared, the bag slid off Eirak’s back. Feeling better, he lunged forward and grabbed the woman’s legs, trying to bring her down. Nimbly, she escaped his hold and struck him on the back of the head with her bare hand. The blow was so hard that his head was left throbbing. He couldn’t believe how strong she was!

“Anwyn, Bright Lady, guide your servant’s hands that they may strike down this witchspawn!” While the ‘bride’ had been busy with the dwarf and the human, Musadoc had crept up behind her and was now poised to deliver a powerful blow. Amazingly, as he hit her, his pickaxe burst momentarily into flames!

She was now surrounded, opponents flanking her on all sides (Pelrind having joined the mêlée). Yet, she wouldn’t give up. Screaming like a wild thing, she lashed out with hands and feet, clawing and kicking furiously.

Still, the outcome was inevitable. It took almost two minutes but she finally fell to the floor, vanquished. As her evil soul left her body, the latter reverted to its original appearance, that of an old, ugly, and filthy woman.

Eirak was panting. “Lads, I dunno what it was that we fought but if that was Lady Amelia, I’m in a mind to forgive the Baron for lockin’ her down here!”

“Puzzling. She was a spellcaster of some sort _and_ able to disguise herself. For someone so old, her strength was nearly unbelievable, as was her agility. I wonder..”

“We will bring her back with us to Weston, Pelrind. Maybe the Mayor will be able to identify her? I sincerely hope it wasn’t the Lady Amelia though. That would make for a really awkward situation.” Kalveig sighed and then pointed to her left hand. “Say, she is wearing something. Could it be that elven ring we were told about?”

The elf kneeled and examined the item. “No, definitely not. It’s a simple copper ring set with a semi-precious gemstone. Nothing like the craftsmanship of my people.”

**

Elsewhere, not far from the Barony, two persons were leaning over a black cauldron, watching the elf’s face on the surface of the steamy liquid inside. They had witnessed the whole combat and they would remember each of their sister’s murderers. Vengeance would be theirs!

**

After pausing to catch their breath, the companions examined the corridor at the back of the chamber. A thin band of metal formed an archway over its entry, and ran the length of the hall three-feet above the floor, seeming to disappear into the door at the corridor’s far end. Upon closer inspection, it became evident that the strip of metal formed a circuit broken at regular intervals by 4 keyholes. The metal band originated to the right of the far door as a concave metal depression.

At Pelrind’s suggestion, each of the NeMoren’s heirs inserted his (or her) silver key into one of the keyholes and then the elf pressed the calisil into the circular indent.

A wave of power washed along the metal strip from the calisil, down the corridor, across the arch, and back up the corridor into the door. With an incredibly loud hum, the latter slowly retracted into the ceiling, revealing an octagonal-shaped room.

At its center, lay a grand sarcophagus. Strange runes covered the surface of the tomb, and a golden plaque that read _Kragor NeMoren_ in Traladaran was visible at the foot of the structure. Around the chamber, they could see several locked chests, piles of coins, rich fabrics, tapestries, paintings, weapons, and a variety of other items. At long last, they had found the fabled treasure.

There was also a great lever on the wall, next to the entrance. According to instructions engraved around it, it could unlock the first door of the Vault. Apparently, the Baron hadn’t intended to lock them up forever after all...

As they moved around the room, examining the various items, Eirak spied something unusual at the top of the sarcophagus. Coming closer, he discovered that what he had first mistaken for a part of the carvings was in fact a weapon which had been cunningly concealed by making it look like an element of the exterior design of the tomb.

Freeing it of its hiding place, he gasped as he hefted a formidable-looking warhammer made of a metal that shone with a silvery gleam even in the dark. Runes he didn’t understand covered the length of the handle.

“It’s Terran, the sacred language of the Earth.”

Eirak was startled by Pelrind. He had been so fascinated by the weapon that he hadn’t noticed the elf until the latter spoke up.

“Can ye decipher it?”

“Yes, I think it’s the weapon’s name.” The elf’s voice sounded oddly solemn.

“Well?”

“It is called.. _Nemesis_.”

**********
(24) Remember the _Forbiddance_ spell?

(25) In Drachenhold, soldiers who are discharged dishonorably are first branded on the left shoulder with a mark shaped like a broken dragon’s claw. This punishment carries more than a social stigma. Should they face a royal court of justice at some point of the future, they are automatically considered guilty as charged, no matter the crime or the evidence. Basically, if you wear one and don’t elect to become a hermit, don’t expect to live a long and happy life thereafter!

(26) Sadly, he was. Pelrind believed Eirak was benefiting from a _Stoneskin_ spell. In truth, it was much less impressive. While designing the mud pool, I decided that though all races would be healed (once!) by it, dwarves would enjoy another (temporary) advantage: a _Mudskin_ (the Earth equivalent of _Barkskin_) spell, as cast by a 9t-level spellcaster (+4 enhancement bonus to natural armor class for a duration of 90 minutes). Keep in mind that, at the time, I still had no idea what kind of characters my players would choose to play

(27) The three most ‘common’ undead powers are well-documented on this world, at least among the different churches. They make sure even novices understand what they can face and how best to avoid falling victim to it. Part of that training is to use as few words as possible to relay all the information needed. So, they came up with nicknames for the different ‘abilities’:
- paralysis = nethersleep
- stat drain = mosquito
- energy drain = soulthirst
In combat situation, whoever issues the first warning usually tries to add something to be as specific as possible with regard to the way the undead described uses its power. For instance, a shadow (who drains Str through a touch attack) would be described as ‘mosquito-touch’

(28) Twice-Born is one of the oldest nicknames attributed to undeads on this world, but not a very popular one anymore since the advent of the Great Church. Indeed, Church’s elders consider it blasphemous because it implies the forces of Evil are capable not only of destruction but of creation as well, which doesn’t sit too well with the current doctrine...

(29) Being equipped with piercing/slashing weapons, the dwarf and the halfling were a lot less effective in the damage-dealing department (though not for lack of trying!)

(30) In my campaign, corporeal undeads are seen as a corruption of the body, while incorporeal ones are viewed as a corruption of the soul. Since corruption in all its forms is associated with Hell (and the Abyss, to a lesser degree), the living deads are considered as ‘lesser fiends’.

Those described in the (various) MM are actually the most ‘basic’ undeads one can encounter. A great many of them enjoy additional powers (called ‘salient abilities’, something I picked up from the Ravenloft setting). Since they are more powerful than their ‘lesser kin’, they are regarded as favored by the powers of Hell. Adventurers thus aptly nicknamed them ‘Hellborn’.

Generally, when you hear that word being screamed by one of your companions, you know you’re in trouble...

(31) A common enough nickname for Hell

(32) In fact, the duration of the spell was just over but I thought it would look more melodramatic this way. Eirak’s player chose to interpret it as being ‘cured’ of Rontra’s curse and I admit it only added to the role-play of the entire experience

(33) That’s how my players named it afterwards. A rather fitting name, I must say 

At the time, I had been more than a little disappointed by the poor performance of my skeletal near-immortal ghouls. All three fighters, benefiting from good Fortitude bonuses and decent AC, had managed to avoid being incapacitated by their paralyzing bite. Moreover, Eirak had been the only one sustaining more than minor injuries and only because he had stood in the fire long enough to finish off his opponent! All in all, the PC had an easy ride.

Retrospectively, though, I realize that it could just as easily have gone horribly wrong. A few failed Fort. saves and Pelrind/Siubhan would have been left alone to face the undeads. That would have spelled the group’s doom.

Methink the one thing that shifted the balance in their favor was their discovery, early on, of the skeletons’ only weakness: fire. Well, I can hardly blame my players for being lucky, now can I?

(34) Gobbers are the fourth race of the Children of the Tree (the other 3 being the dwarves, halflings, and humans). Long ago, a sizeable portion of their species was seduced by the Deceiver and turned to evil ways. Those renegades slowly mutated into boggers (think bigger, meaner specimens). The problem is that, while most people are aware of that tragic story, few know how to differentiate them (physically speaking). So, a lot of the current anti-gobber feelings are due to bogger raids which were blamed on their smaller cousins

(35) As noted in Siubhan’s description (in the Rogues Gallery), priestesses of Morwyn can use _Sense Motive_ to link empathically to others, albeit only briefly

**********

Next chapter: Horror on the Hill!


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Apr 25, 2005)

Wow! You may not update frequently, but we certainly can't complain about quantity when you do   .

Good to see you back, and that was a highly enjoyable read. Nice to see them learn that not every confrontation has to end in violence ... although it's obviously more entertaining if most of them do   !

And I look forward to more of the two remaining sisters ....


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## Emperor Valerian (Apr 25, 2005)

Let me just say that was the best start to a SH I have ever read.  Well done! 

Now just to keep reading to catch up to everything...


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## Mortepierre (Apr 26, 2005)

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Wow! You may not update frequently, but we certainly can't complain about quantity when you do   .
> 
> Good to see you back, and that was a highly enjoyable read. Nice to see them learn that not every confrontation has to end in violence ... although it's obviously more entertaining if most of them do   !
> 
> And I look forward to more of the two remaining sisters ....




Eh, as I promised, from now on I'll try to stick with shorter but (hopefully) more frequent updates   

Glad you liked it! Don't worry though, despite Pelrind's best wishes the team continued to hack&slash its way through encounters but they also gave him the chance now and then to shine as their.. ah.. 'public relation person'  

As for the two sisters, they'll appear in Chapter 2  



			
				Emperor Valerian said:
			
		

> Let me just say that was the best start to a SH I have ever read.  Well done!
> 
> Now just to keep reading to catch up to everything...




Honestly, if you were able to enjoy just this last part without reading what had gone on before, I am impressed!  

Welcome on board, enjoy the ride  

Onward to another request.. two readers PMed me for more explanations about my clerical system. I know it can be a bit confusing at times because, despite the fact it uses material from the PHB (and other sources), it has some big differences.

So, here is a file that should make things clearer. Two notes:
1] This is the list for Good/Neutral clerics. Evil clerics have access to a slightly different choice of spells (including some rather ghastly domains..)
2] I implemented some changes with regard to the rules presented in the *Book of the Righteous*. I make no claim that my version is better, only that it is more 'in tune' with my campaign setting

EDIT: I forgot to add that while the _Cure Minor Wounds_ spell is available to all priests, only those whose deity grants access to the Healing domain can use it 'fully'. All others derive only one benefit from it: the automatic stabilization of someone at death's door (read: with a negative hit pts total)


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## Hairy Minotaur (Apr 26, 2005)

Very impressive with your adjustments to divine spellcasters! 

Definately creates a much wider variety of clerics than the PHB ever could.


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## blackfeather (Apr 26, 2005)

*i dont know if i am doing this right (i am new)*

since he is probably the only wizard for miles in any direction he enters the small town wandering where every body ran off to. the town seems empty and dead. he stands alone in the market place where no one is around. the buildings look old and empty. yet he knows life is around in them. he walks through the dead town till he arives at an inn know as the black dragon inn. he aproaches and enters. he smells frsh stews and rich ales. the room is dark and gloomy. as he enters a few drunks look up and then back down at there drinks. a man aproaches him and sais "plaease sir, you must help us" he begs for my help and i ask him what is wroung. he replies. "goblins sir, golblins are attacking the town, every night they attack and take what they want...please help us rid these damn creatures so we can live in peace." i ponder apon what the man has told me and wait a moment or two before telling him that i accept, and that i will help him and his town rid the land of goblins.
"good, very good. the cave is on the out skirts of town, a days walk to the east. their leadr is a human who's name is gorgoth." the man shivers at the name. "he is the one said to be leading these filthy creatures againts us.."
i look at himthen turn and walk out the inns doos an head west along a dirt road...

almost  half the day has pasted not a cloud in site and the cave is close...very close. i can see somthing on the horizen not far from where i stand. the forest..yes the forest. i keeps going across the farm land, across the feilds. through the sweltering heat to were i see the fores loom up off the planes. i cannot see how far the forest goes in either direction. but it looks very big. 

as i enetr the fores a cool wind sweeps over me. the shade is cool from the hot boiling sun of the day. i travle in further going wets fowling a path. one that looks used. before i know it i here theses screams and a band of little creatures comes running through the forest...."goblins".....


