# Shadows of Malboria (The Chronicle of Kurgish -updtd 11/09/05)



## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

This tale is based on the current campaign (at the time of this writing) that I am playing in, run by Kid Charlemagne, entitled “Shadows of Malboria”.  More information about his campaign world, CrystalMarch, can be found on his boards here.

In the game, I play the Kurgish “Cutter” Barrowsteel, a dwarf with a mission.  This story is told from his perspective, and might be considered a little dwarf-centric   Sometimes events which happened to other party members might be told a little out of sequence, or not at all, because of this first-person point of view.  For my fellow players who may not be getting as much spotlight time in this telling of the campaign as they deserve, all I can say is, if you’re going to do something interesting, make sure the dwarf is around 

*Background*
First, here are a couple of the relevant events from the world’s history as they relate to Kurgish and his ancestors:

*498:* The 700-year-old dwarven Kingdom of Spyria splits into pieces. Rysia absorbs a part of the kingdom, and two new dwarven realms are eventually formed: Virisia (498) and Istyria (554) 
*670:* Dwarven Kingdom of Virisia is laid waste and enslaved by a powerful dragon called Mahafren, who takes residence in its greatest city and demands tribute and service from its new subjects. This continues to the present day. 
*998:* Present Day

And here is Kurgish’s background story presented to the DM:

Though the god Corvus may hold the keys to the lands of the dead, family legends hold that it was a Barrowsteel dwarf who fashioned the locks.  Whether there is any truth to that or not, the Barrowsteel family has been in the service of the goddess Galerra, judge of the dead, for countless generations. They have been architects of great tombs, and craftsmen of the weapons and armor, gold trinkets and bejeweled treasures taken by many heroes on their journey into the afterlife.  Often they have served as guardians of important burial sites, or bailiffs to the priests of Galerra.  As soon as they learn to speak, Barrowsteel children are taught proper respect for the dead, and the prayers to offer for brethren fallen in battle.

After the fracturing of the kingdom of Spyria, most of the Barrowsteel family gathered under the banner of newly formed Virisia.  Later generations believe the family was seduced by promises of great reward from the ruling clans of the new country, if they used their skills to honor the heroes of Virisia.  Indeed, the tombs and monuments crafted over the next generation were some of the grandest ever seen in dwarven history, though many felt there were warriors more deserving of such memorials.  This hubris was also decried as one of the reasons Virisia fell before the great dragon, Mahafren.

Now, for over two hundred years, the dragon's avarice has reached even into the sacred sites, stripping the best works of the Barrowsteels' from the great crypts.  Most of the family who remain work to keep any unplundered burial sites guarded and hidden.  This is their atonement.  This is the re-dedication and continuation of their sacred duty to Galerra.

For Kurgish Barrowsteel, however, this simply isn't enough.  Inspired by tales of his grandfather, who died battling against the dragon’s machinations, Kurgish believes the only true way to honor the dead of Virisia is to take back the land from Mahafren, and reconsecrate the tombs built by his ancestors.  

Kurgish fell in with a group of like-minded young dwarves.  He even became a blood brother with the warrior Giri, after they had saved each other's lives on different occasions. For over a year, their band concentrated on harassing those who collected tribute for the dragon.  Kurgish was often admonished by his father, Lahir, that such actions would bring the wrath of Mahafren's minions down on their families, but Kurgish did not relent.

He and his fellows concentrated for several months on a mercenary named Tivero, who's band of men specialized in plundering smaller dwarven gravesites for what trinkets they could find.  Kurgish suspected Tivero to be touched of dragon blood himself. Even though they knew they could not face the more experienced men directly, the daring dwarves snuck in to sabotage their wagons, steal their food or gold coin payments, and hinder them in any way possible. 

During a raid on the graverobber's campsite, Tivero’s men captured Giri.  The young dwarf did not betray his friends, but the clan symbols Giri so proudly wore gave Tivero enough to enact a little revenge.  Soon, in the middle of the night, agents of the dragon turned Giri's village into a bonfire of bodies on the mountainside.

Demoralized, the young dwarven raiders disbanded, with Kurgish still uncertain about Giri's fate.  He now understood the danger his father had warned him about, but his father would no longer speak to him.

Kurgish was not yet ready to give up.  Now he saw he needed to work from without, to find resources that would not put his friends or family at risk.  And it would take gold, lots of it, to find the things he needed to carry on the fight.  

The human lands near Malboria were in need of mercenaries during their petty conflicts; someone of his skills should be able to make his fortune there.  And perhaps even adventurous allies willing to help him in his ultimate quest.  Kurgish knew it might take a while, even years, but that was why the gods gave dwarves such long lives.  And the dragon certainly wasn't going anywhere...


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*A New Chronicle*

*[session 1, Dec 12th '04]*
This is the first time I have put quill to parchment since Giri's capture, when I was still Chronicler for our little band in Virisia.  What has it been, almost a year now?  I had not intended to start writing again until I had found a unit to join, possibly with any mercenaries that might be hiring in Stonehearth, but things have taken a different turn.  My fate, at least for a short time, is linked with a group of fellow travelers, strangers, as we have inherited a common enemy and try to complete a task for a man none of us knew.  But it does seem the right thing.

Are these the people I might tie my fortune to?  Can any of them aid me with my ultimate goal?  The possibility is exciting, and as I cannot sleep after the attack on us at the inn, I have decided to begin a new chronicle.  Even if it is just for myself, it will help me remember these people should I ever need to find them again.

So let me go back, to two days ago, when we first met.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 12th, 998*

I had been travelling by coach to *Stonehearth*, but decided to walk to the next stop on the route, *Daggerhall*, to get some exercise and hunting in.  I almost missed the coach as it was about to pull away from the *Dagger's Edge* tavern.  When I hoisted myself into the carriage, my nose was assaulted by the smell of dandied humans. Fortunately, there was another dwarf, though his accent pegged him as an Istyrian.

Once I settled in, I looked at my coach companions a little more closely. I noticed the girl with us, who called herself *Charlotte*, actually appeared to have a touch of elven blood in her, though it was hard to tell at first due to the enormous hooded cloak she wore.  She seemed to be travelling with the young human *Marcus*, who latter informed us that they were half-siblings.  They both seemed a bit secretive, but later I learned this might be because she has some magical talent.  Apparently Crystalmarch has some rules regarding such things that the siblings may have bent or broken.

Also with us was a priest of the new god, who invited everyone to a game of cards.  Though he, *Aleator*, seemed pleasant enough, over the last couple of days he has demonstrated a healthy interest in games of chance.  It makes me wonder what his church's stance is on such things, as a priest with such a habit might be tempted to dip into the congregation's coffers.

*Barrick*, the other dwarf with us, tells me he was travelling to work at a relative's smithy in Stonehearth, but as he was obviously trained as a warrior, I don't believe he was truly ready to lay down his axe for such a mundane existence quite yet.  He seemed traditional and pragmatic in his ways, reminding me of my father.  I haven't decided yet if this is a good thing.  In any event, he appeared the most likely person I might convince to throw his lot in with me, if he was not content to become just a smith.

Lastly, there was a rail-thin human, *Handel*, who looked as if he would break in half if you flicked a booger at him.  He seemed a nervous fop, so I paid little attention to him, though he seemed to be clutching a satchel as if his life depended on it. Apparently, it did.

As we journeyed, I mostly watched and listened to the others. A few hours in, there was a bumping on the roof of the coach.  Before we could even speculate, there was another sound the humans thought to be a shot from one of those infernal gnomish hand-cannons.  I stood up and glanced out in time to see the driver's body fall by the window.  Without thinking, I opened the door and climbed up to the driver's seat.

At first I thought it was empty, the driver's cloak lying on the footboards.  But as I reached for the reins, an *odd, bald, gray-skinned human* whipped back the cloak, though I don't understand how he could have been hiding there, and pointed a hand-cannon at my face.  Suspecting he might be bluffing with an spent gun, I spoke loudly and tried to stall until I thought I heard someone climbing up the other side of the carriage.  I convinced the highwayman that I was climbing back down into the carriage, but once I stepped around the side, I reached for Giri's pickaxe hung on my back.  Behind me, I saw Charlotte was leaning out the door, gesturing and causing a rope to magically snake by and tie to the reins.  

Climbing back up to the front, I glanced down the road. We were coming to a fork.  There were also three men on horses, with shorn heads and clothing like our friend on the coach.  

Glancing back, I saw Barrick was hauling himself up the other side of the driver’s seat.  As I prepared to attack, the horses veered off the main road onto the fork, and the jolt of the rougher terrain bounced me onto the carriage roof.  Barrick fell and I thought him lost.  Keeping low, I struck at the brigand as he fumbled for his weapon.  Out of nowhere, Barrick leaped back into the seat and grabbed the man, then proceeded to pummel him into unconsciousness.

The sound of another gunshot drew my attention behind the wagon; the three riders were quickly bearing down on us.  I attempted a couple of bowshots to little effect, while crossbow bolts and all sorts of strange magic seemed to spew from the carriage below me.  Barrick climbed on the roof next to me, suggesting that we toss our knocked-out friend over in an attempt to trip a horse.  Before we could decide, two of the riders went down from the attacks of our fellows below us.  The third began to slow down, his attention seeming to be ahead of the coach.  Following his gaze, I saw we were headed at full speed to a tight turn just before a bridge!  I clambered back to the front, shouting a warning to everyone, and tried to apply the brake.

It wasn't enough.  Going round the bend, the coach tipped and rode on two wheels, barely supported by the low wall of the bridge.  Then I heard the sound of the other rider's horse galloping next to us, a thump, and then we were toppling over.  Barrick and I managed to jump clear. The coach crashed into the water below, killing Hansen and battering the rest, though somehow the priest had managed to stay on the bridge.  The rider paced his horse and thought about firing his gun at us, then rode off.

After retrieving our gear, we searched for the unconscious highwayman, but did not find him. We also discussed what to do with Handel's body.  There were suggestions of leaving him in the woods. I shuddered at the thought.  From what the others told me, he had made a showing for himself in the fight, even taking a bullet.  I had always been taught that the respect the bodies of warriors were shown was taken into account when Galerra judged their souls.  How would it look if we just left him in the woods to the beasts?  Thank Darvas they finally decided to take him to a town for proper burial.

We also examined the package he had been carrying.  The water had ruined the name on the address, but it was to go to *a place in Stonehearth called "The Boar's",* something.  Inside was an *ornate clock*, later identified by Marcus as being crafted by a man named *Vittorio Matteo*, some big-wig wizard back in the day.  Funny how we just assumed the robbers were after the clock, without really knowing that much about each other, but it turned out it was the right call.

We gathered up our wet gear, and after Barrick fashioned a makeshift cart, we headed back to the main road.  On the way, we intended to search for the bodies of the fallen riders, as well as our carriage driver.

The slain highwaymen were nowhere to be found.  As we approached the main road, we could see more riders had appeared.  Everyone slipped into the woods, and I stealthily maneuvered up to get a better look.  There were three of them, similar to the ones we had seen before, though one of a strikingly different appearance rode up to them - *an elvish looking woman on a large black stallion*.  I couldn't make out what they were saying, but she was obviously in charge.  She sent one of the riders up the road in the direction of Stonehearth, while she and the others waited at the fork, presumably for us.

Our group decided to cut through the woods, and travel parallel to the main road.  Unfortunately, that meant we had to leave the cart behind.  Barrick volunteered to carry the body.  Checking the road once in a while, we soon spied the lone horseman, as he slowly plodded along, searching.  We quickly organized a plan to set up an ambush, with Barrick and I moving ahead of the rider, and the rest behind him with their crossbows, should he head back to warn his comrades.  We were almost on him when Barrick's scalemail caused him to stumble.  Alerted, the brigand turned and galloped back down the road before we could engage him.  Someone struck him with a crossbow bolt, and I dashed out onto the road, firing an arrow that slumped him over in his saddle.

Seeing he was still alive, we decided to take our strange gray-skinned, white-eyed friend for questioning after he woke.  We also liberated his *gun* and I took his jerkin which seemed suited for blending into the forest.  Slinging him over his horse, we moved deeper into the woods, and within a couple of hours, made camp for the night.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 13th, 998*

In the morning we traveled on toward Stonehearth.  It was a clear day and easy to find our way, even so far from the road.  Eventually we came on a river, presumably the same one that the bridge on the fork crossed.  Below us was a ford where the steep cliffs had crumbled somewhat into the water, and further down we could see signs of a village.  Descending to the bank, we crossed the river and soon found ourselves in the sleepy human town of *Ash Lane.* 

There was a church of Alioth, the new god, in the village, as well as a constable's station and an inn.  I went to check the stables while the rest discussed what to do with our prisoner.  I wanted to make sure our pursuers had not arrived in the town ahead of us.  There was no sign of the black stallion, so I joined up with the others again at the inn.  

Handel's body was at the church and the prisoner was in the jail.  Word was to be sent if he woke. Barrick commented that we should remember Ash Lane as the "village of helpful people."  What little other information gathered was that a *Lord Dansforth* lived in the manse above the village next to a ruined keep, and that the church was run by a Father* Dornan*.

We had also sold the prisoner's horse in exchange for a *pack pony*, with *thirty gold* to boot.  The priest - "Al," as he liked to be called - engaged us in a game of cards for beer. The human brew was weak and watery, but it helped me relax a bit after our long day's walk.  With our windfall of gold, we all rented private rooms when we were ready to retire.  In the morning, we planned on checking the prisoner and seeing to the burial of Handel.

Sometime in the night, a sound from the far end of the hall woke me.  I listened a moment, then heard Barrick shouting something.  Grabbing my urgrosh, I threw open my door and jumped out into the narrow hallway.  In hindsight I realized that the door should have still been locked.

Standing in the middle of the hall was the she-elf.  She had already stabbed Barrick with a spear, and when he tried to maneuver past the deadly bladetip, she struck him with her bare hand hard enough that he flinched back in pain.  

Coming up the stairs behind them, one of the gray men appeared, wielding a pistol.  I shouted a warning to everyone as I rushed at the elf, who struck at both of we dwarves with lightning speed with her spear, barely missing us both.  Barrick jumped back into his room to retrieve a better weapon. The elf turned and gave me a quick assessing look, then made a fluid retreat into the open doorway of Marcus and Charlotte’s room.  Something about her dark, colorless features stirred something in my memory, stories from childhood.  She was a *Shadow Elf*!

The whir of a lead ball spinning past my head broke my reverie. The gray man was still trying to judge the effectiveness of his shot through the smoky blastpowder cloud when I charged him.  Just as I caught a glimpse of the priest peering from his room, the haft of the elf's spear struck me solidly from the next doorway.  Stumbling, I still managed to get a glancing blow against the shootist.  He pulled out a thin blade, a scoundrel's weapon, and we were engaged.

As we fought, loud sounds were coming from the siblings' room; the knock of wooded weapons, furniture crashing, glass breaking.  Barrick appeared at the doorway, rejoining the fight.

Seeming to hear some silent command, the gray man broke off and ran down the stairs.  I decided not to give chase, and moved to the room where the rest of the battle was taking place. Everyone had stopped fighting, staring out of an open window, with no sign of the Shadow Elf or her companions.  She had indeed tried to take the clock, but Marcus had protected it with a quick bit of furniture re-arrangement.

We shared our observations from the encounter, and Marcus told us what he knew of the clock's maker.  Even though the clock had been checked for magic, my suggestion of winding it to see if it did anything special was soundly rejected.  Barrik even went as far as suggesting it might be easier to sell it for parts and scrap, making it useless to the shadow elf and her companions.

After Aleator tended to our wounds, we all retired to our beds.

Now as I sit here penning this new chapter in my quest, I am stuck by a sudden ill feeling.  If all of our rooms were so easily unlocked, how difficult will it be for our gray captive to escape this hamlet's jail?  Or for those that attacked us to break him out? 

The sun is almost up. I will see who else of my fellow sojourners is an early riser and head down to the constable's (what was his name? *Bergen*?) and see if he still lives.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 14th, 998*

*[session 2, Jan 9th '05]*
At first light I awoke, recalling the events of the previous evening. Figuring that if anything was going to happen with regard to the prisoner, it had already happened, and the consequences could wait until after breakfast.  Banging on all the doors of my travelling companions as I passed, I yelled for them to meet me in the dining room downstairs.  As we ate, we discussed questioning the prisoner.  

When we were ready to go, Al grabbed his holy symbol and mumbled something.  Maybe priests of the new god bless the meal after you're done eating.  Whatever it was, he became quiet and had a look of concentration on his face as we walked the two doors down to the constable's. The lawman asked us about the ruckus last night, implying that if we have trouble following us, it might be best for us to be on our way soon. We explained to him that's why we're here, to see if his prisoner could tell us anything.

Our gray skinned captive was still there in his cell, and alive.  The constable wouldn't let us in the cell with him, but we could talk through the bars.  Father Al looked in, and seemed to be satisfied with something he sensed. He and Marcus, with interjections from Barrick, started questioning the gray man.  At first we tried the deal-making angle, though occasional comments from the watchful constable undercut our credibility somewhat.  The talks soon devolved into threats, which the constable more loudly countered us on.  I suggested to our group's self-styled interrogators that we try a different tact, playing on the fact that the gray man's companions seemed to have abandoned him.  That at least earned us a name, and we then knew the shadow elf was called *Kurav*.

The prisoner remained elusive regarding anything else about his companions or the clock.  When Barrick tried to get the constable to play along with another not so subtle threat, the lawman lost his patience and asked us to leave.  We also had the impression that, with just our word on what happened, the gray man might get off lighter than we would have liked. Especially since we were not going to be allowed to stay in town for the several days before the trial to bear witness against him in person.  Ah, well.  Human lands, human laws.  We'll make sure we do our questioning before hand, next time.

The service for Handel was to be that morning, so most of us headed over to the church for the ceremony.  Aleator lingered behind a few moments, presumably trying to smooth things over with the constable, and Barrick headed back to the inn for some more breakfast.  It sounded like a good idea, and my stomach grumbled a little, but I was curious to see a human funeral.

The ceremony was brief, and there was no one to speak for the deceased, though I silently offered a prayer to Galerra, as my father had taught me.  Afterward, I spent time looking at the monuments in the cemetery.  Even the largest seemed but pauper's stones by my family's standards, but perhaps they did not have any skilled masons in the village. I think the worshippers of the new god don’t have as fine an understanding of the relationship between death and the earth, as we dwarves do.

The others milled about inside the church, and Father Dornan placed some of Handel's affects into Aleator's care.  Barrick waited outside, apparently with something to tell us.  We gathered in the street, but before barrick could get anything out, Marcus started giving suggestions that my fellow dwarf might try being more subtle in future dealings with humans.  "Subtle", of course, is a human word for "not saying what you really mean", which to a dwarf, especially one from the free kingdoms like Barrick, is the same as telling them not to talk.

"Fine, you want me to shut up, I'll shut up," he said, while Marcus hurriedly tried to explain that's not what he meant, suddenly aware he might have insulted Barrick.  

Finally, in Dwarven, Barrick told me aside that a farmer had mentioned there were three funny colored men forming a blockade on the road out of town, who seemed to be looking for something specific, as they didn't take anything from him.  Respecting his current attitude toward the humans, I merely suggested to everyone that perhaps we should continue to travel off the road, since we knew the shadow beings were still out there.  Dwarven subtlety? Maybe, but then, I wasn't from the free dwarven kingdoms.

As we discussed the merits of various routes out of town, Barrick eventually did let slip that there was someone waiting on the road ahead for us.  However, he was all for meeting them head on, while the rest of us thought avoidance still the best route.  We might be able to win against them, despite their guns, but all they had to do was get the clock, not necessarily beat all of us.

Father Dornan, overhearing some of this, offered a suggestion that we might be able to take a more hidden path out of town.  There was an abandoned keep not far from Lord Dansforth's current dwelling, whose crypts led to a series of caves, and from there to an old copper mine which surfaced four or five miles away.  The constable had the key for the gate of the keep, which Aleator convinced Father Dornan to request for us, given our current standing with the constable.  It turns out, however, that the lawman was more than willing to help us out, if it meant getting us out of town quicker.

We made arrangements to have our pack pony taken to a farm near the exit of the mine, and then headed off.  We entered the keep through its rusty gate, leaving the key for the constable to retrieve.  Inside was a small temple to the Twelve, a reminder that the new god Alioth had not always held sway here.  A stairway leading down was filled with collapsed rubble, but after a bit of searching, we found one of the statues could be moved, with a little difficulty. Underneath there was a shaft leading down to the crypts (beneath the statue of Galerra, Judge of the Dead.  Of course!)  

The metal rungs had been sawn off, and it was a lengthy climb by rope to a small room below filled with water that had seeped in.  Below we found a cleaned out shrine, a lesser crypt and a more elaborate one marked with the family name "Areth" above the gateway.  The burial graves were set into columns, and the back quarter of the chamber had collapsed. An open grave with a pile of bones on the ground in front of it seemed to form a tunnel to the other side of the collapse.  

Bones and clothing seemed be in more disarray than what would have been caused by merely falling out. I looked closer to see that something with claws about the breadth of a man's hand had been roughly searching it. Several of the corpses in the other section we found in the same state, some of the not so old ones also having their bones cracked and the marrow apparently sucked dry.  

I respectfully placed the poor soul's bones back and we climbed through the tunnel.  We found the caves the priest had spoken of and followed them for about a quarter mile.  At one point a lengthy crack ran along the ceiling through which shone daylight.  The shadows created by that almost caused us to not notice the large spidery creature hanging from the ceiling.  

Perhaps because we were at the rear and not staring into the glare, Charlotte and I saw it first and fired.  My arrow struck stone but her magical bolts were true.  The spider-thing responded by throwing a gob of liquid that quickly formed a web in the air, covering me as it fell. I was stuck fast.  As Marcus moved to assist me, everyone else opened fire.  Another mass of webbing covered Charlotte and it scuttled down the wall to our right.  In the light we could see how truly horrible it was - a bloated, man-like body, blackish purple all over like a fresh bruise, with a spider's head and clawed hands and feet.

Charlotte and I were still trapped, as Marcus pried with his staff and sliced with his dagger at the webbing.  Father Al and Barrick sent rock chips flying from the wall from the impact of their bolts and slingstones, but the creature ducked out of sight down a side passage.  Barrick ran after it, but cursed aloud as he stumbled into an almost invisible web strung across the passage.

As Father Al rushed in to tear at the web, the entire area was suddenly filled with spiders!  While he was distracted trying to brush them off, the man-spider moved forward and bit Barrick through the webbing.  I finally tore free and moved to try and hack Barrick loose, spiders squishing underfoot.  Marcus cut through the last of the strands holding Charlotte, just as Barrick also tore out of the sticky strands. Marcus quickly laid down a line of oil and lit it to keep the small spiders back.

Seeing we were all prepared to press our attack again, the man-spider started to climb the wall away from us. A few more bowshots and spells failed to bring it down, and it scampered out the crack in the ceiling above.  

Barrick leaned up against the wall and mentioned that he didn't feel too good.  His joints were feeling particularly achy.  Father Al tended to him as best he could, but I don't know how much help it was.

Without their leader, the smaller spiders scattered.  We burned the webs away and looked at the immediate area behind them, seeing scattered coins from previous victims.  In a separate alcove, we discovered a couple of bodies webbed to the wall, drained of most of their fluids.  We decided to torch the corpses to prevent any eggs the spider thing might have left behind.  The webbing and dry flesh made an effective pyre.  I said a prayer to Galerra that these souls not be judged too harshly, or that they spend too long in the Shadowlands for being given last rites with unknown names.

During this, Barrick had fallen asleep in the main passage.  We decided to let him rest while we carefully searched the area, gathering up the loose coin as we did so.  Rousing Barrick, we continued on.

Eventually the natural cave walls gave way to tooled ones.  We had entered the mines.  Testing for drafts and letting the earth guide us on our way to the surface, we wound our way through several intersections in the mine.  At one point we found a chest which had been dug up from the floor and broken open.  It was empty, its contents gone, possibly taken by the men whose bodies we had burned, the chest's coins now in our pockets.

At last we came to a large scaffold in the mine which seemed like it might lead to the surface.  Not trusting the aged ladders, Barrick used his grappling hook on the structure, tested it, and started climbing up his knotted rope, despite the effects of the poison on him.  I thought of saying something, but decided against it.  Once he spotted the exit, we all followed up and out into the fading light of the day.

We hiked over to the home of *Urza*, the farmer that was to have our pony for us.  We asked if we might stay the night in his barn, to which he was agreeable, and he even invited us in to share some stew first. As a show of appreciation, we did a few small chores for him before the meal.

Back in the barn, we counted the few coins we had gained today, and Father Al showed us the ring that Handel had worn.  Silver with an onyx setting, and engraved with a skull emblem. It looked to me to be worth a couple hundred gold coins, maybe a little less.  The appraisal was merely for curiosity, however, as our cleric explained he had promised to deliver it to a wizard college that might have known Handel.