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## Mortepierre (Apr 26, 2005)

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> Very impressive with your adjustments to divine spellcasters!
> 
> Definately creates a much wider variety of clerics than the PHB ever could.




Thank you! That was the purpose, of course. I was a big fan of the clerical Spheres back in 2E. While I can appreciate the fact that 3.0/3.5E is trying to place every priest out there on the same footing, ultimately I find it.. well, dumb :\ 

If I, worshipper of the goddess of healing, have the exact same spell list as the worshipper of the god of war or of the god of magic, then what the heck is my incentive for joining one church over another?!?

Alignment? The access to a certain domain's special power?

No, that doesn't quite cut it.

Using my system means a cleric will have a lot less spells at his/her disposal, BUT it will also insure said cleric _will_ have an edge when it comes to his/her deity's portfolio.

I confess I was tired of settings where adventurers would come back into town and then compare the prices of the various temples before going to 'shop' for cure, raise dead, etc...

Here, that's simply not possible. If you need healing for instance, then you just _have_ to go to Morwyn (or Rontra, assuming you manage to find an active shrine somewhere).

No more "nah, I won't do your stupid quest. I bet the other temple down the street will accept my money just fine"


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## Mortepierre (Apr 26, 2005)

Blackfeather,

I must admit I am a wee bit confused by your post. Is it meant to interact with my SH or start a new one? If it's the latter, methink you would have been better inspired to start a new thread...


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## Hairy Minotaur (Apr 26, 2005)

I too have _The Book of the Righteous_, how many of the gods did you end up using to fill out your pantheon?


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## Mortepierre (Apr 26, 2005)

Hairy Minotaur said:
			
		

> I too have _The Book of the Righteous_, how many of the gods did you end up using to fill out your pantheon?




All of them. They were simply too good not to 

Actually, you have the list in my document on clerical spellcasting. Given you own the book too, you know there are *cough*a few more*cough* but those aren't meant for Good/Neutral clerics. So, I left them out (if only because discovering their existence is one of the campaign's goals)

Now, just because I use them all doesn't mean they are worshipped everywhere to the same degree. In Drachenhold, for instance, Rontra & Urian are viewed as a thing of the past and their (last few) worshippers are confined to rural areas. Gods like Aymara, Darmon or Zheenkeef are 'low profile' simply because the natives never cared much for them. On the other hand, deities like Anwyn, Morwyn, Terak and/or Shalimyr enjoy enormous popularity. I have tried very hard to link the worship of the gods to the geo-political situation of each nation.

And then, there is that nifty _Heretic_ feat (from the BotR) which is a wondrous little tool to tinker with the situation


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## Mortepierre (Apr 26, 2005)

I’ve decided to introduce short stories in-between chapters to allow readers to take a look at what’s happening ‘behind the scene’ elsewhere in my world. Note that while these will always be connected to the SH to some degree, you may not always see the relationship right away. Take them as hints about things to come (sometimes, far in the future), if you will 

*Interlude*

The world on which this adventure takes place is vast, with no less than 5 continents of which Kaladia (where Drachenhold is located, on the eastern tip) is arguably the largest. Many are the wonders (and the horrors!) that can be found, be it above or beneath the waves of its oceans.

Of those, ruins of bygone civilizations have perhaps become (at the very least, since the Cataclysm) the most commonly encountered feature in the wilderness. Yet, none are as mysterious as the infamous _shacklestones_.

Discovered on every continent, in every type of climate, and on every sort of terrain, they seem more common at altitudes not exceeding 1000 feet. This doesn’t mean that they are a ‘common’ sight. Far from it. Of course, with the science of geography being still in its infancy, it’s hard to tell but wise men generally agree that you can expect to find one for every hundred square miles that you search thoroughly.

Sages have postulated so many theories about them that they could fill entire libraries, and yet are no closer to uncovering the truth than their ancestors were a millenium earlier.

There are, however, a few facts that they _do_ know:

The word ‘shacklestone’ is a rough translation of _sclábhai-cloch_, the name the oldest druidic sects gave them long ago. Why? Even they don’t remember. Or if they do, they aren’t talking... (1)

Shacklestones all have the same shape and are of the (exact!) same dimensions. They consist of two ‘rings’, one 25 ft. across and the other 10 ft. in diameter. The smaller ring’s border has a uniform height of 1 foot, while the bigger one is 2 ft. high but interspersed with 4 large grooves (grouped 2 by 2). The rings are precisely 5 ft. apart, and are ‘linked’ by a succession of 9 ovoid stones (each about 6 inches tall) set in a ‘seesaw’ pattern. Thus, if viewed from the sky, they look a bit like giant ‘manacles’, albeit intended for someone with wrists of different size...

The stone they are made of is unknown, even to races with an affinity for the earth (like stone elves), and they appear to have been ‘grown’ rather than ‘built’ (as there is no trace of mortar or telltale signs left by a stonecutter’s tools). Indeed, attempts to dig them up have all failed because they seem to go down far below the ground, further lending credence to the theory that they are ‘growing’ from the very core of the world!

Their surface is highly eroded, which has - unfortunately - removed any markings they may once have sported and which may have helped to identify them.

They are all but impossible to destroy. Even metal tools prove unequal to the task (2). Magic doesn’t fare any better. Only the _Wish_ spell works, though sometimes at a terrible cost to the spellcaster involved (3).

In fact, magic-users often experience troubles when they are near shacklestones. Divine magic doesn’t work at all within ten feet of them. Druidic magic works (except within the confines of the two rings) but tends to produce ‘wild’ results. Arcane magic performs a bit better but any creature conjured or summoned within their direct vicinity (read: within 20 feet) automatically turns on its summoner and proves impossible to control.

The gods - even Tinel, Lord of Magic and Truth - are notoriously tight-lipped about them. Either they know but refuse to share the knowledge or - more disturbingly - don’t know and are unwilling to admit they may not be as omniscient as they are supposed to be.

Attempts to use divination magic to learn more about them have all failed, with two notable exceptions. _Stone Tell_ appears to work but, alas, whoever casts it is struck mad (and I do mean ‘raving mad’) the minute conversation is initiated. _Legend Lore_ yields results too but, no matter how often you cast it, you always get the same cryptic answer:

*That which once ne'er wert, shan't be so again, evermore!*

All races and all cultures (even Evil-aligned ones) universally fear and loathe them, though they can’t explain why. It’s not so much a logical reaction as an instinctive one. Animals shun these locations and the only plant known to grown near (or on) them is the lichen.

Not even evil cults will be caught anywhere near them if they can help it. Strangely enough, madmen seem to relish their presence; as if it had an intoxicating effect on them.

In short, people usually do their best not to approach them, and settlements are almost never built close to one if its location is known to the locals.

**

Drachenhold - Duchy of Pellham
400 AC - somewhere in Loring’s Wood

It had taken him twenty flickers of the _tidestone_ to find the site. Silently, he cursed his ineptitude. His master’s directions had been precise but this strange world was proving difficult to navigate, with its bewildering environment full of tall brown stalagmites, weird-looking fungi, and - especially - the continuous barrage of sounds that assailed his ears. How could creatures survive by making so much noise? Didn’t they know it would draw predators to them?!

Oh, how he longed to return to his own world! No more fiery orb hanging in the vault to dry his skin. Darkness and silence would be his rewards and, if the master was pleased, maybe even breeding rights for a cycle or two? That thought was highly pleasing and he stood motionless for a while, simply grinning stupidly, until an all-too familiar throbbing from the serf-glyph on his skull brought him back to reality. It reminded him - painfully - that _displeasing_ his master would also earn him a reward, albeit one he didn’t much care for...

Quickly, he ascertained the location was empty of possible threats. Once he was reasonably certain only mindless beasts were nearby, he advanced towards the center of the clearing. Fortunately, the fiery orb above had turned silver and the vault had darkened again, thus enabling him to use his sight without having to squint.

The _sluz’ebná-kámen_ was there, as promised. To inferior species, it would look merely like a few old pieces of stone, perhaps the remnant of an antique monument. To his graft-enhanced eyes, however, the view was very different...

He walked rapidly to the smaller ring, stopping near the larger one only long enough to pay his respects to the _pruuvodc’i_ by prostrating himself three times, as was proper.

Once in the circle, he took from his belt-pouch the 5 glyph-tablets he had been entrusted with, and set them down according to a complex _hve’zda_ pattern. Then, crossing the low wall again, he kneeled in front of the 7th _obchod_ and started to hum, his voice progressively rising in pitch to reach the appropriate octave. Concentrating, he struggled to retain it long enough, his spiny frill standing upright unconsciously because of the effort. In the end, it paid off as the stone began to glow, its outer layer gradually becoming more translucent until he could discern inside the item he was looking for. Swiftly, he thrust his hand within and yanked it out before the stone hardened again.

As his attention was entirely focused on his mission, he failed to notice strands of light coalescing into a shape behind him, about 20 feet off the ground.

**

Nifris finished _manifesting_ (4), relishing the aura of power suffusing her that had been granted by her god to make this journey possible. Quickly, she unfurled her wings and glided down silently toward her prey, righteous anger filling her warrior’s heart as she prepared to deal with a monster whose race was the scum of the earth.

**

Odainab was examining the object of his quest, a small loop of dark metal twisted into a shape that, according to physical laws, shouldn’t have existed, inside which a tiny crystal was coruscating in hues that would have driven a less _enhanced_ being mad within seconds.

Suddenly, a large and ominous shadow fell over him. Reflexes took over as years of battle-conditioning kicked in. He rolled over on the ground, barely avoiding a lethal blow delivered by a scythe whose blade was now ablaze with divine might. Righting himself, he touched the chakra (5) located on his sternum, immediately activating a protection-glyph that created a kinetic barrier around him. Better armed to face the onslaught, he took a few seconds to observe his assailant.

She was humanoid - like him - though a full head taller, and sported neither tail nor scales. Instead, her body was covered by plates similar to those of the great landsharks that plagued the Upperdark. She also had a pair of wings, like a giant bat. Her head was covered by strange-looking kelp that fell down upon her shoulders, and her eyes glowed with fatal intent. However, her most interesting feature by far was the large curved blade she was wielding. Razor-sharp, it was covered in white-hot fire that - apparently - burnt without fuel.

Narrowing his eyes, he secreted the _klenot_ into his belt-pouch and touched his left wrist’s chakra. He felt his strength of will diminish as the enhancer-glyph reshaped and funneled it into his muscles, an acceptable trade-off for one of the warrior caste.

Grinning evilly, he assumed the position of the Hungry Kraken and prepared to deal with the interloper. Thus, he was caught completely by surprise when she simply grinned back and a glowing cage of light appeared around him.

**

The fool! Did he really think he stood a chance against her, one of the elite enforcers of a true god’s will? Now that he was caged like the beast that he was, she would deal with him but before she did, she had a message to deliver.

She walked up to the cage (though staying well out of reach of any physical attack of her prisoner) and, swallowing her disgust at addressing him, fulfilled her orders.

“I know you probably won’t understand my words but I was informed your master would be watching and that _he_ wouldn’t suffer from the same handicap. So, here is what I was told to convey:

*No*

That’s all.”

Focusing her will, she called upon her most deadly power. Instantly, all moisture was drained from her enemy’s body, reducing him to a desiccated husk that fell to the ground, incomprehension painted all over his face.

Dispelling the _forcecage_, she lifted easily what was left of him, grabbing it under her left arm. Her task finally accomplished, Nifris the ashmede (6) begged mentally her master for safe passage home and disappeared in a cloud that reeked of brimstone.