Before going to sleep, we talked about staying on at the farm a couple of days, but thought it best to move on in the morning, to avoid bringing any trouble to our host's doorstep.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 16th 998*

We'd traveled the last day and a half slightly off the road, avoiding any incident.  Barrick seemed to be feeling better.  Marcus cobbled together a wood and stone decoy of the clock which he carried somewhat prominently in the original clock’s sack.

By mid-afternoon we had reached the outskirts of Stonehearth.  It seems to have a fairly sizeable dwarven population along with human, so all of us would probably blend in fairly well.  Just in case anyone was looking for a group of our description, we decide to go in somewhat separate, some of us from another gate.  We agreed to meet up at the *Dragontooth Armory*, the smithy of Barrick's cousin *Strom*.  On the way over, I noticed an inn across from a park, with the name *"Boar's Tusk"* was carved on the shingle.  Maybe this was the place where the clock was supposed to be delivered?

Cousin Strom was a good host, even with the humans, and offered us a little food and drink. Barrick filled his kin in on why we were currently traveling together, omitting the information about Handel's timepiece. We asked him about places in town with "boar" in the name - inns, jewelers, and even clockmakers.  The inn we spied earlier was the only one he could think of.  

Thanking him, we headed over to the Boar's Tusk to see if we could figure out to whom the clock is to be delivered.  Our plan, devised on the way over, was to simply ask at the desk if anyone was expecting a package from points west of Ash Lane, claiming ignorance of recipient and sender.  The ruse didn’ go far, as the desk clerk is unaware of anyone looking for such a package.  

The backup plan of the humans involved chatting to random strangers in the bar area, trying to drop subtle inquiries about the package without tipping our hand regarding its contents or previous owner.  Father Al's approach involved joining a table with a card game going. Go figure. We dwarves decided to go back and talk to Strom, taking the clock and filling him in on the whole story this time.  

On the way there, I asked Barrick if making horseshoes is really what he wants to do with his life. "Watching you jump into those fights with the gray guys and the spider thing, you seem meant more for swinging that axe than a blacksmith's hammer."

"I mean, the reason I ask," I explained "I'm looking for others to join up with to do a little more high-risk work, to build up _a lot_ of cash for some things I need to care of back home. Being a fellow dwarf, you're the first person I've made this suggestion to. Originally, my plan was to hook up with a mercenary guild, but that wouldn't pay as well as doing specialty jobs with just a few talented individuals."

I paused. "Maybe even a couple of the others that came on the coach might be up for it. Father Al will certainly need some extra cash, if he keeps gambling like that. That Charlotte girl seems a pretty good shot with her crossbow and magic bolts. And Marcus might seem a little shifty, but sometimes you need shifty."

"What type of action you talk'n bout Kurgish?" he responded. "Whose head you want to beat in? I mean, my cousin has offered me a job here making some money while being apprenticed to him, but I’m not sure if I’m up for that kinda change... coming from the army and all." He eyes had a far-off look for a moment, as if he were remembering a more gratifying time in his life.  My suspicions were correct.

"I haven't gotten anything specific in mind yet.  I'm hoping this clock thing will lead to a reward to tide me over 'til something big comes along.  Maybe the guy it goes to will need bodyguards."  I stopped and looked at him. "Right now I'd rather not discuss my long-term plans, but rest-assured, they're in the interest of all dwarves. If we both live that long, I'll let you in on the all details."

"It won't take much prodding to get me to join up," he said, eyes focused again and evidently curious, "if there is a living to be had in what you are proposing.  I could use a couple more notches in me axe handle ... to take the pain away." Now his gaze turned downward, an expression of shame on his face.  What's this? I thought.  Best not to pry.  "But you let me know if I have a job with you and I will talk with me cousin."

"Well, it's good to know you're interested." I clapped him on the back, and we walked on.

Explaining the whole story to Strom didn't help much.  We admitted we hadn't told him everything before to try and keep him from becoming too involved, for his own safety. Now we had to try every possible lead we could think of.

While we were there, Barrick and I again toyed with the idea of winding the clock, to see what would happen.  Then I remembered the skull on Handel's ring.  Did that mean he was one of those wizards that dealt with the dead?  Maybe it was best not to wind it, after all.

We headed back over to the Boar's Tusk, where everyone was still carousing, though not having much luck in finding out anything. 

Charlotte apparently had attempted to use her feminine wiles on a few bar patrons to get them to talk, but I don't think it was conversation they were interested in.  Her frustration evident, Marcus said something I missed that pushed her over the edge.  She stormed out of the dining area, and checked herself into a room upstairs.  I'm not certain what motivated Marcus to tease her so.  Brotherly protectiveness? Something else?  There's definitely a strange tension in their relationship I haven't figured out yet.

Barrick obviously had been to long without good ale, and failing to convince the waitress to bring a keg to the table, settled on downing several pitchers in succession.  Father Al, meanwhile, had been playing cards steadily, seeming to win as much as he lost, but not discovering any helpful information.

As the evening wound down, we decided to go ahead and get rooms there at the inn, since Charlotte had already checked in.  Besides, how else was the shadow elf going to find us?

Walking upstairs, someone idly mentioned we wished there were a way to determine who else was sharing the third floor with us, when Barrick stumbled ahead and began banging on a door.  He drunkenly apologized to the sleepy man who answered, claiming he wasn't able to find his room.  He then stumbled on to the next door.

Even though we were thus satisfied that no one on the floor was gray, we gave in to our paranoia and worked out watches.  Then, going to our respective rooms, we settled in for the night.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 16th, Late Night*

*[session 3, Jan 23rd '05]*
Barrick started snoring almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.  Father Al settled into a chair by the door as he took first watch, while I decided to write just a bit before retiring.  I had not completely drifted off when there was a knocking on a door somewhere in the hall.  I had almost decided it was a figment of my half-awake mind when Father Al began shaking my shoulder roughly.  "There's someone at Marcus and Charlotte's door," he whispered harshly.  My fingers quickly went to the floor and wrapped around my urgrosh as I sat up right away.

It sounded as if there was a bit of arguing going on next door, but I couldn't make it out, especially as Barrick barked loudly "What is it?!" as Al woke him.  As he stumbled out of bed, we heard the door of our companions' room open, and Marcus talking to someone in the hall.  I was up and walking quietly toward the door, when Barrick stumbled past and yanked it open. He blinked into the light of the hallway for a moment, grunted, and slammed the door closed again.  Not so much walking as tripping across the room, he said "It's the innkeeper", in the same breath that began his snore as he fell back into bed.

Al and I listened at the door a little, and after hearing a brief discussion, Marcus knocked and told us there was somebody, probably the intended party for the clock, who wanted to talk to us downstairs.  We woke Barrick up again, who was grumpier this time, and wanted to put his armor on first.  Not that I blamed him.  Stories of shadow elves I've heard; they might look like anybody.

After we geared up, we joined everyone in the dining area, which had closed for business by this time.  There was a man and a woman, somewhat older looking, for humans anyway, sitting at a table talking with everyone else.  They introduced us.  The woman was called *Marquetta*, and the man *Chelton*.  They'd been discussing the "package" and the shadow elf who had been pursuing us.  It seemed that the odd gray men were simply humans who had been corrupted by Shadow.  

Our conversation had a couple more references to the "package", as if the contents were still a secret to someone here. Barrick blurted out, "Package? Why don't you just say 'clock'?  Unless you mean the decoy over in the other 'package'", his stubby fingers making quote marks in the air.  There were a few groans, but even the most patient dwarf can only handle so much human subtlety.

The two visitors didn't know why the shadow elves had been looking for the clock, but there had be many rumors of them forming strange alliances over the past two seasons.  Also, there was a village in the barony that had "vanished", empty of people, with only a strange, aged ruin where a healthy town had stood only weeks before.  Chelton seemed to think there was a link between that, the elves and the clock.

Marquetta commented that the clock didn't appear magical.  We were pretty impressed that she could tell without any hand waving spell stuff. Barrick joked that he did feeling a little funny in his stomach when he wound it, but his comment was only met with blank stares.  Maybe it was amazement that he had cracked a joke.

Apparently, Vittorio Matteao had created not one but three clocks.  One we had obviously just delivered, another was already in the hands of shadow elves, paid for in blood, and the whereabouts of the last was uncertain.  Chelton had sent for this clock, since it was in possession of a colleague of his at the wizard academy, Gloom Hall.  Handel was that man's apprentice, charged with delivering the clock here. (Apparently, Chelton was some sort of wizard himself, and Father Al had given Handel's ring to him before we came down. Chelton wore a similar ring.)

At mention of the delivery, it seemed to dawn on our visitors that some payment for such was due to us.  They had *Rhinehart*, the innkeeper, fetch a small bag.  Peeking inside, we saw it was full of platinum coin, about a pound of it, judging by the bag's heft.  Not too bad.

The coin seemed to loosen the tongues of some of my fellow travelers, with Marcus and Father Al moving from suggesting to volunteering our services to help find the missing clock.  I jumped in, holding the bag up. "For similar compensation, of course," I said. 

Here was what I was looking for.  Adventure and reward enough for a return to Virisia.  I mentioned to Barrick that this was the type of opportunity I had discussed earlier that evening.

Seizing on the idea, he immediately offered a position to Father Al as the healer of Dwarven Inc.  (Our adventuring troupe a business?  I hadn't really conceived of it that way, but the dwarves of the east obsess about such things, I guess.)  Father Al seemed interested, and handled it good-naturedly when Barrick openly tried to low-ball him a ten percent cut.  He wisely tabled the discussion for tomorrow.

Throughout this exchange, Marquetta and Chelton thought about the proposal, then agreed to our terms.  Giving us a bit more detail to start our task, they told us that Vittorio Matteao had spent several years here in Stonehearth.  Though he was dust almost two hundred years, he did turn his writings over to a library not far from here.  That library was part of a monastery for priests of Alioth, specifically dedicated to one of his demigods, one called St. Ambrosius.  In those writings, Chelton thought we could find whom the clocks had been given to.  The monastery was just shy of two days away.

Marquetta explained that she and Chelton could not go to the monastery themselves, as they may not be too welcome.  Chelton was indeed a wizard, a Diviner, and an alumnus of Gloom Hall.  She was a member of the Council of the Northern Star, a group of witches in these parts.  If we needed to contact them, we could do so here, at the Boar's Tusk, which was pretty much their base of operations.  Rhinehart the innkeeper could deliver messages if they weren't about.

With that, we bade them goodnight and headed back upstairs.  Since it was nearly time for his watch, Barrick stayed awake and paced up and down the hallway, his boots thumping loudly, axe slung over his shoulder.  If anyone opened their door to complain about the noise during those two and a half-hours, they must have reconsidered, because I didn't hear anything else the rest of the night.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 17th 998*

In the morning we all met downstairs for breakfast.  We made plans to sell some of the things we'd picked up, including the gray man's gun.  This didn't take too long - Stonehearth wasn't very large - and we met back at the inn to split the gold and platinum we'd accumulated. 

Accounts were settled over lunch.  Once that was done, Barrick turned to Marcus and Charlotte and said, “Nice knowing you.  Take care.”  
I think both Aleator and I were caught a little off-guard.  Barrick had apparently forgotten my recommendation the night before that it might be good to include the siblings in our potential venture.  He was probably looking at things from an army unit slant, seeing Father Al only in terms of his healing ability.  This mission, however, was going to require (I hated to admit) a little more human subtly.  We dwarves weren't going to blend in that well everywhere we might have to go looking for info on this clock, and our axes weren't going to be useful in every situation.  Like this monastery we were going to.

We were able to convince Barrick that the fey-blooded girl had useful magic, and she was a crack shot with her crossbow.  Explaining Marcus' usefulness to Barrick's military mindset was a bit trickier, and Father Al finally suggested that the siblings were probably a package deal.  A little bit of haggling, and the two were hired as part of Dwarven Inc for a fair cut of any payments received.

We set out for the monastery.  While we traveled, Marcus and Charlotte seemed to be having an intense conversation.  When we settled in to camp for the night, they informed us that while we visited the monastery, we should refer to them as "David" and "Rachel".  It seemed rather strange but confirmed for me that they had indeed run afoul of the One Church's attitude regarding mages and such.  I guess it was a prudent measure, especially given the reluctance of our wizard and witch sponsors to visit the monastery themselves.

I did a little hunting so we could have a bit of stewed squirrel with our rations for dinner. Now more wary of the Shadow Elves than ever, we kept watches throughout the night, but dawn came without episode.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 18th 998*

We continued on the little used path to the monastery, the ground becoming stonier as we climbed into the foothills.  By mid-afternoon, we could make out a group of buildings behind a crumbling wall up ahead.  The place didn't look to be in the greatest shape, with a weathered and blackened building, damaged by fire long ago, at the far end from the gate.

Within bowshot of the place, there was a fresh grave at the side of the road.  As it was a bit unusual, Father Al took a closer look.  The marker had the name *"Brother Able"* on it, as well as that of the monastery - *"Montellegro"*.  I had an ill feeling about the grave, for as I have said, Gallera takes into consideration the respect shown the dead before she passes final judgement on a soul.  While not completely familiar with all the burial rites of the new god, I felt the same principal was at work here, but it was a level of disrespect being displayed for this lone grave. Surely the monastery had a better place of rest intended for those who passed away in their god's service.

Working our way up to the gates, we spied one of the monks as he was tending the rocky soil.  He looked up, appearing somewhat surprised to see visitors to this out of the way place, and introduced himself as Brother *Horatio*.  He asked us to wait while he went and got the Abbott, Brother *Anselm*. An older man came back with Horatio, who invited us onto the grounds. Walking toward a chapel in need of some upkeep, I noticed there was indeed a graveyard at the opposite end of the building.  

Father Al, being among his people, did most of the talking.  He explained that we were looking for some writings that Vittorio Matteao had donated to the monastery long ago.  

Anselm looked a bit concerned and apologetic when he heard the reason for our visit, explaining that a large portion of their library had been lost in a fire almost two decades before, during an attack by brigands.  He had been living here during that time, but most of the brothers had been evacuated before the attack, with just a few left behind to try and shore up the abbey as best they could.  All of those who stayed were unfortunately killed.  The library, a source of some pride and renown for the monastery of Montellegro, was sacked and burned.  Those texts that could be recovered had since been moved to the building housing the scriptorium.  He invited us to look there, but could make no promises about what we might find.

The Abbott offered for us to give us rooms for the night; only a portion of the monastery buildings were currently in use and there was plenty of space.  He also invited us to supper with them, on the condition that we attended evening services.  Barrick and I weren't too certain about going to a strange religious service.  When the added condition of removing our weapons while on the grounds was brought up, that cinched it; we were going to camp outside the walls tonight.

At the door of the scriptorium, Father Al broached the subject of Brother Able's grave out by the road.  Looking saddened by the subject, the abbot explained that Able, an illuminator of scripts within the order, had killed himself, throwing himself from the scriptorium roof to this very spot, but two nights before.  That did explain the exclusion from the chapel graveyard, but I think most of us had suspicions about this so-called suicide, even though none of us had known the lad.  

My thoughts went immediately to the shadow elves, that perhaps they were aware of the notebooks we sought as well.  I nudged Father Al in the ribs and told him to ask the abbot what Able had been working on.  He waved me off, apparently deciding now was not the time.  Hmph.

Still thinking of the dark elves, I suggested to Barrick that we go and look around the outside of the monastery, leaving the others to hunt for the books.  Scouting around the outside walls, I noticed a few crumbled spots where a small group might enter fairly easily, if their approach wasn't noticed.  Someone accomplishing that would be a bit harder, as steep slopes surrounded the monastery on three sides, with the trail by which we had come the only path up.  However, I didn’t know well the brothers kept watch on any approach.

After supper, we met everyone else at the gate and they told us what they had found, which was basically nothing.  There was an inventory that did list Matteao's notebooks, but they were not in the scriptorium anywhere.  A passing idea of finding the bandits to see if they took the books comes up, but was dismissed because of the years that had passed since that event.  

Barrick and I thought that perhaps we could investigate the burned down library, to see if any clues had been left there.  At the very least, it would give us a bit of shelter to sleep under tonight.  When the bell for the evening services had finished ringing, we sneaked through one of the fallen sections of the wall and went to the gutted building.  There was a pile of rubble from the collapsed roof that removed any hope of finding anything resembling a basement.  Scraps of charred paper and scorched book covers littered the area, but we found little else.  I climbed the loose stones to look out over the roof, to see if there was anyone or anything moving about that shouldn't be.  Satisfied that all was clear, I found a suitable rock for a pillow, and fell into a light sleep, lulled by Barrick's snore.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 19th 998*

The chapel bell was ringing, but sounded a little muffled, and without rhythm.  Something was wrong.  I woke Barrick and hurried outside.  By the position of the moon and stars I guessed it was a little past midnight.  Heading over to the chapel, I could see several people already going up into the bell tower.  Including the rest of Dwarven, Inc, I thought to myself, grinning.

Pushing my way to the top, I saw that someone had been placed inside the bell, tied to the clapper, their face a bloody mess from repeated strikes against the metal.  He was obviously dead.  Written on the wall in bright red were the words "His Penance Is Done".  The men of the monastery said his name was Brother *Guglielmo*, apparently a simple-minded boy who lived in a room at the bottom of the bell tower.  Charlotte had found him rifling through her things earlier that evening.

Brother Anselm had the body cut down, and tried to calm everyone.  Once all the brothers had gone back to their rooms, he approached us and asked if we could investigate this tragedy.  I quelled my misgivings about how these paupers might repay us.  Gold wasn't everything.  We agreed and headed back to the bell tower to see if there were any clues we might learn.  

Too many feet had trampled through the area to find any possible marks left on the wood floor, but we saw that the writing wasn't blood as we first thought, but a red oil the brothers often used in their ceremonies.  Unfortunately, anyone living there could have gotten hold of the oil.  We moved the search downstairs into brother Guglielmo's room, where it appeared that a struggle had taken place, though it was somewhat difficult to tell apart from the normal disarray in the room.

Next we went and viewed the body, which was being cleaned and prepared for burial. I thought about offering a brief, whispered benediction for him, as I've been taught, but until his role in all of this was clear, I thought better of it. 

Looking through the pile of his clothing revealed nothing, but it became apparent that he had been strangled barehanded before being tied with the bell rope.  Brother Guglielmo wasn't a small lad, so it would have taken someone of considerable strength to kill him that way.

A closer examination revealed something else.  Guglielmo had fought back against his attacker, leaving oddly dark blood and clay under his fingernails.   Thinking on this a moment, I felt a sudden chill curl my beard.  Tales my great uncle had told me from his days as a tomb guardian.

"We need to get to Able's grave!" I shouted, and hurried out of the room.

Hustling down the road to the lone plot, we could see immediately that it had been disturbed.  Closer up, there was a pile of dirt around a shaft big enough for a man to climb through, and the broken top of the empty coffin could be seen at the bottom.

I looked around for tracks and found bare footprints in the clay-filled soil.  I was able to follow them all the way up to the breach in the wall Barrick and I had used, but once inside, I lost the tracks on the scattered flagstones.  Now  even more convinced this was related to something that Able had been working on, we headed over to his room, also thinking that the dead boy might be hiding there, as it was a familiar place.

We found nothing of import in the room. As we talked over our next steps, the door next to Able's tiny chamber opened.  A meek, baggy-eyed kid stepped out in the hall, and said he needed to tell us something.  He explained his name was brother *Malik*, and he had been a good friend of Able's.  He didn't believe the story of the suicide, because Able loved his work and his life at the monastery.  On the night Able died, Malik had not been able to sleep, which was often the case for him, and he heard noises coming from Able's room.  He didn't think much of it, assuming Able was going to the kitchen for a late night snack.  Then he showed up dead in the morning.

We pressed him, asking if he had shared this with the Abbott.  He hadn't.  When asked why, he claimed that even though it was difficult for him to believe, he thought that perhaps Able truly did commit suicide.  After all, who here would want to hurt him?  But now, with Guglielmo's death...

He was cut off by a scream coming from below us on the compound.  We rushed toward the kitchen, where the sound seemed to have come from.  Inside were a couple of the brothers staring at a soup cauldron over a fire at the far end of the room.  A pair of sandaled feet stuck up from it.  On the mantle above the same message was written in red oil as in the bell tower.

One of the brothers there told us he had witnessed everything, that he saw Able do this, and the man in the pot was brother *Edmund*.  Our human companions had met Edmund earlier. He seemed to act as Guglielmo's "keeper", punishing him when he did things that were bad, like poking around in Charlotte's room.

We found Abbott Anselm and asked him to gather everyone together in the chapel until we could figure out who might be the next target.  Once everyone was accounted for, we told them to bar the doors and listen for our knock before opening them again.

We still needed to learn the reason for Able's attacks.  We headed back over to the scriptorium and did a careful search of his desk were he crafted his illuminated texts.  This time we were rewarded with the discovery of a secret compartment, and within it, a journal.  Father Al quickly flipped through it, and read aloud the entry Able had written on the day of his death:


> "Today I was privileged beyond all hope to view a vision of incomparable splendor!  St. Ambrosius appeared to me while I was walking outside the monastery walls.  I trembled in fear, but his words soothed me; he said he was well pleased with me and I was held in great favor.
> 
> "He told me to dig a well on the spot where he stood.  'For that which is drawn from this place will nourish the holy and return the monastery of Montellegro to prosperity and prominence.  Go now and tell the others.'
> 
> ...


Barrick and I gave blank stares regarding the name *Bernardino*.  Everyone else had met him earlier, and they explained that he was an older warrior who had joined the order to seek peace over conflict, though he still held on to his chainmail and sword.  Apparently you miss a lot when you have dinner outside.

With this information, we figured Bernardino was the next likely target for Able.  However, with everyone safely inside the church, we decided to go check out the spot Able had his vision, to see if we could learn anything there.  We did a quick circle around the church to see if the dead monk was lurking somewhere nearby, and then headed outside the walls along a trail that barely qualified as a goat path.  

We reached what seemed to be the spot that was sketched in the journal. Nothing was there but a lone rose bush, which Barrick stopped and took a long whiff from.  With a closer check of the area, we noticed the outlines of an old building foundation, its stones almost indistinguishable from the rocky terrain.  Best guess, the probably structure fell about hundred years ago.  There are no signs that Able has been here, at least not since he’d died.

At this point, we agreed that perhaps it was time to bring in the Abbott on what had happened.  We hiked back to the church and knocked, asking Brother Anselm to come outside.  Showing him the journal page, he slowly shook his head.  He told us that Brother Bernardino had often appeared jealous of Able, taking the boy's innocent devoutness and piety as a personal condemnation of his own.  

Asking the Abbott to give us a few more minutes, we took him back to the church and then went to see if there was anything in Bernardino’s room to further implicate him.  We found little except for bits of clay on the floor, telling us Able had been here as well.  That was enough.  On the way out, Marcus grabbed Bernardino’s sword, which looked fine enough to possibly carry an enchantment.

Back at the church we asked to see Bernardino outside, hoping to not raise his suspicions too early.  He got up from the alter where he had been kneeling and praying fervently, as a man about to be punished for his sins might do.

Outside we asked him to tell us what really happened. He tried to play dumb; I clarified that we already knew what happened, but wanted him to tell us why.  Still he denied knowledge of anything.  Finally we confronted him with the journal, and Barrick implied we might get a little rough if he didn't start talking.  The Brother buried his face in his hands and was about to speak, when a voice came from behind us, rough and unworldly, that made my skin crawl.

"Yes.  It is time to confess your sins, Brother."  

Across the courtyard in the center of the small cemetery stood Able, pale and bruised from his time in the ground, his robes smeared with clay and blood.  His eyes seemed to burn with fire from the inside.

"A revenant," Aleator whispered hoarsely.

Marcus glanced at him, then back at the walking corpse.  He seemed to be having an internal debate with himself, then asked, "It spoke, so it's intelligent, right?  Something of Able is still left in there, so we can reason with him."  Apparently the question was rhetorical, because Marcus took a step forward, and told Able he could return to his rest; Bernardino would now be dealt with properly.  I exchanged a look with Barrick, and we readied our axes.

The revenant ran forward, hands outstretched, going directly for Bernardino, who was stammering at this point.  Our axes flew, but the dead man's speed surprised us, and we missed the mark. On our back swing we both caught Able from behind, though my urgrosh bounced off surprisingly hard flesh, and Barrick's solid strike left only a small gash.  A crossbow bolt whistled past us from Charlotte, but it too simply bounced off.

Able grabbed Bernardino by his vestments, and the old warrior cried out "We didn't mean to kill you!"  That gave us pause, and I think for a moment some of us considered letting this play out between the two monks.

But what would be the fun in that?

Marcus again tried to appeal to whatever humanity was left in the walking corpse.  "He's confessed!  We know his sins and now the church will see that justice is done!  You're free to go!"  The thing's fingers only tightened on Bernardino's throat.

"It's just a vessel of mindless rage!" Father Al shouted.  "There is no reasoning with it."  He pulled his holy symbol and for the first time, we saw Aleator truly call upon the authority his god had bestowed upon him. "Be gone!  Back to the Shadows from whence you came, in the name of Alioth!"