**

Far away, in the depths of the world, Odainab’s master looked at the scene dispassionately as it unfolded on the surface of his scrying crystal. His plan had worked to perfection but, then again, he had anticipated that it would.

He had lost one pawn as well as a not-so-irreplaceable artifact, true, but information had been gained at the same time. And to a being who prized knowledge above all else, this wasn’t a lopsided bargain at all.

Besides, those extraplanar entities were entirely too predictable for their own good. They had rushed to secure the most obvious target, completely ignoring the real prize. As he had expected, the best way to deceive a deceiver was to hide a truth behind another truth.

Oh yes, he would remember the message, as well as the messenger. And, among his kind, memories lasted a very long time indeed...

**

Back on the surface, the five glyph-tablets lay forgotten in the smaller ring of the shacklestone. As the will of their creator touched them from afar, they activated simultaneously, their runes flashing rapidly in a kaleidoscopic detonation that would have sent sentient beings screaming had any been present.

The fabric of space above the larger circle was ruptured for the briefest of time, bathing momentarily the clearing in sickly light. One by one, the tablets flew from the ground to the opening which sucked them through hungrily before closing.

The message had been delivered. Now, it was only a matter of time...

**********
(1) Actually, that word is the only thing the first druids could garner from casting _Commune with Nature_ near one. That Nature itself would have a name for something so obviously _unnatural_ was enough to give them pause

(2) Any tool/weapon (even if magical) struck against one takes 5 pts of damage which automatically bypass its hardness! (only epic weapons are immune to this effect)

(3) If used specifically to destroy a shacklestone, _Wish_ works but requires both cunning and courage to achieve that result. Cunning because the wording must take into account the fact that the shacklestone needs to be ‘unmade’ rather than ‘destroyed’ (a bizarre, yet crucial, distinction). Courage because if the spell _does_ work, the caster must make an immediate Will save (DC 30) or be affected by an _Insanity_ spell (caster level: 20th)

(4) Read: re-materializing after crossing the boundary between two planes (in this case, the Ethereal and the Prime)

(5) Chakra: point of physical or spiritual energy in the (human) body

(6) Readers interested in learning more about her kind should check *The Book of Fiends* (Green Ronin Publishing), p.146-147 

**********


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## blackfeather (Apr 27, 2005)

i am very sorry about the last post. if you coulp please fill me in on the story so far and on what is happening then i can play off that. it is just that i have not had enough information to know what it is i am doing. i am sorry for the last post. if you would like to e-mail me the story line and the information i need to play then please send the info to vampricelf2005@yahoo.ca


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## Mortepierre (Apr 27, 2005)

blackfeather said:
			
		

> i am very sorry about the last post. if you coulp please fill me in on the story so far and on what is happening then i can play off that. it is just that i have not had enough information to know what it is i am doing. i am sorry for the last post. if you would like to e-mail me the story line and the information i need to play then please send the info to vampricelf2005@yahoo.ca




Er.. well, to know the story so far, all you need do is read this Story Hour from the first post onward.

But methink we have a slight misunderstanding here. This story is an account of what has happened in my D&D campaign for the last few years. In essence, I am chronicling what my players' characters have done and said in-game.

This is neither a fiction, a 'play-by-mail' game, nor an 'open story' to which others are invited to participate. And, currently, I am not recruiting any new player either (assuming you lived in my country, which I doubt).

If one of my previous posts led you to believe one of the above, then I am sorry but that's not the case. Hence my confusion about your post.

As any other reader, you are most welcome to offer comments, ask questions, or even debate which of the PC is the most pig-headed (  ) but I would respectfully ask you not to post a story of your own in my thread.

If you feel the need to start your own SH, t'is very simple. Read the rules first, then log to the Story Hour board and click on *New Thread*.

Happy reading/writing!


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## blackfeather (Apr 28, 2005)

*thx*

i quite thank u for helping me understand wher i am and what to do. i my self took it into account to create my own thread known as ice relm. but i am having a few problems. no one seems to come and post there "story" if you will. i do hope that some one here can help me with giving me ideas. you are more then welcome to read it to get a better undestanding. it is a play by post and a e-mail game. its just that no one sems to come and visit. and i dont know what i am doing wrong...help plz


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## Lefferts (Apr 29, 2005)

blackfeather said:
			
		

> i quite thank u for helping me understand wher i am and what to do. i my self took it into account to create my own thread known as ice relm. but i am having a few problems. no one seems to come and post there "story" if you will. i do hope that some one here can help me with giving me ideas. you are more then welcome to read it to get a better undestanding. it is a play by post and a e-mail game. its just that no one sems to come and visit. and i dont know what i am doing wrong...help plz




Check out the Talking the Talk forum:
http://www.enworld.org/forumdisplay.php?s=&daysprune=&f=64

It's the place for starting up play-by-post games.


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## pogre (Apr 29, 2005)

Is it fair that someone who uses English as a second language writes this well? I think not!  

Keep on rockin' Mortepierre!


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## Azgulor (May 2, 2005)

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> Thank you! That was the purpose, of course. I was a big fan of the clerical Spheres back in 2E. While I can appreciate the fact that 3.0/3.5E is trying to place every priest out there on the same footing, ultimately I find it.. well, dumb :\
> 
> If I, worshipper of the goddess of healing, have the exact same spell list as the worshipper of the god of war or of the god of magic, then what the heck is my incentive for joining one church over another?!?
> 
> ...




Excellent story hour!  I'm really impressed at how you took various elements from different settings and blended them into a cohesive whole.  Since I also use the BotR for my pantheon, this story hour is an extra treat.  I'm impressed that you've got 2 holy warriors and a cleric rather than the warriors, thieves, and spell-slingers...and 1 obligatory cleric who heals (but worships a god that would logically have no aptitude for healing).

Also, I'm in total agreement with you regarding the Cleric as presented in the PHB.  It was one of the first things I started tinkering with as well.  I really like your modifications to the cleric and divine magic.

Keep up the great work and kudos to you and your players!

Azgulor


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## Mortepierre (May 2, 2005)

Azgulor said:
			
		

> Excellent story hour! I'm really impressed at how you took various elements from different settings and blended them into a cohesive whole.  Since I also use the BotR for my pantheon, this story hour is an extra treat.  I'm impressed that you've got 2 holy warriors and a cleric rather than the warriors, thieves, and spell-slingers...and 1 obligatory cleric who heals (but worships a god that would logically have no aptitude for healing).
> 
> Also, I'm in total agreement with you regarding the Cleric as presented in the PHB.  It was one of the first things I started tinkering with as well.  I really like your modifications to the cleric and divine magic.
> 
> ...




Your praises are most welcomed! 

I must admit I was a bit nervous at first when I discovered the final ‘draft’ of the group. IMHO, it lacked a ‘rogue’ character but I had known campaigns whose groups had no access to certain classes and which ‘succeeded’ nevertheless. So, I took the risk. After all, the most important thing to me was that the players had to have fun rping their characters...

Kalveig/Siubhan’s team, as I explained in a previous post, was entirely fortuitous.

Kalveig’s player hadn’t intended to play a HoW of Morwyn but, due to his ‘coaching’ of Siubhan’s player into the world of role-playing, he switched deity. As for the priestess.. well, her player didn’t want to touch Rontra with a ten ft. pole (“You want me to be a farmer?!”) so Morwyn was the only choice she had left if she was determined (and, believe me, she was!) to have healing powers. Still, it turned out rather well.. though, at first, I could see plainly that she chafed at her near-uselessness in battle situations*

Musadoc’s player, being a D&D novice, simply picked the first class he liked and went along with the background I provided him with. His companions (in-game, I mean) had no idea at first that he was a HoW just like Kalveig. They mistook him for a commoner which had probably become a mercenary for a reason (be it boredom, debts, or something else). They began to suspect there was more to him than met the eye when he started using his fire powers.

Can’t really blame them for that given the Hearthkeepers had been a defunct order since before the Cataclysm.

BotR is really a one of a kind accessory. When I first read it, it blew my mind and I knew I just had to fit it into my game. I heartily recommend it to any DM out there in need of a rock-solid pantheon!

* Of course, that was only _her_ opinion. All the others were very grateful for her buffing/healing/protecting spells! It was a welcome change (at least to the veterans) from the 'usual' D&D cleric in full plate wading in battle after buffing himself


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## Dolza (May 4, 2005)

I must say that I am very unhappy!  I try not to read a story hour that doesn't have at least 3 or 4 pages of posts.  That way if it's good, as your is, I have lots more to read.  Anyway, keep on writing please!  

I love the way you've done clerics.  It makes great sense.  When I start a new campaign i'll definately use something along those lines.  I had one question though, when I was reading through the cleric spell list inflict light wounds didn't seem to be on the 1st level spell list.  Did you leave that out on purpose?  Also, why include the rest of the inflict spells on the general cleric list when some clerics are not focused on combat or inflicting damage etc?  How would this jive with clerics of healing, hearth, good etc?  Shouldn't the inflict spells be reserved for the more martial clerics in the same manner that healing is?  

Thanks for a highly entertaining story hour and keep it coming!

dolza


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## Mortepierre (May 4, 2005)

Dolza said:
			
		

> I must say that I am very unhappy!  I try not to read a story hour that doesn't have at least 3 or 4 pages of posts.  That way if it's good, as your is, I have lots more to read.




What can I say.. I'll strive to make you unhappier then  



			
				Dolza said:
			
		

> I love the way you've done clerics.  It makes great sense.  When I start a new campaign i'll definately use something along those lines.  I had one question though, when I was reading through the cleric spell list inflict light wounds didn't seem to be on the 1st level spell list.  Did you leave that out on purpose?  Also, why include the rest of the inflict spells on the general cleric list when some clerics are not focused on combat or inflicting damage etc?  How would this jive with clerics of healing, hearth, good etc?  Shouldn't the inflict spells be reserved for the more martial clerics in the same manner that healing is?




Thank you!  

That's a very good question and a tough one as well. Let me try to explain..

When I decided to rework the entire clerical system, I wanted to create a ‘hybrid’ of the 2nd and the 3rd editions. The spheres of the former made a lot more sense than the domains of the latter but, at the same time, I found the 3E system for handling clerical spellcasting rather nice. Plus, I wished to avoid confusing gamers used to the new system. So, I elected to keep the parts of it that made sense.

The first thing I did was to take the PHB’s clerical spell list and delete from it any spell that belonged to the domains (hence the fact that ILW isn’t on the list). The final result was far from satisfying because some spells that I deemed mandatory for every cleric out there were now confined to domains exclusively (i.e. _Dispel Magic_). So, I transferred those back to the main list and searched for suitable spells to fill the ‘gaps’ this had created in some domains (and, let me tell you, it gave me quite a headache!)

Now, I had the spells any cleric could access and the domains that would be granted by the different gods.

My second task was to make sure those domains fitted the deities. Unfortunately (and that’s the only negative thing I’ll ever say about BotR), they didn’t. Some gods had up to 7 (!!!) domains while others had but 3. I reworked the list, giving each deity 4 domains, including new domains I had picked up in various D&D accessories (be they from WotC or not), in an effort to give each and everyone of them a distinctive ‘feel’. Of course, since those new domains contained some spells that were on my ‘common’ list, I had to find replacements for these too <sigh>

With that done, I reread it all at least a dozen times, making corrections until it looked ‘balanced’ enough. Then, I sent the draft to some DM friends of mine to get feedback and made additional corrections based on their comments. The document I posted on this board is - I think - version 1.13 and will probably change some more as new accessories are released. For now, though, it works.

The last annoying part was - and you nailed it perfectly - that some spells on the ‘common’ list still didn’t really fit with the kind of spells _any_ priest would cast. At this point, I had a dilemma. Arguably, I could have tried to ‘excise’ those spells and place them in domains (for instance, I thought about replacing all the spells from Destruction with _Inflict_ spells to make it a kind of reverse version of the Healing domain). In the end, though, I didn’t.