The undead Able scarcely noticed him, and continued to choke the helpless monk.  Marcus went for his borrowed sword, pulling it out too quickly, sending it clattering onto the rough stone ground.  I heard Charlotte reloading behind me as Barrick and I swung again from each side.  My urgrosh bit deep this time,  a blow that should have been a mortal wound for a normal man.  

This only caused the revenant to glance back at me and hiss "Stay out of it!"  The fire within his eyes brightened to a piercing red, and it was as if all the dread, cold and stillness of the tomb filled my mind. I stood there, unable to move.

Barrick's axe struck true again, but he cried out when he saw that the thing's wounds were vanishing before our eyes.  As another of Charlotte's crossbow bolts hurtled past our heads, Marcus recovered the sword and struck.  This time the corpse's flesh parted before the blade as it should, with little resistance.  The blow caused the horror to falter, losing it's grip with one hand on Bernardino, who dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.  Father Al pressed this momentary advantage, again trying to overcome the undead thing with the power of his belief.  Again, it paid no attention to his efforts.

Barrick continued to hack away wildly, trying to do damage faster than the revenant could recover.  With the aid of Charlotte's bolt of magical force, Able finally released his grip on his victim and crumpled to the ground.

Father Al bent down over Bernardino to tend to him, while Barrick continued to chop the body before him into smaller pieces.  With the revenant defeated, the gripping fear left me, and I could move once more.  We finally decided it was necessary to burn the corpse to ensure it did not get up and start walking around again.

The rest of the order had heard the fighting and left the safety of the church, gathering round us.  With the Abbott there, Brother Bernardino admitted that he, with the help of Brothers Edmund and Guglielmo, had throw Able's body from the roof of the scriptorium.  

When Able had come to him with his vision, Bernardino said he couldn't believe it.  How could Alioth appear to that ... that _boy_ ... when he had been faithful for so many years.  Able had to be lying.  With the help of the others, Bernardino took Able to the scriptorium to get him to admit his deception.  When he refused, they began to punish him, harshly, for his sin, asking to him to accept that what he said was heresy.  Able would not.  Perhaps they were too rough, for the boy died from his punishment.  They had not meant to kill him.  Frightened, they had thrown his body from the roof, to cover what they had done.

The monks took the sobbing Bernardino away.  In appreciation for our efforts, the Abbott allowed all of us to stay within the compound, with our weapons, for the rest of the night.  

On the way back to our rooms, Marcus and Father Al discussed the metaphysical aspects of what had happened.  Father Al claimed that the revenant was just a being fueled by supernatural rage over its death, and nothing of the original soul actually remained.  Perhaps that's how the new gods do it, but I'm not so sure.

I mean, if Corvus the Trickster, as he escorted you to the Gates of Death, offered you the chance for revenge on your murderer with your own hands, wouldn't you at least think about it?


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 19th 998 (morning)*

On the way to breakfast, we had a brief talk about Bernardino's sword, which was still in the possession of Marcus.  Even though Brother Bernardino won't have any further use for it, we agreed it best not to just assume we could simply claim it, and decided to discuss it with the Abbott at an appropriate time.

In the dining hall, we sat with the brothers, and asked about the monastery's plans for the spot revealed in Able's vision.  Brother Anselm said they were going to start digging the well right away.  We told him we would be glad to assist, especially Barrik and I, as our experience would be valuable for a digging operation.  In an overseer capacity, Barrick emphasized.  The Abbott graciously accepted.  

There were a few other things to take care of first that day, notably the burials of Able and the victims of his revenant.  I observed from a distance, saying a few prayers of my own for them on their journey through Shadow.

Meanwhile, Marcus had returned to the scriptorium, looking for any information on the structure that once stood on the spot the well was to be dug.  He found a simple map, indicating a few out buildings that once existed around the compound, but no indication as to their function.

Once we had everyone at the dig site, we tried to decide what to do with the rose bush, since it did seem significant.  Transplanting it to Brother Able's former grave down by the road seemed to be the most appropriate solution.

The excavation of the well started a little before noon, but after a few feet, the diggers encountered a wood structure, perhaps the planks of a floor.  Barrick jumped down and pried up the wood.  Peering down, he saw a high ceiling room, filled with boxes and crates.  Setting up a tripod over the hole, we attached a rope and all went down to investigate.  The boxes were full of books.  After flipping through a few of the titles, Marcus commented that almost all of these were important works of one kind or another.  Nothing of any real value was in the scriptorium, so we surmised that the members of the order who had stayed behind before the brigand attack twenty years before must have hidden the most prized books here.

We spent the rest of the day hauling up the tomes with the monks and moving them back to the scriptorium.  Once we had most of them there, we began searching through the boxes for Vittorio Matteao's journals.  Charlotte came across them, including one which had information on the clocks and who he had given them too.  

The first clock had been sent to someone named *Navarro*, head master of the wizard's academy at the time.  This was the clock that we had delivered for Handel.

The second clock was given to a wizard called *Treben*, living in the town of *Harta*, and the third timepiece was sent to a *Lord Griffin Maltus*.  The name was unfamiliar to us, but one of the monks said he knew of a Viscount Stephen Maltus, living here in the Barony of Streibech, in a town called *Elmvale*.

Nowhere in the journal was there any indication that the clocks did anything more than tell time.

At dinner we asked the Abbott if we could borrow the journal with the information on the clocks.  We explained our current situation, and that forces of Shadow might be seeking information as well, so it might be best that he keep the discovery of the books quiet, at least for a while.  Brother Anselm agreed to loan us the book.

Marcus finally brought up the return of Bernardino's sword, using that human subtlety again to imply we wouldn't mind keeping it.  Abbott Anselm kindly offered it to us, acting as if it were his idea, as a token of the monastery's appreciation for our efforts.  In addition, he went to his office and retrieved several magical elixirs, mostly of a healing nature, which he generously made part of our payment.

For the morning, we made plans to return to Stonehearth and talk to our new friends at the Boar's Tusk.  Hopefully they would have a better idea which of the two locations would be our best bet to find the remaining clock.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 22nd 998*

We walked into the Boar's Tusk by mid-afternoon, stamping the road dust off of our boots.  We indicated to the inn keeper that we were here to talk to Chelton or Marquetta, and settled into the bar area to wait.  Finally we ended up ordering dinner, and shortly afterward, Chelton walked in and invited us into a private dining room in the back.  I grabbed my plate as we followed him.

After showing him the journal, he was of the opinion that the remaining clock was much more likely in the possession of Lord Maltus.  So Elmvale would be our next stop.

We also asked Chelton if he could work a little magic on the sword we had picked up, to determine to what extent it was enchanted.  He agreed, telling us he would let us know in the morning.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 23rd 998*

Chelton has informed us that Bernardino's sword had a "minor magical aura" about it, nothing terribly special.  Nonetheless, Father Al was able to find a buyer for it that day, getting fourteen hundred gold coins in exchange.  I suddenly realized that, even though the problems at the monastery really had little to do with our current job, and nothing to do with the Shadow elves as I had feared, a little bit of helping out someone on the side had brought us in a tidy sum of coin.  This adventuring company idea was already working out better than I had hoped!

With our newfound wealth, we took the beginning portion of the afternoon to buy more supplies and upgrade equipment.  I'd been working more with my urgrosh, and decided that I could wield it more effectively without a shield strapped on my arm, so I ditched that.  I did, however, find a very well made chain shirt to replace my worn studded leather.  

Barrick and I had discussed making a few pieces of armor and weapons ourselves, but decided it would take too long for our current assignment.  However, in case the opportunity present itself later, I went ahead and purchased a set of smithy tools worthy of a master craftsman.

Once we had all joined back up, we determined there was enough daylight left to begin our journey.  With our faithful pony, which Barrick had named "Bob", in tow, we headed out of town eastward.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 24th 998*

*[Session 4 Feb 6th '05]*
We reached the limits of Elmvale just a bit past noon. The town appeared small, perhaps five hundred or so, if you included the farmhouses we past scattered along the way.  There was no defensive wall, and we came in by the north road unchallenged.

Leading Bob the pony down the center of town, a large sign hanging prominently over the steps of a squat building caught our eyes.  A dog and rabbit chasing each other in an endless circle were painted on it, with a stein and plate of something I guess was suppose to be food depicted in the middle.  Figuring this local tavern would be the best place to feel out the locals about the Viscount Stephen Maltus who might have our clock, we headed over.

A burly looking human walked out of the building rather quickly.  His manner was such that we paused a moment to see if something might be going on.  Charlotte recognized the barred shield symbol on the man's tabard, and whispered to us that it was the crest of the Baron Streibech, though she did not think it was the baron himself.  He was starting to cross the street with long strides when the tavern door swung open again and another man, this one a bit of a dandy, came running out.

"Wait!" he yelled after the bigger man.

The baron's man stopped besides a horse tethered opposite the tavern.  "I'm just the messenger, Lord Blaine," he said, hoisting himself into his saddle.  "Any further discussion, you'll have to take it up with the Baron."

The other man kept right on talking. "I know what this is about.”  He held his fancy hat in his hand as if he were begging for coins.  "But I swear I didn't know it was his daughter!"

This caused a sour look to pass over the mounted man's face.  "Like I said, you'll have to take it up with the Baron.  He'll be expecting you, day after next."  With that, he spurred his horse like he couldn't get away from the dandy fast enough.

Sensing an opening that I apparently must have missed, Father Al sauntered up to the man, who was still standing there, staring into his hat.  Seeming at a loss for a conversation starter, Al asked for directions to the local tavern.  Glaring at him, the fop said, "You're standing in front of it.  The Hound and Hare."  With that he stormed past the priest and back into the establishment.

Father Al looked at us and shrugged his shoulders, and we all headed inside.  

It looked like several farmers and business owners were taking an early afternoon break, because the place was pretty packed.  Lord Blaine was seated at the bar, head down on the counter, an empty shot glass in front of him.  Determined, Father Al took a seat next to him.  Charlotte and Marcus wove between the tables, greeting people as they passed, trying to chat up the locals.  Barrick and I sat down at the first empty table we could find, and ordered lunch.  After being on the road all morning, talk could wait.

Glancing up to the bar, I could see Father Al was getting nothing but terse responses from the dandy, who had knocked back a couple more whiskeys during the conversation.  After it looked like he wasn't going to get anything more from him, Al turned to the bartender and asked, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear, I suppose, if he knew where we might find the Viscount Maltus.  The barkeep seemed to just shake his head, and turned back to arranging the bottles behind the bar. 

The silk-shirted Lord Blaine, fairly stable despite the whiskies, got off his barstool and sat down with at a nearby table with some of the locals.  The rest of our fellow travelers joined our table just as the barmaid was bringing the second half of our chicken, with extra boiled potatoes.  Father Al sat down first, telling us he struck out twice in trying to get any information.  

As the siblings approached, Charlotte leaned over and asked our priest "So, how did your conversation with the Viscount go?"  Al looked at her in surprise then clapped his hand to his forehead.  It seems, Charlotte and Marcus had found, that Stephen Maltus had passed away recently, and Blaine was his heir.  Hopefully Father Al hadn't blown it for us already with his subtlety.

Once everyone was seated, we finished our meal while watching Blaine work the room himself.  He was asking, almost begging, for help with something, but each table he spoke with good-naturedly turned him down.  Eventually he walked back up to the bar and dejectedly ordered another whiskey.

Charlotte glanced over at Father Al again and said, "Let me try."  She walked up to the bar and gingerly eased onto the stool next to Blaine.  At first it looked like she was getting the same cold shoulder as Father Al, but her continued conversation must have hit something, because he finally spared a glance back at us as if considering his options.  Barrick saluted with his stein.

Finally, Blaine let Charlotte lead him by the arm over to our table.  Gotta give her credit; she wasn't nearly as smug as she coulda been about finally getting the guy over to meet us.  I, on the other hand, still wasn't sure that getting involved with this guy's problems, his sleeping with the wrong woman, was something we were in a position to help out with.  But then he told us his story.

When his father died, Blaine, of course, inherited his holdings.  In human custom, such gains are subject to taxes it seems, though traditionally a fair amount of time is given to pay up.  Our friend here wasn't on the best terms with the Baron, however, and he had until the day after next to make good on the taxes.

Blaine did not have that kind of money on hand, but he had a plan.  Seems that the Maltus' family had another piece of property outside of town that had been abandoned a couple hundred years ago.  At that time there had been some sort of tragedy and everyone on the grounds had been killed.  The house had been given up on as being haunted.

However, there was a persistent rumor of a vault hidden somewhere on the grounds, magical in nature, which contained the family fortune.  At mention of this, Barrick and I exchanged knowing glances.  Over the years adventurous individuals had gone in search of the vault.  Some had been frightened away; many simply did not return.  

Blaine had taken a few friends with him to the old manor about a week ago.  As they approached, they spotted a figure in the window of the second floor, illuminated by a candle it was carrying.  They went into the house, heading upstairs first to investigate.  There was a room with a message scrawled in fresh blood - "I shall not rest until all my kin rest with me" - but no sign of anyone in the rooms. 

They could hear that something spooked their horses outside. One of his friends headed downstairs to investigate, and from the great room below, they heard him scream.  Rushing to the spot, Blaine's friend was gone, but another message was left, reading "Soon, dear cousin, I come for you."  The group retreated from the house, and he had not been able to get anyone else to go back with him since.

Barrick immediately jumped into the business portion of our meeting, negotiating for any "loose" items in the house Blaine did not declare family heirlooms, plus ten percent of whatever was in the vault.  The Viscount seemed a little uncertain, particularly since he didn't appear to know exactly what was in the vault, but finally agreed.

We only had a few hours before dark, and the haunted estate was a good ten miles away.  Though time was pressing, we decided against trying to explore the manor at night.  Travelling most of the distance and camping off the grounds tonight would save us some travel time, though.  Before we left, however, Father Al wanted to visit the local  One Church and see if he could get some magical scrolls that might be useful.

There was a small chapel to the new god in Elmvale.  It was tended by a priest so old that I would be surprised if he knew which way to face when he oversaw services.  Father Gregory, as he was called, seemed a little confused by Al's request initially, but finally rummaged through his desk and came up with everything Al had asked for.  For a suitable donation, of course, which Barrick and I dipped into our pockets to provide.

We met up with Lord Blaine, who had changed into a respectable looking set of chainmail, surprising us a bit.  He had not brought a horse, he explained, since we were not mounted, and also the last time their horses had all been scared off.  We still towed Bob along with our gear, anyway.

As we began trekking out across the country with the couple of hours of daylight we had left, it began to rain.  Sometime after sunset, we came within sight of the estate; a two-story wooden structure with a low wall and collection of out buildings in the back.  A tower rose another level off the northwest corner.  We found some trees to shelter us from the worst of the rain, and made camp.

Sometime in the night, Father Al was rousing me for my watch, but as I bleary looked around to see who was up and who was still sleeping, I grumbled that it was Barrick and Charlotte's watch next, and laid back down.  I could hear some discussion between Father Al and Blaine about waking up Barrick, and cracked my eyes open to watch as our employer, gently shaking my fellow dwarf awake, was rewarded with a crack in the nose.  I opened my eyes a little wider, as Barrick gruffly mumbled something passing for an apology, explaining he had told the priest he had better not wake him again.  Earlier that evening, Father Al had done so to let Barrick know that he had seen a light in the upper story of the manor.  Apparently Barrick hadn't been too impressed.  

Chuckling a little to myself, I rolled over and went back to sleep.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*April 25th 998*

Since I was on the last watch, I was already up as the sun rose somewhere behind the gray clouds.  Over breakfast Father Al studied the scrolls we bought, saying a prayer which I think might have had a little divine power behind it.  

We broke camp and made sure Bob was fastened securely, then worked our way up the western slope to reach the more level road on the north.  Looking over the estate, Charlotte asked Lord Blaine where the vault was supposedly rumored to be.  "You're starting to sound like the dwarves," Marcus groused, which earned him an icy stare and then a quick slap from his sister.  I'm not sure what the problem was; I had been thinking the same thing.  It was, after all, why we were here.

Oh, and the clock.  Almost forgot.

Before we entered the front, I looked around carefully to see if there was evidence of anyone else moving around the building recently.  Nothing showed in the soft mud.  Unfortunately, the windows were too high off the ground to peek inside before we went in.

Coming into the foyer, we agreed to search the lower floor first, beginning with the west end of the house.  We made our way through a couple of dusty rooms, one that appeared to have been a makeshift barracks, and then bashed our way into the base of the tower.  While the stairs in there seemed to draw us, we stayed our course, checking out a series of servants quarters. 

Barrick, who had been in the front kicking in doors as we proceeded, slowed us down at one point, as he thought he heard something in what turned out to be the kitchen.  It was nothing but mice, apparently, and we also found a pantry and stairs down to what we assumed was a cellar.

From there, we headed into the dining room, which had its ceiling open up to the second story, and a balcony situated around it.  I was still in the back in the kitchen, but Barrick saw something above us, and ran to the stairs leading to the balcony.  There were a couple of shouts for him to stop, then humans quickly overtook his short dwarven legs.  By the time I entered the room, there was nothing to see.  The ghost, as everyone called her, seemed to have fled down a side hallway.

Overlooking the dining room were several life-size, full-length portraits, and when I asked what everyone had seen, I was told it was a pale girl in a white dress, standing in front of a portrait of herself.  I thought for a moment that perhaps the painting itself, briefly lit by a stray shaft of sunlight, was what Barrick had seen, but after our encounter at the monastery, I held my peace. 

The name on the girl's picture was *Regine*.  Curiously, the paintings to either side had be slashed beyond recognition, but they carried the names *Rebecca* and *Reveri* on small brass plates attached to the frames.

Determined to finish investigating the ground floor first, we uncovered a weapons room next, probably for those in the barracks, and a spiral staircase descending "to the horrors beneath", as Father Al put it.  After that, we moved into the greatroom, with a raised dais opposite the large double doors through which we entered, and a fireplace on the outer wall.

"This is where we lost our companion last time," Blaine said, and there indeed was the message written in blood that he had told us about.  I carefully examined the footprints in the dusty room, which seemed to vanish into thin air at the center.

Everyone else moved into the room, and we began to investigate it thoroughly.  Strange rattles and thumping sounds made me look up from where I was testing the floorboards, just in time to see a swarm of angry centipedes cascading from inside the fireplace.  Marcus dropped the poker he had been prodding with and dragged Charlotte away from the angry vermin.  

Father Al, who had been watching the siblings and not the floor, now glanced down to realize the critters had swarmed around him.  "Thanks alot, Marcus," he said heatedly.  "I won't forget this."

Barrick and I rushed up to help the priest fight the centipedes off, and I was rewarded for my efforts by a painful bite on the ankle.  Blaine and Marcus joined in the fray, with Charlotte plugging away with her faithful crossbow.  Between all of us, we made short work of the pests.

My ankle became swollen and stiff, but with a little help from Father Al, we were able to keep the venom from spreading any further up my leg.  Meanwhile, the rest of the group checked out the chimney, but saw nothing beside the centipede nest of rotting leaves in the loose brickwork.

The next room of interest was a nursery.  A decapitated doll lay in an ancient crib, and dark handprints could be seen all over the walls.  With a closer look, I determined they were those of a human woman's, perhaps a girl, and the dark prints were made of blood, dry and darkened long since with age.  A quick search found a small leather bag, filled with a child's marbles made of fancy stones.

Still carefully investigating the first level, we found a fancy tiled room with a large bath built into the floor.  The bath, almost twenty feet across, was full of black, brackish water, though since there were no leaves or visible leaks in the room, I hesitated to think what might be in the water to give it that color.

Seeming to be taking to the exploration activities rather well, or perhaps still andrenalized from the fight with the centipedes, Charlotte grabbed a cleaning rake from the wall and plunged it into the water, despite protests from Father Al and her brother.

Almost immediately, human bones roiled to the surface.  Even more frightening, the blackened skeletons began reaching and grabbing at anyone standing near the bath.  One wrapped its bony fingers around Charlotte's ankles, but she was able to dance out of its slimy grip and retreat into a corner.

Barrick and I began flailing away with our weapons.  The axe-head of my urgrosh bit deep into the tile of the bath without hitting my target, while Barrick decapitated two of the skeletons with a single blow.  Even Marcus came in swinging his staff at the undead in the water, but the cramped quarters kept him from connecting solidly.

By now some of the skeletons had climbed out of the pool, one threatening Charlotte in the corner.  I could see her trying to use her magic while avoiding him, but the flailing arms of her attacker knocked into hers, spoiling the spell.

Behind us, we could hear Father Al calling on his god to rid us of our undead foes.  I almost rolled my eyes, thinking how effective he had been against the revenant at the monastery.  Unsurprisingly, the creatures ignored him.

While Marcus, Barrick and I continued to fight off the skeletons trying to drag us underwater, Father Al seemed to have an epiphany.  His invocation to his god was something like, "C'monnn... Alioth!", sounding more like what I'd expect to overhear in a back alley dice game than a temple.  Whatever it was, his god must have recognized a truer tone in that plea, because the animated bones burst into pieces, raining into the black water all across the sunken bath.

A couple of the skeletons had escaped the blast, including the one in the corner by Charlotte.  It grabbed and wrapped its arms around her in a gruesome embrace. She slid out of its grasp again and dropped to the floor.  I struck him with my urgrosh to get his attention, then jammed the spear-tip end through his eye socket, tearing the skull loose while the body collapsed.

Marcus and Barrick finished off the other stragglers.  After catching our breath, we completed dredging the bath for anything of interest, but came up empty.

Moving on, we found a small, cozy library room, with an open book resting on a stand in the corner.  While everyone else investigated, I broke apart one of the chairs to start a small fire in the fireplace.  Didn't want any more nasty surprises from that direction.  My ankle still ached.

The book's author was Reveri Maltus, the same name as one of the defaced paintings upstairs.  Beyond that, we found nothing else of value, and continued on.

We came across a long, narrow room, empty except for another book, lying on the floor near the far wall.  Barrick, sensing something was up, very slowly eased across the floor.  He halted when he felt the boards give slightly, as if unsupported further on.  To be safe, Charlotte used her magical rope spell to retrieve the book instead.  

As she pulled it across, we could tell the end of the room was actually covered with a tarp, the dust so thick across it we couldn't distinguish it from the rest of the floor.  Barrick kicked the fabric away, and it fell into a large hole in the floor, splashing into a pool some distance below.  "Latrine," he surmised.  Thankfully two hundred years of standing unused had removed any smell.

The book was another volume of poetry by the Maltus girl.  Deciding there was nothing further here, we headed toward the last room to be checked on the first floor.  I almost bumped into Marcus, who was still standing in the doorway, pondering the hole the tarp had covered.  I could almost see the wheels turning.  Though he still didn't seem satisfied with whatever he was thinking, he finally left and caught up with the rest of us.

The final room on the first floor appeared to be a meeting room of some kind, with a table and chairs filling most of it.  At the end was yet another bookcase.  A cursory rummaging around revealed nothing initially.  As we were about to head back to the dining room and the stairs to the second floor, Lord Blaine said, "I think I found something!"

A wooden block carved as a book unlocked a panel behind the bookcase, leading to a flight of stairs up.  I looked at Blaine, wondering if he knew more about this house than he was letting on.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*Second Floor of Haunted Maltus Estate (Same Day)*

The stairs led up to a small office.  On one wall was a tapestry depicting a woman with a shield, which was decorated with a pegasus motif. We had seen similar images been scattered around the house.  There was also a framed piece of writing, a fragment of poem written by Reveri again, though it seemed to have been done when she was much younger. It was about a cat named Tinkerpaws.

The office opened into what looked like the master bedroom, with another fireplace and a huge bed.  On the mantle over the fireplace was a portrait of a woman, almost five feet tall.  Opposite the painting was a shield, again adorned  with the pegasus emblem.

As we investigated, Barrick discovered the painting was hinged on one side.  Swinging it back, he revealed large mirror, tilted down somewhat so a person standing on the floor could see themselves fully.

Looking at Barrick's reflection in the mirror, I saw he was grinning stupidly.  Wondering what was so funny, I started to walk over to him when the smiling reflection stepped out of the mirror onto the mantle, drawing his battleaxe!

Barrick immediately attempted to grab his double's legs and yank him off the fireplace mantle, but wasn't able to get a grip.  The mirror Barrick swung at his head with the axe, narrowly missing.

Charlotte brought up her crossbow and fired, followed by a slingstone from Father Al.  Both merely struck the stonework of the fireplace.  Thinking I might be able to eliminate this sorcery at its source, I rushed forward and swung at the mirror itself.  Instead of shattering the glass, the heavy axe-head of my urgrosh merely bounced off!

As I tried to recover from my surprise, Blaine deftly stepped into the fight. "This is for that punch in the nose!" he said, swinging at the twin Barrick with his sword, slicing deeply across the arm.