Why? Because when I reread the list of ‘universal’ spells, I realized that the only way to do this would be to go back fully to the 2E system. In other words, there wouldn’t be any ‘universal’ spells (or, at best, a paltry few) and clerics would be restricted almost exclusively to spells granted by their own deity.

I’ll admit the idea was tempting but I ruled against it. The basic premise of the 3E system (and I agree with it) is that _all_ clerics should be able to cast certain spells. Frankly, it makes sense. Any priest _should_ be able to purify water, dispel magic, or do other stuff everyone has come to expect from them.

I began to play D&D in the days of the 1E and, back then, any cleric worth his salt was able to cast hold person or create a zone of silence. Call it nostalgia, but I found myself unwilling to deprive them from it.

Oh, sure, I could have left those spells on an ‘universal’ list and leave it at that but, as I explained before, I didn’t want to change the clerical system so much that modern gamers wouldn’t recognize it at all.

And there is another thing: just because you _can_ cast a spell doesn’t mean you _have to_. For instance, priestesses of Morwyn are very reluctant to use damage-dealing spells. So, even though they could pray their goddess for, say, _Inflict Moderate Wounds_, most (if not all) won’t.. even at the cost of their life. But the possibility must remain because there are some creatures in this world that have to be destroyed (fiends mainly) at any cost if the Children of the Tree are to survive, and that’s any cleric’s primary duty.

Plus (but you couldn’t know it), I wrote additional rules for each clergy. For instance, priestesses of Morwyn are forbidden to wear medium/heavy armor and to wield most weapons. In exchange, they get a few special abilities (like using Sense Motive to create an empathic link). In essence, that’s also a throwback to the 2E’s ‘specialty priest’.

Does this answer your question?



			
				Dolza said:
			
		

> Thanks for a highly entertaining story hour and keep it coming!




Your wish is my command. Expect an update within the next few days (working on it as we speak)


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## Dolza (May 4, 2005)

Yep! that pretty much answers my questions regarding the cleric spells.  The logic is solid adn there's great in game reasons for it.  Thanks for taking the time to explain it.  

I've only been playing for about 8 years so i caught the tail end of 2nd edition and moved quickly to third edition.  However, everyone in my group has been playing since 1st came out.  It's good to be able to discuss things with other DMs.....hard to do when the other dms all play in my game!  thank goodness for the boards.

I'll do my level best to keep this story on the first page, never the less dont be discouraged if you find yourself on the 2nd or 3rd page, with so many good stories out there it's hard for just about anyone to stay on top these days.

dolza


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## Mortepierre (May 5, 2005)

Dolza said:
			
		

> Yep! that pretty much answers my questions regarding the cleric spells.  The logic is solid adn there's great in game reasons for it.  Thanks for taking the time to explain it.




Pleasure to be of help. As long as it isn't a spoiler (and, sometimes, even if it is), I'll be happy to answer any and all questions about my game. Getting feedback from other DM/players that way is invaluable to me.



			
				Dolza said:
			
		

> I'll do my level best to keep this story on the first page, never the less dont be discouraged if you find yourself on the 2nd or 3rd page, with so many good stories out there it's hard for just about anyone to stay on top these days.




Thank you. No need to keep this SH on the 1st page on a permanent basis though. Yes, I'll admit that I was discouraged for a time but some readers really managed to motivate me again and now I am just happy knowing there are readers out there not only waiting for an update but actually demanding one  

Not to mention that, indeed, there are a lot of new (and less new) good SH out there that do deserve their 'place in the sun' too, so to speak


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## Mortepierre (May 5, 2005)

*Chapter 2: Horror on the Hill*
(special thanks to Douglas Niles)

2.1 To Heal or not to Heal..:

Drachenhold - Duchy of Pellham
400 AC (Spring) - Westwood Barony

Nora looked in wonder as the holy lady entered their humble abode and kneeled - _kneeled!_ - on the dirt floor next to her mother’s bed. Her long white robe was as pristine as the first snow in winter. The girl was almost afraid to come near it. By contrast, her own clothes.. nay, her whole house looked dirty and impure. Yet, the lady didn’t seem to mind. Her attention was entirely focused on the body that moaned on the straw mattress.

Gently, she removed the blood-soaked bandages from the arm and examined the injury. She turned to her and spoke. “Kindly bring me some water, child.”

Nora hastened to comply. She rushed out, grabbed a wooden bucket, filled it with water from the rain-barrel and brought it back inside. Taking it from her hands, the priestess’ face was marred by a frown for an instant.

The girl’s morale sank. The bucket had been dirty, of course. She hadn’t thought to clean it first. Red-faced, she was about to mumble an apology when she realized that the lady was whispering a prayer while holding her hand above the container. A soft blue light appeared around that hand, grew in intensity till it became almost painful to look at and then suffused the water, leaving it crystal clear a mere second later.

Magic.. _true_ magic!

With mouth agape, Nora watched the priestess clean the gash carefully before putting her hands over it and start praying again. The lady’s head bent in concentration and a few stray chestnut hairs escaped her coronet, framing her face.

Shadows gathered in every corner of the room, as if the sunlight itself had decided to hide for a time, lest it disturbed what was to come. The priestess now glowed with a light of her own as her voice rose, clear and melodious. The words she uttered, half-song and half-prayer, were in a language the peasant girl had never heard before. Yet, part of her - the part containing the divine spark that is the birthright of all Children of the Tree - understood the message behind the words. This woman was a servant of the gods, and now she was humbly requesting their help.

The brightness emanating from her suddenly increased tenfold. The gods had heard and used her as a living conduit for their divine might. Born of the heavens and the earth, it was the true power.. the true good.

The light collected around her hands, silvery this time. It pulsated around the wound, searching and probing like a bloodhound till - apparently - it found what it was looking for. The radiance then ‘rushed’ inside, seemingly absorbed by the bleeding flesh.. and a miracle happened!

Blood stopped flowing from the lesion as the torn flesh began to mend itself, slowly closing until but a red welt remained.. and not even that moments later.

In awe, Nora could only gasp as her mother opened her eyes and regained consciousness for the first time in 3 days. The wound she had sustained when she fell from the barn now but a painful memory.

Till the end of her days, the 11 years old girl would never forget what she had seen and would bear witness to all who would care to listen that the gods truly existed and - sometimes - cared enough about their mortal worshippers to not only listen to their pleas but also answer them (1). For now though, all she could manage was to grab the hem of the priestess’ robe, bury her face in it, and cry tears of joy and relief.

She felt delicate hands on her head, soothingly stroking her hair. Timidly, she looked up and found herself gazing at the most perfect face she had ever seen. Alabaster skin, untouched by disease or time, prominent cheekbones, an elegant nose, eyes of different colors, and a smile that could have been carved in marble.

_This must be what a goddess looks like_ she thought.

“There will be time enough for you to shed tears later, child. For now, methink there is someone here in serious need of a hug.”

The girl nodded, trying to bring her sobs under control, and went to embrace her mother.

Siubhan smiled and silently thanked Morwyn.

“Sister?”

She turned towards the doorway. A tall silhouette stood there, framed by the setting sun, but even with his back to the light, she easily recognized Kalveig. After what they had been through in the Vault, she didn’t think she would ever be able to forget any of her companions. It had been her very first adventure and, somehow, she felt a bit disappointed by the fact that it would probably be her last as well.

“The meeting should begin shortly, and you asked me to remind you to tend to Pelrind’s wound first. Shall I escort you to the manor?”

“In a minute, Brother. Let me gather my belongings and I will join you outside.”

“By your leave.” Kalveig bowed and left.

As the priestess was putting back her healer’s kit in her pack, the girl came to stand to her left and, looking at her curiously, asked “Is it on account o' he is an e'f?”

The mother reacted directly, fearful that her child might antagonize the woman to whom she was now indebted. “Hush No'a! Don’t bother th' lady witcher silly quesshuns!”

“Nay, t’is quite alright. Curiosity is the mother of knowledge, and knowledge breeds wisdom. Let her ask her question. Tell me, child, what did you mean by that?”

The girl gave her mother a questioning look and, when the latter answered by a nod, formulated her query anew. “Yo' an' yer friends haf been in th' village a few days. Ah knows some were woun'ed but yo' cared fo' them. An' yet, th' e'f is still injured. Today, yo' healed mah Mammy in less than an hour, so ah was wonnerin' whuffo' th' e'f wasn’t completely healed yet.”

Siubhan chuckled. “That is a very good question, child. Very astute of you, I might add.”

Nora blushed.

“You see, the White Lady’s gift to the Children of the Tree was the ability to heal naturally.”

Noticing that the girl was blinking questioningly, she elaborated. “Suppose you cut your finger. Your mother would bind the wound and, after a while, your finger would be as good as new. That is what we call ‘natural healing’. However, that process takes time and the Lady understood that there would be instances which required a more.. ah.. ‘potent’ approach, shall we say?”

Nora nodded, serious-looking as only a child can be when she tries to impress an adult. Siubhan grinned before continuing.

“As an example, let us take my companions. They fought many wicked monsters and were hurt during the battle. If one of them was hurt so bad that he could die, or if he was deeply wounded but still had to fight in order to win the day, he would require ‘instant healing’. In such a case, I would have to beg the Lady for Her assistance, just as I did for your mother, and - assuming She found me worthy - She would transfer a tiny portion of Her power to me for that express purpose.

Now, when we came back to your village a few days ago, some of my friends were still wounded but none of them was at death’s door, nor was there any pressing need for their health to improve. So, I decided to let time and nature follow their course. Pelrind - the elf - is a special case because the wound he sustained to his leg was both deep and infected, thus I have to monitor his condition daily and - when necessary - invoke the Lady to help him recover.

As you must know, the White Lady has to use much of Her power to heal the other gods and their servants when they are wounded while fighting the forces of the Evil One. Each spell we cast drains a little part of that power, thus weakening Her. That is the reason why, we - her priestesses - try to avoid ‘wasting’ it. Hence, we only use our spells when the circumstances truly call for it.. such as in your mother’s case.”(2)

Nora nodded again, visibly impressed by the fact that her mother’s wound had been grievous enough to warrant a goddess’ attention.

“And now, if you will excuse me, I have other tasks to attend.” The priestess stood up and left the house. She joined up with Kalveig outside and they both departed for the manor.

**********
(1) Remember that, in this world, healing magic is rare and far from available to everyone. Peasants in particular, unless they happen to know one of the last few clerics of Rontra, are unlikely to see (or benefit from) it at all. Thus, to most of them, such spells are the stuff of legends. And, given they don’t have many hit points to begin with, even a ‘simple’ _cure light wounds_ is more than enough to impress them.

(2) This was an episode I needed to include because I had a good laugh out of it. At the time, Siubhan’s player had been complaining that she was fast turning into a ‘cure factory’ and so, had decided _not_ to ‘waste’ her spells on the other players as long as her Heal skill was equal to the task. Of course, the others were furious and some even argued that she wasn’t acting properly (according to the tenet of Morwyn’s clergy, that is).

To solve the problem, I tricked her into healing a critically-wounded peasant woman and used the woman’s child to try to ferret out the truth. I’ve got to admit that her answer was so perfect I found myself unable to do anything but laugh for 5 minutes. Trust a powergamer to come up with an ingenious excuse!

The others weren’t happy, of course, but even they had to acknowledge it was plausible  

EDIT: To clarify, Morwyn's priestesses cannot deny their help to anyone asking for it, except if the wounded is a creature so evil that its redemption is deemed impossible (i.e. fiends or undeads). That said, there are no definition of what constitutes proper 'help'. Siubhan's player used that to her advantage as the basis of her argument. I didn't prevent her from doing so because, though borderline, it wasn't heretical. Had she tried something along the line of "I am required to help you, so here is a glass of water", I wouldn't have been as lenient...