We all crowded around the fireplace then, probably getting in each other's way more than anything, because the evil Barrick managed to avoid any further injury.  In a move that would have been uncharacteristic of the real Barrick, he jumped off the mantle over the heads of both we dwarves, then spun and caught Barrick across the chest with his axe.

From beside the bed, there was a loud snap, followed by Charlotte's bolt flying into the air at a quirky angle. Her broken string hung loosely from the side of her crossbow.  Knowing that at least we didn't have to worry about her firing into the battle, the rest of us pressed the attack.  

The mirror Barrick started to back away, and I went after him, scoring another hit.  Just as he was about to reach the door, Blaine lunged forward and plunged his sword, tip first, through the double's heart.  In a crackle of mystic energy, the false dwarf disappeared.

Father Al, who had been holding the warm glow of healing magic in his hand for a bit, tended to Barrick. I went to the side of the mirror and put the painting back in place over it.  In the corner, Charlotte made a quick gesture and her bowstring seemed to regrow right there on the weapon.  Handy, I thought.

His wound tended to, Barrick stepped up beside me by the fireplace.

"Maybe I should open it again and see what happens."

"No!" came the instant and unanimous reply.

While we weren't certain why such a bizarre device would exist in the bedroom, we did decide that it would be worth taking the mirror with us later, as our magically-inclined sponsors back in Stonehearth might be interested in it.

Pressing on, our search turned up a couple of more rooms with nothing of note.  As we were all moving through a hallway, I caught a sound from outside.  It was Bob!  Shouting a warning, I ran back to the master bedroom, looking out of the window to where we had left the pony tied up.  He was loose and heading downhill away from us.  Though my newly purchased (and expensive) smithing tools were loaded on him, my only thought was for my friend Giri's pickaxe I had also stowed on the animal. Barrick ran down the secret stairway without pause, and I hustled after him.

Bob was nowhere to be seen when we got to our original campsite.  However, I was able to spot and follow his tracks easily with the ground muddy and soft from the continual drizzle.  A bowshot away, we found him in the trees.  Barrick herded the frightened pack animal to me, and I caught him by the tether and calmed him down.

Since he seemed to feel safer in the trees, we securely tied up the pony where we found him, and headed back to the house.  I was so relieved I didn't stop to think about what might have frightened him.

Back in the manor, we came upon what was apparently a woman's bedroom, even though the bed was missing.  It was covered with astrological charts on the walls.  Looking around, Marcus discovered a false panel in the wall.  Inside was a necklace with a gemstone of jasper, engraved with a serpent.  There was also a small jar with a clear, thick liquid.  Charlotte worked a little of her hand waving over the items, and declared them both full of magical energy.

Another bedroom, this one with a half-completed tapestry, again with a woman bearing a shield with the Maltus crest.  The wardrobe held a bit of a surprise for us: a skeleton huddled in the bottom, the front of its tattered gown stained with ancient blood.  Father Al conducted a closer investigation, and concluded that the person had died here, as the bottom of the closet was discolored from where the victim had bled out.

We entered a more sparse room next; another shield with the pegasus emblem hung on the wall.  However, this one had been defaced with the image of some sort of bird drawn over it in blood.  At the end of the bed was a footlocker that contained armor and weapons suitable for a knight of the family.  It all seemed to be in remarkable condition, compared to the other weapons and equipment we had discovered downstairs.

We found ourselves back on the balcony overlooking the dining hall.  Trying to determine which direction to take next, Marcus called our attention to a door opposite us.  "A candle just passed by there," he said.  We worked our way around, passing the hall the ghost girl had ran down earlier, and walked into a library that covered the length of the west side of the house.

Sitting by the window, the lit candle rested by an open book.  It was more poetry, the current page entitled "Thrice Cursed".  The poem appeared incomplete, and a chill ran down our spines when Marcus announced that the ink was still wet on the last line written.

I stood watch by the door as everyone else inspected the library.  In his browsing of the shelves, Marcus paused and asked if anyone else could hear what he did.  Listening closely, I could hear it too: a rasping, crunching noise coming from the bookshelves somewhere.  Marcus saw piles of powder, like fine sawdust, on the shelves near the sound.  Pulling out a book, it practically dissolved into dust in his hand, with just a scrap of the cover left.

Sweeping the shelf with his quarterstaff, he knocked away several more disintegrating tomes, the last few falling open with half missing pages, revealing strange, fist sized grubs chewing at the paper.  I recognized them from stories: bookworms.  Dwarven collections never had to deal with them, with our books of metallic sheets, but they were a scourge of human libraries.  Shaking his head, Marcus ground the pale creatures under his boot.

There was little else of interest in the library, so we left through the door at the north end.  Here was the upper level of the tower.  Broken and fused glass lay everywhere.  Looking closely, we deduced that it was an alchemical lab, where some sort of explosive accident had happened.

We finally came to the bedroom where Lord Blaine had first seen the candlelight on his initial visit.  There was the threatening message still on the wall.  Marcus noticed that the broken window seemed to have traces of old blood still on it.

Again, we found little else to help us find the vault, so we moved on to the next bedroom.  Another appointed for a young woman, this one had a writing desk in the corner, and a stack of journals on a shelf.  They belonged to the girl Reveri, obviously the writer in the family.  

Divvying them up to glean what we could more quickly, we discovered that the three - Regine, Rebecca and Reveri - were identical triplets.  There also had been two younger brothers, their mother dying while giving birth to the last.  The children’s aunt Jacasta had raised them in their mother's absence.

According to Reveri’s journals, Rebecca had been the most social of the three girls, outgoing with the boys and such.  Regine had always been distant and detached, but became more so after the death of their mother. For her fifteenth birthday, Regine had received a raven as a present.  Reveri, however, had hated it, feeling it was always watching her and intended her harm.

That was the gist of what we learned from the diaries, but no solid clues as to the tragedy that had obviously happened here.  Pressing on, we found an empty guestroom, and then a bedroom that must have been the girl Regine's.  An empty bird perch stood by the window, and on the vanity, a skull sat staring at itself in the mirror.

The bedroom's door opened back into the tower, and Barrick and I ventured up the last flight of stairs and out onto the roof.  Looking out over the back of the house, we saw a pale figure leaning over the fountain in the yard.  Rushing back down, we told the others what we saw, and all of us headed out into the backyard.

She was still there, leaning over the empty fountain and scrubbing at her hands, which were covered in blood.  Marcus attempted to communicate with her, but the specter just ignored him, muttering to herself, "It won't come off. It won't come off."

Finally she stood up and faced us, and shouted, "It won't come off!"  With that, she ran at us, passing right _ through_ Barrick, and disappeared into the wall of the house.

Running after her, we cut through the dining hall and into the first small library we had seen.  She was there, sitting in a chair, staring off into space.  The blood was no longer on her hands, and a ghostly raven sat perched on the back of the chair.  Marcus again attempted to speak, this time with the bird.  It merely caw'd, then flew at us, though as it did, it seemed to expand and stretch like a shadow, filling the room.  It disappeared through the door, and when we looked back, the girl was gone as well.

After we recovered our wits, we agreed it was time to search the basement area of the manor, to the horrors beneath.


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## Sir Brennen (Feb 14, 2005)

*Basement of the Maltus Estate (Same Day)*

We worked our way down the spiral staircase we had found earlier.  At the bottom, a narrow hallway lead to a door.  Barrick shouldered the door open, then let out a shout, "Great Darvas' Beard!"  He held his battleaxe high and nearly stumbled as he backpedaled into the hall.

After a moment, nothing happened, and while we whispered for him to tell us what it was, Barrick carefully crept back into the room.  From the rear of the line, I could see his posture relax, and his axe lowered.

"Of all the…" he started.  "It's stuffed!"

The rest of us moved into the room, and could see what had startled him.  In a menacing pose, wings spread and forelimbs raised, stood an earth dragon guarding its hoard in the corner of the room.  The treasure scattered below it was merely scattered shiny copper and brass coins.  The dragon itself could have been an offspring of Malhafren, the enslaver of my homeland, though this one was obviously very young when it was slain.

There was not much else to be found, though I wondered if perhaps the family valuables had been stored here at one time, then moved to the vault which we had yet to find.

Leading out of the room was a stairway heading up into a wine cellar. Another flight of stairs from there led back up to the kitchen.  The bottles of wine still in the cellar were judged by the humans to be mostly worthless.  I was always under the impression that the older it was, the more it was worth, and all these had to be at least two hundred years old.  Ah, well. It's a puny drink of men, anyway.

A door exiting the cellar led us into a hallway that felt much cooler than the other underground rooms we had been in.  Traveling up it a bit, we entered a room that was half hand-tooled walls, and half natural cave.  The cool temperature was due to a natural subterranean stream that flowed across the far side. Several hooks and shelves were placed about the room, presumably to keep perishables and such down there.

There were no other exits from the room other than a low tunnel on each side, by which the stream came and left.  It looked a bit cramped for our taller companions, so Barrick and I waded upstream a ways to investigate.  After about a hundred feet, we hadn't seen anything, so we turned around and headed back downstream.

After about eighty feet, the stream widened out, and there was something of a bank on one side.  At this point, the ceiling also appeared to be unnaturally smooth.  Looking closer, there was a section of the ceiling that looked as if a stone cover of some kind had been set from above.  We called everyone else down.  As they approached, the light of their torches glinted off of something in the water near the bank.  Going over to inspect it, we found another skeleton, rough with lime and age, but it appeared to be about the right size to belong to another of the triplets.

Jammed into its ribs was a dagger with a fancy gem set in the pommel.  Bones in the skeleton snapped as we wrested the weapon loose.  With a closer examination, we saw that the handle and the blade were both hollow, like the kind of weapon an assassin might conceal poison within.

Turning back to the slab set in the ceiling, Barrick and I lifted it up and into a room above.  We all crawled inside, to a dark, dusty room with a set of carved stairs leading up.  Within the room were three stone sarcophagi, their lids slid off and the bones of the former occupants strewn about the room.

Names had once been etched onto the sides of the coffins, but something had literally clawed them beyond recognition.  What would have the strength to scratch into the stonework like that was something I hoped we didn't find out.

The stairs led us to the mausoleum that resided in the backyard of the estate.  Several of the burial places here had been disturbed as well; the ancient bodies scattered about.  We should have returned them all to their proper resting places, but I wouldn't have begun to know how to sort them out.  Besides, there were obviously other restless dead we needed to deal with first.  I only prayed that all of these souls had already found their way through the Shadowlands and on to their final reward before their graves suffered this defilement.

Coming out of the mausoleum, we noticed that it had at one time been locked, but the lock had been broken off, most likely by whoever had wrecked the inside.

We stood in the unkempt yard, pondering what to do next.  There was a decrepit wooden tool shed, which a quick glance into showed nothing unusual.  Next we checked out a vine-covered building of stonework which seemed in better shape.  Inside, it appeared to be a small chapel, with a carved stone mask above the altar, and a mask motif worked into the tiles on the walls and the details of the altar itself.  Someone finally identified the chapel as being dedicated to Athyra, goddess of dreams.  One of the Twelve.

Marcus, displaying little reverence for the old gods, started poking around the altar, and found the top was hinged.  Opening it, he withdrew a dusty leather satchel.  The bag had a scroll tube within and four pockets, each with a vial tucked into it, which Father Al guessed to be holy water.

All that was left to search was the stable.  Not thinking it looked too promising, we pondered over what we might have missed.  Marcus observed that, while it seemed that a spirit did indeed haunt the manor, something didn't quite add up for just a haunting.  Like the tarp covering the pit in the water closet.  That felt to him more like something a physical being would do, to either trap or camouflage the hole from other beings.  Agreeing with his insight, we planned to scrutinize the latrine more closely, after we finished searching the stables, since they were right here.

But I wonder: are the treasures of a family that hide their secret vault in the toilet worth having?


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## Kid Charlemagne (Feb 15, 2005)

As the DM of this campaign, I just want to say how cool it is to have one of the players putting the effort into writing a story hour for it...  I had thought of doing one myself, but finding the time is immensely tough.  

So thanks, Sir Brennen!  I appreciate it.


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## Halma (Feb 21, 2005)

*Good Job..!!*

Just like to say good job with your story hour..!  It is good to see our adventures recorded 


Halma
AKA "Barrick"


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## Piratecat (Mar 7, 2005)

I meant to comment earlier, but I wanted to say that I _really_ like this. Please keep it up!

Do you find writing from the first person to be difficult? I tried it, but I _stink_ at it. I'm a little jealous.


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## Hammerhead (Mar 7, 2005)

This is a cool story hour, I like the first person perspective. Is Kurgish a Ranger?