**********


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (May 6, 2005)

It's quite a neat argument for getting out of just being the party medic ... but ... what about other spells? Is it assumed that healing spells are powered by a different reservoir of divine energy? If not then surely the goddess' clerics should, as far as possible, refrain from casting all spells - which isn't necessarily a great solution for a "powergamer" after all   .

Anyway, good to see another update from you. I like the "shorter but more frequent" updating system ... provided you keep to the "more frequent" part, of course   .


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## Mortepierre (May 6, 2005)

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> It's quite a neat argument for getting out of just being the party medic ... but ... what about other spells? Is it assumed that healing spells are powered by a different reservoir of divine energy? If not then surely the goddess' clerics should, as far as possible, refrain from casting all spells - which isn't necessarily a great solution for a "powergamer" after all




Spot-on!  

Great minds think alike, it seems, for I came to the same conclusion a short time later after mulling over it.

Long story short, she found herself caught in her own trap and was forced to go back on her stance (well, somewhat..). It was either that or I would have whispered my counter-argument to the others  

Events conspired, however, to show her that not keeping your meat-shields at peak health is a bad idea when you have both a low AC and few hit points...


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## Nephtys (May 7, 2005)

More please.


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## Funeris (May 10, 2005)

Absolutely wonderful writing, Mortepierre.  And I love the group dynamic that has began to emerge.  Can't wait (too much longer) for more.


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## Mortepierre (May 10, 2005)

Funeris said:
			
		

> Absolutely wonderful writing, Mortepierre.  And I love the group dynamic that has began to emerge.  Can't wait (too much longer) for more.




Welcome on-board to the new readers. May you enjoy our journey together  

Actually, I debated for a long time whether I should include all the PC's dialogues (thank God for audio tapes!) or concentrate on the action. In the end, I decided that what made this group special was not so much their adventures but their 'group dynamic' (as you so aptly put it).

The funny thing is that the member who will end up causing the most trouble may not be the one readers suspect at this point...  

An update won't be long in coming. This week-end to be precise. Unfortunately, it will also be the last for a while as my work will take me far from home (and my comp, notes, tapes, etc..) till the beginning of June   

I'll be able to log from time to time to check on the thread but not to work on the next update before my return. So, I'll try to make this week's update 'special'


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## Funeris (May 10, 2005)

Well I guess I can wait till this weekend 

Realizing that you are from the Belgium, makes me kind of sad.  If my parents hadn't moved backed to the states when I was younger, I might have ended up in your campaign   Belgium-born I am.  Guess I just have to cope with being in one of Destan's campaigns 

And your writing is magnificent...that 'language barrier' that you worried so much about seems absolutely non-existent.  With one leap, you cleared the hurdle.  And yes, like others have said, your writing is much better than many native speakers.

Ok, I'm done brown-nosing for this weekends update now.


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## Mortepierre (May 12, 2005)

Funeris said:
			
		

> Realizing that you are from the Belgium, makes me kind of sad.  If my parents hadn't moved back to the states when I was younger, I might have ended up in your campaign   Belgium-born I am.  Guess I just have to cope with being in one of Destan's campaigns




Doh! Now, I am the one feeling sad. I could have moved to the state and ended up in Destan's campaign!  

If you don't mind me asking, which character were you playing? (in his SoOF campaign, that is)



			
				Funeris said:
			
		

> And your writing is magnificent...that 'language barrier' that you worried so much about seems absolutely non-existent.  With one leap, you cleared the hurdle.  And yes, like others have said, your writing is much better than many native speakers.




Thank you! I'll make sure to send congratulations to the authors of the Harrap and the Webster dictionaries  

<goes back to finishing the update>


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## Funeris (May 12, 2005)

Actually, I wasn't a part of the campaign he became well-known on the boards for.  I'm a part of the second, lesser known campaign.  The link is in my sig. above.  If you want to know what character I was, you could always go and read the _Heroes of Marchford_.   Heh, couldn't help but bump something I write.  

And I'll admit, if you get around to reading Destan's 2nd SH, my writing isn't on par with you.  But I'm trying and hopefully one day it will be.


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## Mortepierre (May 12, 2005)

Funeris said:
			
		

> Actually, I wasn't a part of the campaign he became well-known on the boards for.  I'm a part of the second, lesser known campaign.  The link is in my sig. above.  If you want to know what character I was, you could always go and read the _Heroes of Marchford_.   Heh, couldn't help but bump something I write.




I know, I read it regularly   

I have just been a silent lurker till now   



			
				Funeris said:
			
		

> And I'll admit, if you get around to reading Destan's 2nd SH, my writing isn't on par with you.  But I'm trying and hopefully one day it will be.




Eh, my own goal is to be - one far away day - half as good as Destan, so that's quite a compliment. Given 'practice makes perfect' and the number of posts you have already made in your own SH, I think it's safe to say you're halfway there already


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## Mortepierre (May 15, 2005)

Nephtys said:
			
		

> More please.




Your wish is my command. Just don't get used to it..   

2.2 A Difficult Decision:

When the companions emerged from the Vault after opening the treasure room, most of them were injured and all of them were exhausted. Still, their first order of business had been to let Mayor Varnsen see the corpse of the strange ‘bride’ and ask for his help in identifying it.

The man had been too young at the time of Baroness Amelia’s disappearance to be able to remember her features but his friend Aniel - being an elf - still could. After examining the body for some time, he affirmed it wasn’t the Baron’s wife. Indeed, the woman - whoever (or whatever) she had been - rather reminded him of some unsavory creatures which had long plagued elves and humans alike in the region: the _Shatraugs_ (3).

That disturbing news was counterbalanced by the fact that - in all probability - the adventurers had not only solved but also put an end to both the disappearances and the disease which had plagued the locals for the last 40 years. Thus, the mayor hailed them as heroes and tried - not too subtly - to convince them to stay. After all, if Weston was to recover fully, it would need invest.. er.. protectors.

The companions politely yet firmly declined. Kalveig and Siubhan were bound to return to their monastery. Pelrind wished to travel abroad and had convinced Musadoc to accompany him, if only for a while. As for Eirak, no one knew what he intended to do but, from the way he grumbled, it didn’t seem likely he would settle down in the barony either.

They spent the next two days back into the Vault, exploring every room and passage (except for those obstructed by a cave-in) systematically - solving magical enigmas as needed - to gain access to the rest of the NeMoren’s wealth.

Once more, Musadoc surprised his friends (and himself!) by revealing he had an innate knack for appraising items of all kinds (4). So, they gave him the task of coming up with an estimate of the treasure’s value.

With the halfling occupied with his inventory, Siubhan spent her days caring for Pelrind and any villager in need of medical attention. Meanwhile, Kalveig - unwilling to risk seeing the boggers return - rounded up some men and, with their help (and Pelrind’s guidance), provoked the collapse of the humanoids’ access tunnel.

Eirak was seldom around. He was leaving Weston every day at dawn, returning only at dusk. If there was a purpose to his long walks, only he knew what it was. But the time spent outdoor was apparently beneficial to his mood as the latter improved steadily.

One week after they had first come out of the Vault, Musadoc summoned them to the manor for a meeting. The time had come to divide their ‘inheritance’...

**

They had assembled in the office where it had all started, except neither Varnsen nor Aniel were present this time. The massive desk was covered with a variety of items which had been neatly grouped by category.

While the others were all seated, Musadoc was standing on the Baron’s chair. It was too big for him to sit on and, by being upright, he felt he would have a better view of the proceedings anyway. His notes were on the desk in front of him for easy access in case he needed to refer to them.

“Friends, as you well know, we found a number of objects which Pelrind and the lady Siub-”

“Forgive me for interrupting, master Musadoc.” Siubhan raised her hand. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that - given our recent adventures - there is hardly a need to continue using titles among ourselves. May I suggest we simplify things by resorting to first-names solely?”

The halfling looked around and, given no one was voicing an objection, nodded and smiled before continuing. “As I was saying, thanks to Pelrind and the la.. er.. _Siubhan_’s help”, he grinned sheepishly, “we determined that certain items among those we recovered were - for lack of a better word - ‘magical’. Most of them were draughts of healing.. something I sure wish we had had back then!”

Most of the others wordlessly thumped their right fist on the desk to underscore their approval of his statement.

“Ahem, sorry.. there were also a few defensive draughts, and two scrolls which Siubhan deciphered. I’ll let her describe them in a moment. Finally, we have the orb of light, the silver ring from the Burrower’s lair, the statuette from the room with the stained glass, and the hammer Eirak.. ah.. _found_ in Kragor’s tomb (5).”

Everyone’s attention was on the dwarf. Of all the artifacts the halfling had enumerated, the weapon was the only one Eirak had stubbornly refused to hand over to Musadoc, not even for a cursory examination. Even now, the warrior cradled it in his arms, as if daring anyone to challenge him for its ownership.

“Dunno what the fuss is ‘bout. It’s part o’ me share, nuff said.”

There was a moment of awkward silence during which the others expected Kalveig to react aggressively to the dwarf’s egoistical stance, but - to their surprise - he didn’t. Instead, the holy warrior calmly addressed Pelrind.

“In your opinion, is it a spellblade?” (6)

The elf blinked. “I can’t tell, really. Enchanted weapons aren’t my forte. It has been expertly crafted, that much is sure. And the metal it is made of is unknown to me but, though I am familiar with the Earth’s ‘bones’, I know next to nothing about alloys.” He shrugged. “It _is_ magical, so chances are that it is a spellblade. Could it be more than that? Quite Possibly. The fact that it was named certainly suggests it is. I am afraid you’ll have to ask a loremaster if you want a confirmation.”

Kalveig nodded slowly. “Then, here is what I suggest. These four items bear the strongest dweomers, correct? Since there are four ‘heirs’, each of them should be entitled to keep one. If Eirak’s choice is the hammer, so be it. Unless I am mistaken, neither Pelrind nor Siubhan could use it, and it seems too large for Musadoc to wield properly, so...”

The others quickly nodded their assent, too happy to avoid another confrontation with the dour dwarf.

“I would like to claim the calisil as my share, if you don’t mind.” The elf stroked protectively the orb of light. “It was crafted by my people and I would see it returned to them.”

Again, nobody disagreed.

“That leaves only you and me, Siubhan. The ring or the statuette?”

The priestess smiled benevolently at the halfling. “Pick one and I’ll gladly take the other, my friend.”

“Well, I could say I simply like the sculpture but, in truth, Pelrind told me a few things about it that aroused my curiosity. In all fairness, I think you should hear them too before we decide.”

The elf picked up the figurine. “Observe its dull green color and slightly mottled appearance. That’s ‘serpentine’. It’s not exactly a gemstone. I would even say it’s rather common if you know where to look for it. Highly resistant to fire, it’s easy to work with and my own clan uses it extensively for works of art. Other colorations exist but the green one is prevalent. In fact, that’s what gave the stone its name as - apparently - someone thought it looked like a snake’s skin.” He shrugged, indicating he didn’t know if the story was true.

“Anyway, the figurine depicts an owl. An eagle owl to be precise. It’s standing straight, wings folded, and eyes open. The style is elvish, I am sure of it. Yet, it doesn’t have the ‘wild’ quality usually associated with my people’s work. It’s too serious-looking, and this leads me to believe that a _Bshehe_ - you would say ‘city elf’ - was commissioned to craft it. There are a few of us that have chosen to live among humans in their cities, usually because there is a huge demand for our ‘brand’. After a few years, it’s not unusual for them to lose their link to the _Ahlenh Gonh_ - the Source of Life. One can tell by the quality of their workmanship.” He frowned, clearly dreading to share such a fate.

“Now, take a look at the base of the statue. Notice the ring of tiny letters circling it? That’s elvish. They spell what I think are the command words to activate the figurine’s powers. Furthermore, there is the engraving of a sword under the sculpture. Correct me if I am wrong but isn’t that the symbol of one of your human gods?”

Kalveig nodded. “Aye, Maal, Lord of Justice and the Dead.. and Morwyn’s son I could add. Actually, if I am not mistaken, the owl is sacred to him. It’s his ‘divine pet’ or something like that. I have seen many paintings representing him with one standing on his shoulder, as if advising him.”

The elf grinned. “As I thought. If my guess is right, this figurine acts as a receptacle for the spirit of a giant owl, such as those that nest in the deepest parts of the domain of my forest-kin. I am reasonably familiar with the process because I know of similar items holding elemental spirits captive. Basically, its owner should be able to release said spirit under a corporeal form for a limited amount of time every day.. or week perhaps. Since there are two sets of command words, it is safe to assume there is a secondary power. And given the statuette’s aura displays the color of divination, I would surmise that it can also provide its owner with some kind of advice (7). Once you have decided who shall receive it, I’ll teach him - or her - the formula. Oh and, just so you all know, the ring bears an aura of abjuration. Thus, it is probably a protective item of some sort.”

“That owl sounds like a companion tailor-made for you, Musadoc. Since I already have one,” she glanced briefly at Kalveig who stiffened unconsciously, “you can have it. I would prefer the ring.”

“Thank you la.. Siubhan. Very generous of you!” The halfling pocketed the statuette, slightly impatient to try it out. “Now, for the monetary part. Please, keep in mind that it is difficult to give an exact figure given the kind of valuables involved. So, you’ll have to forgive me for staying vague. The good news is that what we found _should_ amount to in-between 2000 and 2500 golden crowns (8) per heir, perhaps a bit more. I haven’t included in that total the two shields we set aside for Eirak and Kalveig in replacement of those they lost during the exploration of the Vault, nor the alchemical items we split between us.”

As he saw eyes popping out, he quickly added. “Wait! Wait! Before you get all wound up, you should hear the bad news. First, little of that sum is available in coins. Most of it consists of antiques - cumbersome ones, I might add - that will have to be transported to a sizeable town and traded. Second, as astounding as it may sound, I don’t believe this is all we were supposed to find. Think about it for a minute. The wealth of the NeMorens was legendary and yet, what did we recover? Mainly old weapons, outdated armors, tapestries, etc... But coins? No. Altogether less than a thousand, and most were commons or knights. My guess is that there is a room in the Vault which we haven’t discovered yet and which holds the ‘real’ hoard of the NeMoren family. Take a look at that sketch.”

He unfolded a large piece of paper on which he had drawn a map. “See that corridor blocked by a cave-in? The one that was going straight ahead on the other side of the secondary door? According to my calculations, it leads to the same area as the collapsed hallway that was just beyond the skeletons’ lair. The surrounding rooms and hallways delimit a square-shaped area, roughly fifty feet across. Ample space for one or more chambers...”

“Can ye gain access to it?” The mere possibility that they could be more gold down there had obviously caught Eirak’s attention.

Musadoc grimaced. “Yes, but not without the proper equipment _and_ people trained for that kind of operation. There is no way of knowing just how far the cave-in goes, nor how unstable the walls and roof have become. For all we know, the entire room could have collapsed.. in which case it would take months to excavate. On the other hand, we _did_ recover enough wealth to finance such a work, so...”

“But that would delay our departure for weeks, possibly months. We would have to go to the nearest town, sell the items recovered, use the money to hire miners, then come back and stay around the whole time since the entrance of the Vault requires the four keys to open” interjected Kalveig.

“True.. but if you would all trust me with your keys, I could supervise the whole procedure and then send for you when we ‘hit gold’ so to speak” answered the halfling.

This started a debate about who was willing to stay or, more to the point, who was unwilling to leave without his/her key. When the first angry comments were exchanged, Siubhan interrupted them.

“Please, my friends! Enough of this. There is something else we need to discuss first. As Musadoc mentioned, two magical scrolls were recovered. The first holds a spell that can free a body from whatever fell influence compels it to stay immobile. The second could very well answer many of the questions which have gone unanswered since our exploration of the Vault. Namely: what has happened to the baroness and the elf-ring of the NeMorens?”

Kalveig raised an eyebrow. “Is it a spell that will allow you to contact the White Lady or one of her servants?”

“I guess you could say that.. although that is not exactly _who_ I had in mind...”

“Now you’ve got me confused, Sister. If not the Lady, then who?”

“Ahem.. the person we found in the Vault...”

Comments were suddenly heard from all sides as the others finally realized what she had in mind.

“She is talkin’ ‘bout foul necromancy, ain’t she? Durn! They just don’t make them priestesses like they used to...”

Kalveig shot a venomous glance at Eirak and then turned on Siubhan. “You can’t be serious! Do you have any idea of the dangers involved!?!” (9)

She reddened but sustained his gaze. “I do actually! First of all, the scroll describes not only the ritual but gives detailed instructions to minimize the chances of botching it. Second, you seem to forget that, while I walk the Path of the Healer, I also follow the Path of the Erudite. Casting this spell _is_ allowed to those of my Order, though I will grant you they don’t make a habit of it.”

“But-”

“But nothing!” The others recoiled in surprise. It was the first time the young priestess had displayed such uncharacteristic anger. Siubhan bit her lips, clearly trying to calm down. When she spoke again, her voice was steady but steely. “I know what you are thinking: ‘she isn’t ready’. Well, I honestly think I am. Besides, more is at stake here than my personal safety or ‘how much gold we can dig up’. The NeMoren’s good name has been blemished due to our findings. A young woman is still missing and, without the elf-ring, the locals could be facing poverty in the near future. You have all taken terrible risks in the Vault while I stood by and did nothing. Now, it is my time and, though I would rather do this with all of you, I am fully prepared to go through it alone if needs be.”

Her companions looked at her and then at each other with a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment.

“Would it not be.. ah.. wiser to let the Holy Mother of our monastery do it? That would lessen the risks, no?” Kalveig’s voice was pleading.

“No. I considered the possibility but it has been almost a week since the ‘bride’ died. By the time we reached the monastery, the scroll would be powerless to reach her soul. Besides, the Holy Mother isn’t an Erudite, so she couldn’t cast the spell even if she wanted to. It has to be tonight or never.”

“I’ll come.” Surprisingly, it was Eirak who had just spoken. “I always pay me debts...” The gruff dwarf got up and left the room without another word.

“Can’t say I really look forward to this”, he sighed, “but we started this journey together and we’ll end it the same way.” Musadoc jumped down from the baron’s chair and went to gather his equipment.

“I will come as well.” Pelrind patted Siubhan’s shoulder before adding in a low voice “Just make sure you do this for the right reasons, my friend. Pride and self-pity usually don’t coexist too well...”

As the elf exited the office, holy warrior and priestess were left alone. During the silence that followed, they both realized something had changed between them. It was an event all Faithful Sons and Matriarchs experienced sooner or later when a priestess finally gathered the courage to assert her authority over her bodyguard (10). For Kalveig, it was the second time this had happened. He hadn’t expected it so soon, and it brought back bittersweet memories. As for Siubhan, she was at a loss about what to say. A part of her wanted to apologize, but another part insisted she had done nothing wrong.

_Why do I feel so guilty over it, then?_ she thought.

Finally, Kalveig broke the silence. “By your leave, Matriarch.” He bowed and made for the door. The fact that he had used her formal title wasn’t lost on her. As he was about to walk off, he stopped in the doorway for a second. Without turning to face her, he added “For what it’s worth, I think you did a great job in the Vault.”

Siubhan continued to look at the spot where he had stood for a long time after he was gone. When the tears came, she didn’t fight them back...

**********
(3) a.k.a. ‘hags’

(4) Actually, it was his _Divine Inspiration_ ability which had just become active (see the Rogues Gallery for details)

(5) And what of Lisette’s ring, you’ll ask? Well, in my world, hags had to become really crafty to avoid pesky inquisitors, so they developed a way to mask an item’s magical aura. Basically, by investing more time/gp/xp in it, they produce an object which reads as ‘normal’ if examined by _detect magic_ as long as the caster fails a Will save (vs DC 20 in this particular case). Both Pelrind and Siubhan failed and thus overlooked the ring.

And yes, I stole that idea from the old (2E) Al-Qadim setting, so sue me 

(6) See the Rogues Gallery (Chapter 1) for complete details

(7) I know, not exactly the ‘standard’ model of _serpentine owl_. This variety is created exclusively by Maal’s priesthood. It has the ‘giant owl’ function too but the ‘normal owl’ power is replaced by ‘cryptic augury’ (which is a nice way for me to have fun and hand out a clue to my players at the same time  )

(8) Drachenhold coinage: 1 gp = 2 ep (electrum piece) = 10 sp = 100 bp (bronze piece)

Neither pp nor cp exist. Platinum is too rare to be minted, and the old kingdom of Pellham was already using bronze pieces before the Cataclysm, so the habit stuck when the Drachens took over. The various pieces are nicknamed as follows:
gp: ‘crown’
ep: ‘noble’
sp: ‘knight’
bp: ‘common’

(9) Yes, they’re talking of the _Speak with Dead_ spell. So, what’s so dangerous you ask? Well, I never liked the way that spell made it to 3.5E. It has become so simple and efficient that they’ve taken all the fun out of it. Thus, I modified it quite a bit.

For starter, my version once again uses the caster’s level to determine just how old the creature interrogated can be. No more 5th-level cleric asking questions of a 10,000 years old corpse!

What’s more, I don’t subscribe to that ‘imprint of the soul’ stupidity. Come on! We’re talking necromancy here. Conjuring the soul (or spirit) of a dead person to force it to answer queries should involve more than holding one’s holy symbol above a corpse for 10 minutes!

The way I see it, you drag (literally) a soul back from whatever afterlife it had and (try to) interrogate it while it’s still confused enough not to make you pay dearly for the favor. Since the session lasts 1 minute per level of the spellcaster, that leaves a lot of time for something to go wrong...

There are 4 parameters that have to be taken into account here:
a) how powerful was the person at the time of her death?
b) how traumatized was she by her death?
c) what kind of afterlife has she enjoyed (or suffered) since then?
d) did the spellcaster have anything to do with her death?

That will determine how accurate and/or truthful the replies will be. Beyond that, the more the spell lasts, the greater the risk of the soul trying to do something ‘bad’. This can range from possessing the caster to escaping as an incorporeal undead.. or worse.

Hence, that’s not the kind of spell you cast everyday, nor is it cast lightly (at least by non-Evil spellcasters).

(10) This is actually seen as a ‘necessary evil’ by elders of Morwyn’s priesthood. They know the Matriarchs’ mission is too important for them to ‘play it safe’. Hence, it is vital that they be allowed to complete it without being hindered every step of the way.

Faithful Sons, due to their training, often become overprotective of the Matriarchs they are supposed to guard, especially if the holy warrior is a veteran and the priestess is young and inexperienced. Thus, all Matriarchs must learn to ‘say no’ when their bodyguards try to influence their decisions because of what they deem an ‘unacceptable security risk’.

A Faithful Son who cannot ‘yield gracefully’ to his Matriarch quickly finds himself reassigned to the units protecting Morwyn’s temples and monasteries (where he won’t be in a position to order a Matriarch around). Matriarchs who prove too weak-willed to assert their authority when the situation calls for it are usually relegated to the infirmary of a monastery (where they will take orders exclusively from the Holy Mother in charge).

Only strong-willed Matriarchs paired with efficient but obedient Faithful Sons receive ‘high profile’ missions.

**********

See you all back in June for the next update!

*Edit: added note #10*


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## Hairy Minotaur (May 16, 2005)

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> See you all back in June for the next update!




B..b..but, what am I supposed to do until then?   


Great update as usual!


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## Camris (May 20, 2005)

*Bump*

And a bump!


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## OaxacanWarrior (Jun 9, 2005)

*It's now June!*

I have enjoyed this story hour immensly.  Great job!  It is now June so I am anxiously awaiting the next update.


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## Thanediel (Jun 10, 2005)

Don't worry about Mort not answering folks. When he got back from his business trip, we cornered him and demanded a full week-end gaming session to compensate for the month we didn't game at all. So, he is busy preparing right now (not to mention reacquainting himself with his family  ).

He told me he was impatient to work on the next update though, so I bet you'll get to read one by the end of next week.. if he survives this week-end, that is


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 18, 2005)

Ummm...OK. Update time? Yes?

I'm really looking forward to the next installment and seeing what happens with Siubhan. Good work by the way in terms of the speak with dead spell. I like the way how you so neatly put it in it's correct context so it makes sense. Good stuff!

Again, I feel the need to comment on how well you are able to present the characters of the players you DM. You truly tell a story and tell that story well.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise

PS: Again, anyone just dropping by to see this post who has not read this story hour - can I firmly suggest that you do. Do not be distracted by the length of posts. Like Sepulchrave's, you appreciate the length and "meat" in each update and yearn for more.


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## Mortepierre (Jun 18, 2005)

Herremann the Wise said:
			
		

> Ummm...OK. Update time? Yes?
> 
> I'm really looking forward to the next installment and seeing what happens with Siubhan. Good work by the way in terms of the speak with dead spell. I like the way how you so neatly put it in it's correct context so it makes sense. Good stuff!
> 
> Again, I feel the need to comment on how well you are able to present the characters of the players you DM. You truly tell a story and tell that story well.




Yes, update soon, I swear on Terak!

As always, thank you for pimping my SH and the compliments  

In-between work, my personal life, and my two campaigns, sometimes I wish I was living on the Astral Plane. At least there I wouldn't have to worry about having only 24 hours per day!  

Anyhow, my Drachenhold campaign ended during the last mega-session after (almost) 3 years of intense gaming. I confess it feels strange. Originally, I had planned on beginning a new campaign once this one was over but, after being inspired by the SH of folks such as Sep, Jollydoc or PC, I have decided to give high-level (Epic?) gaming a try.

So, once the promised update is delivered and my other gaming group gets the attention they deserve, the survivors of TFaK will pick up sword and staff again and look for another worthy cause to champion (which is to say they'll deal with the aftermath of the first campaign!  )

Oh and, my friend, judging by your own latest update, methink you finally reached your goal (as if Destan dropping by wasn't hint enough). That is, becoming a reference to other authors. Your descriptive skills have truly grown lately!


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## Mortepierre (Jun 26, 2005)

Apologies for the delay. Here we go.

Actually, the post was longer than this but I realized that if I finished writing all I wanted to put in there, it would be a (very) late delivery. So, let's call this *2.3 - part I*, with *part II* already under way 

2.3 Dark Deeds at Dead of Night - part I:

Night found the five companions trudging across sodden fields some three miles northeast of Weston. The spring-downpour had begun at dusk, just as they were leaving the village, and the steady staccato of the rain drops had accompanied them ever since like a mournful marching band. In other circumstances, they would probably have welcomed it, interpreting it as a good omen (11). In this case, however, and given what they had set out to do, it felt more like an ominous warning.

They were all following Siubhan for once. The priestess had apparently spent the last few days secretly searching for the suitable location to conduct the ritual whenever she wasn’t busy helping the villagers, further proof that her decision had been anything but hasty. Now, she was walking in silence, mentally reviewing for the hundredth time the security measures she had taken to insure nothing dramatic would happen. The scroll had been crystal clear about it: contacting the soul - or spirit - of an evil creature entailed great risks. Thus, she needed to be extra careful to reduce them to an acceptable level.

While she was still convinced that this was the only solution at their disposal, she felt more than a little guilty for forcing her friends’ hand. She vowed to make it up to them later, especially to Kalveig. The holy warrior had barely spoken to her since her earlier outburst and looked almost despondent. She sighed and berated herself for having lost her calm. Not only had it been a deplorable incident, but the repercussions now threatened her concentration when she could least afford it!

Musadoc was close behind, weapon at the ready in case they ran into an unfriendly encounter. Kalveig and Pelrind were next, carrying a flat, rectangular-shaped object between them. Eirak was last, dragging a travois on which a rather large bundle had been strapped. He was careful to stay some twenty feet behind the others and the lower part of his face - almost up to the eyes - was covered by a piece of cloth, as if he was trying to avoid smelling something bad.

As they were walking side by side, Pelrind had been able to observe Kalveig carefully. The latter’s face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes.. those were a different story.  The elf had once heard a human say that ‘eyes were the window of the soul’. If there was any truth in that statement, then the holy warrior’s soul must have been experiencing a storm of epic proportions.

“A bronze common for your thoughts...”

“Excuse-me?”

“Isn’t that the expression humans use when they wish to inquire about what others are thinking?”

“Oh, that.. aye, sorry, my mind was elsewhere..”

“A ‘15 feet ahead’ elsewhere?” asked the elf, giving a quick nod in Siubhan’s direction.

Kalveig stared at him for a few seconds before looking down at the ground, with a rueful smile on his lips. “That plain, uh?”

“To one who would call you ‘friend’, yes.”

The holy warrior stared at him again, puzzlement warring against mistrust in his eyes, till common sense won the day and he slowly relaxed. “Can I ask you something?”

Pelrind nodded.

“Do you - elves, I mean - ever experience.. regrets?”

“We do. Your race and mine aren’t that different, despite what some may have you believe. But we are taught early on to control that particular emotion. Hmm.. do you know what a _tri’iak_ is?”

Kalveig looked at him blankly.

“No, of course, I didn’t think you would. Well, try to picture a small bear-like creature (12), albeit half of Musadoc’s size and with dark-green fur. They are placid animals who spend most of their time in the trees of my forest-kin’s home. You can detect them from afar because they smell strongly of peppermint - their favorite food. Our children love them. They like being patted and, in fact, will go out of their way to be. Moreover, when you do, they emit a sort of humming sound that is highly soothing. Elven mothers occasionally use them to help younglings reach their first meditative trance.”

“Sounds like a nice animal to have around, no?”

“Well, they would be if they hadn’t an annoying shortcoming: they are insanely jealous of each others. When one of them finds a good spot on a tree, you can bet that within an hour at the most that spot will be so overcrowded as to be entirely uninhabitable. If you start patting one, pretty soon you’ll be surrounded by an army of tri’iaks all competing for your attention. And if you dare hold one in your arms, others will jump on you from nearby trees! In short, while one is fine, it tends to ‘multiply’ rather quickly and what was once an enjoyable experience soon turns into a nightmare.”

“And the moral is..?”

“I thought that was rather obvious. Regrets may seem like a useful thing at first because they allow you to revisit the past and dream about how ‘good’ life _could_ have been had certain events turned out differently. However, the more you dwell on them, the more you get depressed.. which in turn leads to other regrets, etc... It’s a vicious circle. In other words: it’s healthier to concern oneself about the future than the past because the former can still be influenced while the latter is fixed.”

Kalveig nodded slowly. “I don’t think my kinsmen realize just how deep the wisdom of your race runs. You are very different from what I had been taught to expect from a ‘typical’ elf. Er.. no offense intended.”

“None taken. We are _all_ guilty of using stereotypes. As I said before, your race and mine aren’t that different. And now, if you don’t mind, I have a question of my own.”

“Shoot.”

“I am curious as to why you didn’t react more strongly when Eirak made clear his intention of keeping Nemesis whether we agreed with his decision or not.”

“Do you want the official version or the officious one?”

Pelrind grinned. “Both, call me curious.”

Kalveig chuckled but then turned serious again. “If I had to justify my actions, I would say that my role - as a Faithful Son - is to prevent conflict, not foster it. The dwarf managed to get under my skin several times already, something I am not particularly proud of. Moreover, I am not one of the heirs. Thus, it wasn’t for me to oppose his arrogance. There was something else though.” His face hardened. “Did you notice that he was the only one who showed up at the meeting fully armored? Not to mention wielding Nemesis, a magical weapon whose properties we still know next to nothing about.”

The elf couldn’t help it; he stole a glance at Eirak. “You think he would have become violent if we had tried to part him from his new ‘toy’?”

The holy warrior remained silent for a while before answering. “Given his behavior in the Vault, it was a possibility I couldn’t disregard.. and thus a risk I couldn’t afford.”

**

It had taken them almost 3 hours to reach the secluded spot the priestess had chosen. It was a sort of small island that had formed in the middle of the river at a point where the latter widened. To call it an ‘island’ was an exaggeration though for, in truth, it was no more than a big pile of mud mixed with branches and various debris which had been carried along by the stream. Perhaps the remains of a beavers’ dam? No matter, it would serve its purpose which was to isolate the ceremony from the mainland by surrounding the officiants with running water (13).

A makeshift altar had been raised at the highest point of the ‘island’, the item Kalveig and Pelrind had transported rested on top of it, covered by a black sheet. At its foot lay Eirak’s bundle, wrapped in hessian.

Siubhan was right next to it while her companions were surrounding her at equal distance. Thus, they formed a rough cross-shaped pattern with the altar (and priestess) at the center (14). This would insure that, if the spirit came, the life-forces surrounding it would act as ‘anchor points’ (15).

They all wore somber clothes, most having opted for a large, hooded earth-brown cloak (16). At the priestess’ urging, they had also carefully smeared the metallic parts of their equipment with soot (17).

“Now, remember: do not speak up while I interrogate the spirit. At the very least, your voice would be a distraction. At the worst, it could remind her of her last moments, thus ruining any chance of cooperation. Incidentally, that’s the reason why I insisted on large hoods. Keep them pulled tightly over your head so that your face stays hidden. Of the five of us, I am the only one who had no direct involvement in her death. I wouldn’t want her to freak out because she saw the face of one of her killers. The situation may get tense at times, so please refrain from intervening unless things get really out of hand.

The scroll warned that there would be a fair bit of bullying, insults and/or whining involved, especially when dealing with an ‘evil’ spirit. Do not let her words trouble you, and do not let her anger you. They sense negative emotions, and can ‘feed’ on them. If anyone is still uncomfortable with what is going to happen, I would ask him to leave now. Halfhearted support is no support at all in such endeavor.”

Siubhan observed a two minute silence, giving time to each of her companions to weigh the risks and - possibly - reconsider. None of them made a move to leave but Pelrind made an unexpected request.

“I know you will be busy concentrating on the ritual but, if at all possible, I would like you to.. ah.. ‘inform’ us of what you are doing at each step along the way. Just so we aren’t caught unaware or tempted to do something rash.” He winked once to reassure her.

The priestess smiled. “Fair enough.” She looked up at the sky. The moon was hidden behind clouds. Not so much that one couldn’t see it, but enough to obscure its silvery brilliance. A bit like a woman wearing a diaphanous gown. “Veiled moon, perfect. If it wasn’t for the rain, we-”

The rain stopped, as if on cue. It happened so suddenly the five adventurers were left bewildered. The “Uh oh..” from Musadoc that followed was a perfect translation of their apprehension.

“It.. it must be a simple coincidence. The spring-rains are highly unpredictable. Everyone knows that, right?” Siubhan’s voice betrayed her lack of confidence in her own statement. She coughed a few times to give herself time to refocus while the others exchanged worried looks.

“Anyway.. as I was saying, the conditions are _now_ perfect. It’s currently _faoilleach_, also known as the ‘wolf-month’, a time of dearth. However, the ancients used to call it _a’ marbh mhiòs_, which means the ‘dead-month’. It is said spirits find it easier to travel back to the world of the living during this period of the year. Let us hope this is more than an old superstition...”

She pulled two candles from her bag, set them out on both sides of the altar, and lit them. “These will act as a beacon to guide the spirit to us, just as a boat needs a lighthouse to find its way into a safe haven (18).”

Next, she slowly unwrapped the bundle Eirak had brought to the site. She wrinkled her nose and had to bite her tongue not to show her disgust as the contents came into view: the corpse of the woman they had defeated in the Vault a week earlier. As per the tradition, it was largely intact but had been covered thoroughly in quicklime (19) by the locals.

“The lime will prevent me from talking directly to her cadaver, thus I brought this.” She unveiled the item placed on top of the altar, revealing a large mirror borrowed from the NeMoren’s manor.

“Alright, here goes nothing..” She pulled out the scroll from its case and, gently, unrolled it. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on the words and symbols, trying to avoid any mispronunciation of the celestial tongue. As she read, power awakened within the sacred ink and letters began to disappear after being briefly outlined in bright-blue flames.

**

Most members of the Races of the Tree believe in a simple fact: do something sufficiently evil and, at the time of your death, Maal will judge you guilty and send you to Hell. The truth, as always, is a bit more complicated than that...

Those few beings from the Prime who are versed in planar lore understand that Hell is only one of three ‘Prison Planes’. Which one you end up in supposedly depends on the kind of ethical behavior you displayed during your mortal life. Disciplined evil belongs to Hell. Self-centered evil earns you Gehenna. And anarchic evil goes to the Abyss.

Alas for these esteemed scholars, they couldn’t be more wrong. While it is true that fiends inhabiting those planes can be expected to display a certain kind of conduct according to their place of ‘birth’, they couldn’t care less for what a soul did when it was still bound to a body of flesh and bones. To the demons, daemons and devils alike all such a soul represents can be summed up in two words: nourishment and power!

Eventually, if a soul is lucky and/or resourceful enough, it will ‘adapt’ to its surroundings and ‘evolve’ into a fiendish creature that will prey on others just as it was once preyed upon.

Another common misconception about the Prison Planes is that they are separate. After all, demons call the first layer of the Abyss the ‘Howling Threshold’, while daemons refer to the top layer of Gehenna as the ‘Circle of Wrath’, and devils use the name ‘Avernus’ for the entrance to Hell. The last thing many aspiring summoners experienced was their utter surprise at seeing, say, a demon step through a gate they had opened to what they believed was the upper level of Hell!

Actually, while those planes’ lower layers _are_ separate, their topmost one isn’t. They simply all share the same! Celestials and loremasters call it the ‘Infernum’. Fiends nicknamed it the ‘dumping grounds’.

In an alternate reality, an Italian poet will one day experience a brief vision of Hell. His shattered mind - for who could witness such spectacle and retain sanity? - shall try to translate into words what cannot be described adequately through such limited medium. To him, the first layer of Hell will be known as ‘Limbo’, a place of sorrow without torment where the light of reason illuminates the virtuous pagans. Well, suffice it to say he got it all wrong...

Imagine a vast sea of fire beneath an unending sky that is always dark, stormy, and full of seething red light. From this nightmarish ocean emerge outcrops of red-black rocks. Some are nothing but craggy, featureless peaks in the middle of roaring flames, while others are large enough to support a multitude of cities, outposts and estates. These ‘islands’ are the territories that fiends claim and fight over endlessly. Not only because they hold entrances to the deeper layers of the three Prison Planes, but also - and especially - because this is where evil souls (and spirits) ‘crash down’ constantly, ‘raining’ from the sky. Thus, the larger territory one controls, the more souls one can reap.

**

Infernum
Disputed Territories - Dustbone Desert

The creature stopped and sniffed the air in search of its quarry. Its body, resembling an emaciated and hairless ape, was pale and sickly, covered with a layer of the coarse red sand prevalent in the region. It had a toothless mouth and a cyclopean orifice instead of eyes and nose.

There was nothing in sight but more sand and the occasional screaming cactus. Not even a dung mound, telltale sign of a titanic stalker.. which in itself was rather good news as it meant there were no competitors around.

It had been traveling for 7 days straight, heading ever deeper in the desert. A risky proposal as the eastern portion was currently under control of an invading demonic army. Yet, the scout believed it was well worth it. A week earlier, a Hellwarden from the Skull Ridge area had reported witnessing the passage of a ‘blazing red star’ above this region. Normally, souls that fall to the ground leave only a temporary trail of purplish vapor stretching down from the lowest cloudbank. To be described as a falling star meant it was bigger than usual, and thus contained more iliaster (20).. or that it was a newly fallen celestial. In both cases, a highly valuable commodity which House Haimon had to secure at all costs. Hence the dispatching of a Soulsniffer (21).

It was near; it could feel it. Perhaps over the next dune? As it cleared the obstacle, the fiend finally found the object of its quest. There, in a small crater, the sand had been simultaneously vitrified and shattered by the impact of a gem-like meteor which lay even now half-buried.

Cautiously, the scout drew nearer, letting its senses attune themselves to the surroundings just in case this was an elaborate trap. It wouldn’t be the first time...

Sensing nothing wrong, it crept up to the ‘meteor’ and examined it. Oblong, its outer shell had been smoothed by the intense heat that accompanied its arrival. It was red-tinted and translucent. A shape could be discerned inside.. a humanoid shape.

The tracker sniffed a few times and frowned. Whatever or whoever was inside had a spirit, not a soul. In itself, it wasn’t that unusual. Many races on the Prime owed their existence to the Fiery One but none of them had been born on the accursed Tree of Life. More the pity, for spirits were a poor substitute for souls when it came to providing iliaster.

More puzzling was the fact that it was encased in a memory-cyst (22), a rare event indeed! The Soulsniffer slowly circled the cyst, looking for clues to the identity of its creator. If it was a fiend, then the latter would have left its mark to insure safe delivery (23). Ah yes, there it was.. and it belonged to..

The scout froze, its body held in the grip of an emotion it hadn’t experienced since the time of the Celestial War, when the Renegade and his fallen angels had been exiled to Hell: unadulterated fear.

It didn’t have time to ponder the implications of its discovery as motes of blue light suddenly materialized around the cyst, circling it counterclockwise and filling the air with the heavy smell of incense. Abruptly, they penetrated through the protective material, suffusing the form inside, and then vanished as quickly as they had appeared.. leaving the crystalline coffin empty.

The fiend’s genuine surprise at this turn of event was short-lived. One second it was considering how best to capitalize on the unexpected information to advance itself, and the next it was choking on the blade that now emerged from its scrawny throat.

As it fell to the ground, it caught a brief glimpse of its murderer. Normally, the sight of an Ashmede would have been enough to astonish it but, given what he had just witnessed, it was oddly fitting...

**********
(11) The Cataclysm ended in 6 AC when unusually heavy (some say, divine) rains finally dissipated the Mists of Chaos. Thus, since that time, folklore has associated raining with salvation.

(12) Actually, something like the unlikely cross between a koala and a sloth.

(13) All evil spirits are supposedly held at bay by it, not just those of the ‘pointy-teeth’ variety. The key word here being _supposedly_...

(14) The ‘cross’ Siubhan’s companions formed symbolized the crossroad between Life and Death. As they stood in a circle around her, it also represented the cycle of the seasons, the four stages of a human’s life, as well as the cardinal directions. In this case: Eirak to the North (winter/old age), Musadoc to the East (spring/childhood), Pelrind to the South (summer/adulthood), and Kalveig to the West (fall/maturity).

(15) The spirit would be drawn instinctively to nearby life-forces but, the latter being equally distant in the four cardinal directions, would find itself caught in a kind of necromantic tug of war, thus ending up immobilized at the center of the pattern. Well, that was the theory anyway...

(16) Bright (= cheerful) colors could distract the spirit or even, at worst, anger it. Another reason why the ritual had to be conducted at night.

(17) Reflective surfaces are a dangerous thing to have around during such a ritual as - supposedly - spirits can use them as ‘windows’ to the material world.

(18) Actually, the marine analogy is an apt one as the spirit has to go upstream the Dark River (also known as the ‘River of Souls’). The latter flows from the Prime Material to the Land of the Dead (Maal’s plane) through the Astral Plane, and is coterminous with the majority of the other planes along the way. Usually, this is a ‘one-way trip’, but there are a few spells that can help a soul (or spirit) travel upstream.

(19) The bodies of dead witches (and warlocks) pose an interesting conundrum to superstitious folks. Burning them is out of the question. First, because cremation is associated with rebirth and, second, because fire is also associated with the Deceiver, their ultimate lord and master.

Burying them would be like planting a seed of pure evil, so that has to be avoided too.

However, their spirit _has_ to travel to Hell eventually or it risks haunting the living as a vengeful ghost.

Thus, commoners usually ‘drench’ them in quicklime and then hang them from a tree (not necessarily by the neck though). They believe that the lime will ‘bind’ their evil to the decaying corpse (thus preventing it from ‘leaking’ into the material world) long enough for the elements to ‘wear it away’, piece by piece. It is said black necromancers greatly prize the grey-white dust coming from such bodies.

(20) Iliaster is the substance fiends extract from souls through torture. It is their primary source of nourishment.

(21) A rare breed of devil that can track down a soul (or spirit), even over enormous distances.

(22) All those who ‘fall’ to the Infernum do so through the Lethe Clouds which rob them of their memories (making them easier preys for the fiends). Many never recover (not to mention that few survive long enough for that recovery to take place...). Some rare individuals have developed spells which can protect them from such a fate in the event of their death.. or made a deal with powerful fiends to the same effect.

(23) Any fiend powerful enough to create a memory-cyst is someone you do _not_ want to cross.

**********


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## pogre (Jun 27, 2005)

Fantastic as usual. Very much looking forward to the next part!


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Jul 1, 2005)

Very, very cool, Mortepierre. Like Pogre, I'm looking forward to more ...


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## kanithardm (Jul 14, 2005)

What's taking so long?!


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## Azgulor (Jul 18, 2005)

Bump.


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## Funeris (Nov 5, 2005)

A *BUMP* for an excellent story hour that's been quiet for too long.

Where'd you go Mortepierre?



~Fune


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## Mortepierre (Nov 7, 2005)

Funeris said:
			
		

> A *BUMP* for an excellent story hour that's been quiet for too long.
> 
> Where'd you go Mortepierre?




I'll admit it has been a while. Fear not, I am neither dead, nor gone to where the internet doesn't exist (is there even such a place anymore?), nor suffering from a terminal disease.

I have to take care of quite a few issues right now, some family-related, and rather than posting an abject apology every week for being late I resolved to put things into order first. Being late is bad enough but promising a deadline and constantly pushing it back would have been even worse  

I've kept an eye on the boards and from what I can see many of the most popular stories haven't been updated for some time now, so I guess I wasn't the only one kept busy at home   

Never fear, I'll return someday.

Thanks for the bump!


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## Funeris (Nov 7, 2005)

I'm glad you're not dead and/or haven't gone to where the internet doesn't exist (yes...those places do still exist! _shudder_).  

I look forward to an update at some point before christmas 

And no problem on the bump...you're story is definitely worthy of a few new readers...

~Fune


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## Hairy Minotaur (Sep 7, 2006)

Arise! Arise I say! Oh where oh where has Mortepierre gone? 

Did it work? Will you be returning to continue this fantastic adventure?


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## Thanediel (Sep 8, 2006)

I think our valorous DM is hiding in shame for failing to continue writing as promised   

Joke aside, Mortepierre is still busy as hell because of.. uh.. stuff I won't mention without clearing it with him first   (no, nothing illegal  )

Our Drachenhold campaign had entered its epic phase (read: us getting kicked to kingdom come by monsters I didn't even know existed) when our DM discovered another setting: Arcanis (from PCI). Apparently, it was love at first sight 'cause he convinced us to abandon our beloved lvl12+ characters to start back at lvl1 there.

I'm sure we'll manage to force him back to Drachenhold eventually but, for now, it's the Coryani Empire, its civil war and lot of politics for us. Note that I don't blame him. We're having a good time and I'll admit the local options are really interesting. Reminds me a lot of good old Paranoia   

Till then, I'll continue to bug him till he goes back to his stack of game notes and finally translates them to something worth reading by you all. Eh, his last post ended just when Pelrind (that's me!) was finally going to have a chance to shine, so I want to read about it!


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