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## Sir Brennen (Mar 8, 2005)

*Thanks for the comments.*

As a player in this campaign, I find first person actually easier.  To me, the quirks of turning a campaign into fiction means that, unless you’re the DM, third person might seem a bit random, as you don’t really have enough knowledge of the plot’s direction to get objective events to hang together. Unless you do the story after the plot resolves, but then details start to get fuzzy for me if I don’t put them down right away.  And as for third person omniscient, I’d never presume to know the true thoughts and motives of my fellow players.   

Kurgish is indeed a ranger – in post #14 where Kurgish decides to fight without a shield is when he gained two-weapon fighting.  His favored enemy is the servants of the dragon (reptilian humanoids); he’ll add dragons to the list later   

Kurgish is going to start multiclassing into Scout (from the Complete Adventurer) which he probably would have started as if the book was published when I created the character, as it fits his concept little better.

I’ll post again soon – I’m two sessions behind now, but Real Life ™ is cramping my writing time.


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## Quinnman (Mar 21, 2005)

Looking forward to reading the next chapters in your well-written saga... 

Checking the thread almost every day... when can we expect the next update?


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## Sir Brennen (Mar 22, 2005)

*Maltus Haunted Estate –  The Stables (Same day)*

Ask and ye shall receive...      

*[Session 5 Feb 20th '05]*

The wooden plank walls of the stables were weathered and splintered.  In the middle was a large set of double doors, and at the end was a window with small square panes, several of which had broken over time. Through them we could see what appeared to be a workshop of some kind.

A limb from the large willow in the courtyard had broken and smashed a hole in the roof, forming a bridge between the building and tree.  Thinking it might be best to check out first, to view the stables from above and see if anything had taken advantage of the accidental skylight, Barrick grunted for us to help him up into the tree. A tree.  So much for dwarven dignity.

He shinnied out on the branch until he was even with the eaves of the building.  Leaning forward and narrowing his eyes, I could tell he saw something.  Without going any further, he carefully retreated and clambered down the willow’s trunk.

“What did you see?” Father Al asked.

“Huh? Uh, I don’t know.  Somethin’ scurrying around up there.  Let’s go in.” With that, Barrick promptly  strode over to the warped wooden doors and pulled them open.

Inside there was an ancient carriage covered in dust and mouldering bits of hay, its leather trimmings long since cracked and peeled away. Down the north end of the building there were ten horse stalls on each side.  A ladder near the carriage led to the hay loft above, grey illumination drizzling in from the punctured section of roofing.  

We began carefully searching the stalls, one at a time, when Barrick declared he was checking the loft, to figure out what he had seen moving around before.  He scaled the rickety ladder, but upon seeing the rotted and cracked floorboards above, he anchored a safety line to a sturdy beam before going further.  He stepped forwarded, pushing back flat piles of decomposed straw with the head of his axe.  

“Hey! Watch it!” Charlotte called from the stall below him where she searched, as dirt sifted through the loft’s floorboards onto her head.

“Yeah, yeah,” Barrick responded, followed shortly by a “Yike!”, then a solid thump that caused the wood above us to splinter.  “Got him. Oh, no, wait.  Still coming at me with his guts draggin’.  Godspittin’ spiders." Another thump. "Oh, cack, there’s more.”

I shouted out to Barrick I was coming, pulling out my urgrosh as I ran toward the ladder.  As I was halfway up, Aleator called for me to wait.  From the floor, he said a brief prayer of some sort and my urgrosh seem to glint for a moment as if catching the high summer sun, despite the feeble rainy day light outside.  While I paused, I could see Charlotte readying her crossbow and aim it at the ceiling above her.  Marcus dashed over to the old carriage, threw his own crossbow onto the roof, and began climbing up after it.

I pulled myself up over the loft’s edge just in time to witness Barrick's axe plowing through a spider the size of a cat, his follow-through stroke missing a second pest.  Yet another leapt up and bit at his weapon, as if it could poison the metal.

Blaine was moving up the ladder behind me. A bolt whizzed into the loft a few feet away, and I saw Marcus standing tip-toe on top of the carriage, fumbling to load his crossbow again as he craned his neck, trying to judge the effectiveness of his last shot.  I gave him the thumbs up to let him know his aim was good, and then went after the little vermin myself.  The spider must have been confused by my entrance, jumping suddenly backwards in the manner only something with eight legs can do.  When Blaine joined us, however, we were able to surround the last two and made short work of them.

We did a quick check of the loft, finding small bones and bits of feathers from animals mistakenly seeking shelter in the stable through the open hole in the roof.  There were even a couple of husks of other spiders – apparently these little fellows had gotten very hungry lately – but found little else.  Not even any complete webs; hunting spiders, I judged.

“What were they?” Charlotte had joined Marcus on the carriage roof.  She let out a little yelp as Barrick punted one of the spider corpses down toward the carriage, where it smacked wetly against the side.  

“Spiders,” he said.  He glanced back toward me.  

“Wolf,” I prompted.

“Kurgish says wolf spiders.”  Seeing her glare of annoyance, a look I was beginning to suspect Charlotte practiced in the mirror to be able to convey that much irritation, he said. “What? You asked.”

Once we had joined the others back on the ground level, we proceeded to investigate a door on the other side of the carriage.  The corroded lock presented little resistance and gave way to the workshop, a smithy, which we had seen through the broken windows.  Tools rusted beyond use lay all about, but we discovered nothing of import.

I was about to declare it time to go back and investigate the latrine, when Marcus whispered harshly, “The candle’s back!”  Indeed, from the windows of the smithy we could see the flickering flame had returned to the library window.  As one, we rushed pell-mell and without plan from the stables, across the courtyard and in through the doors of the dining hall, Barrick and I bringing up the rear with our stout dwarven legs.


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## Kid Charlemagne (Mar 22, 2005)

Excellent!  

I've got one suggestion - add an "updated on" to the subject line (I think you can edit the subject line by editing the initial post).  Whoever was the first person to do that was freaking genius.

BTW, we're one session behind the actual game at this point, if I'm remembering correctly.


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## Kid Charlemagne (Apr 14, 2005)

I thought I'd draw a map for those who might be reading...  Dagger's Fall is not on the map, but would be essentially half way between Trent (Aleator's hometown) and Stonehearth (where the party makes their main base of operations for the moment).


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## Lazybones (Jun 1, 2005)

I recently DLed a huge swath of story hour threads to read at work (block MY EnWorld, will you!), including this one. I wanted to comment on the enjoyable read; having read Kid C's former SH thread a few years back I could see his colorful characters and deep plotlines throughout the narrative. Nice characters, well-captured (although the humans are a bit thin, perhaps due to the dwarven perspective). Kurgish has just enough distinction to separate him from the hordes of other dwarven PCs one encounters in these writeups, and his underlying motivation to defeat the dragon adds an interesting depth to the overall campaign. 

Too bad the thread seems to be on hiatus; I encourage you to post again.


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## Kid Charlemagne (Jun 1, 2005)

I'll start bugging Sir Brennen to post; he's still taking copious notes.  We play this coming Sunday for the first time after 4-6 weeks off...


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## Son_of_Thunder (Jun 1, 2005)

*Very Good!*

Yes please, do get him to update. It's my favorite story hour lately. Very well done.


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## Sir Brennen (Jun 1, 2005)

Oh, man.  The pressure, the pressure...


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## Sir Brennen (Nov 9, 2005)

*Maultus Haunted Estate – Back Into the Mansion*

Once up the stairs, across the balcony and to the library, everyone stopped almost immediately in the doorway, blocking the view as we dwarves caught up. You’d think the tall folk would have a little more consideration for their partners. A couple of pointed grunts, and they parted enough to let us in the room, though their attention never wavered from what had brought them up short.

A young human girl stood in the corner opposite. Not that remarkable, as everyone else had already told us they had seen her earlier, but as we pushed our way to the front, we saw her too. Really saw. It was if she were made of mist, as if the light of the gloomy light of the day had taken shape as this frail child. A stray breeze rustled a page of the open poetry book behind her. It was a moment before I realized I was looking through her at the book. A chill prickled across the back of my neck, and I was reminded the feeling the revenant caused in me back at the monastery.

“Thank you,” she said, in a voice so normal it was all the more eerie for it. At our blank expressions, she gestured to the bookshelves next to us by the door. “For saving my books. I was afraid the loathsome worms would eat through them all.” Marcus nodded his head with a faint motion, acknowledging her appreciation.

Looking over each of our faces, her gaze seemed to settle on Blaine. “You have my brother’s eyes.”

A few seconds of awkward silence, and then Barrick asked, “So, why ya hauntin’ this place?” Apparently he hadn’t felt the same dread that seized my tongue.

She smiled at us, but is seemed sad. “I think perhaps it is Regine who keeps us here, though I don’t know why.” Pausing for a moment, a quizzical look passed across her face. “Or do you mean the pretenders?”

“Pretenders?” Marcus asked.

“Yes. A man, and a girl who dresses like my sisters and I. They’ve been here a few days. Or perhaps weeks. Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell those sorts of things. They’re intent on scaring others off for some reason.”

With a small shove and meaningful jerk of his head, Father Al indicated for Blaine to move forward. Our sponsor did so, with only a slight nervous glance backward. “I am Viscount Blaine Maltus, a descendent of your family. I’m the rightful heir to this house.”

“As I thought you might be.”

With the acknowledgement, Blaine cleared his throat and spoke with a bit more confidence. "As the entitled heir, I have come to lay claim to the content's of your father's vault. Do you know where it is?"

"I confess, I do not."

With the tension of dealing with the spirit somewhat dissipated, the whole group began asking a flood of questions. Reveri couldn't really tell us much more about what had gone on in the house since her death, or even how she died. We did learn the name of Regine's raven was Arabus, at least. We also questioned Blaine if he knew who the pretenders might be; a couple from town perhaps? He said it didn’t sound like anyone he was familiar with.

While the discussion was going on, Barrick stepped forward toward the ghostly girl and fanned his battle-axe back and forth through her.

"What... are… you doing?!" Father Al exclaimed.

"Huh? I was just checkin'." Barrick glowered a little as he came back over to us.

Father Al shook his head as if to clear it, and then suggested that the other sister, Rebecca, might be able to tell us more.

“Could you find her,” he asked Reveri, “convince her to speak with us?”

The dead girl agreed, telling us to give her an hour, and then meet her back here. So, with time to kill, we trundled downstairs to finish our investigation of the latrine. Entering the bare, dusty room, Father Al suggested that Charlotte might check the items we had found so far for mystical auras, to see if anything might be useful before we continued exploring, and also to see if there was anything unusual about the room itself.

As they laid everything out, we dwarves stood watch out in the hall. I took position out toward the large dining area, Barrick around the corner where a set of stairs led down. A minute or so later, Father Al announced, in a projected voice for the benefit of those of us in the hall, that the room was magic free. Then the voices of the humans became more indistinct as they fell to discussing the booty-thus-far. Father Al then called out again.

"Kurgish, Barrick. Either of you want the chainmail we found in the footlocker upstairs?"

"Not enough protection," Barrick grunted.

"Too heavy for me. Can't really use my urgrosh right if my armor gets in the way."

"I don't know. This seems pretty light. Probably not much more than that chain shirt you're wearing, but this would cover more. Though it is a kind of strange color."

No, it couldn't be, I thought. I'd heard of dwarven heroes who owned these light but incredibly strong suits of armor, but had never seen one. Could we really have come across mail made of mithral? I was walking back to the doorway to take a peek inside at what the priest was talking about, when I heard another voice behind me.

"Excuse me."

I whirled around and saw one of the triplets, standing just past the end of the hall in the dining area. No, not one of the triplets. Having now seen a couple of the ghost girls up close, I could see this woman only superficially resembled them. Older, too. Her pale complexion was achieved through makeup, not from being dead. And she wasn’t the least bit see-through.

"I think we can negotiate," she said.

"Not my call," I replied, shifting my grip on my urgrosh. She was about twenty feet away, and kept glancing to her left, where I knew the double doors out of the dining were. Or perhaps where her accomplice was. Her ghostly appearance didn't hide the fact that she appeared in good shape, and wary. I knew if I started I would never catch her, not with my short legs. The rest of the party had gone quiet in the room, as they realized I was talking to someone. Behind me, I heard the creak of floorboards as Barrick moved into the hall. "Don't come any closer," she said when she saw him. Then again to me, "Well, can I speak to someone who can make that call?"

I looked into the latrine room and called to Blaine, gesturing him over. He stepped next to me out in the hall, and turned toward her.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"That's not important. What is important is we can help you, and we want to make a deal. Also, we have your friend."

"Joshua?"

"Yes. And as a show of good faith, we're willing to let him go."

"And then what? What do you want?"

"To work with you in finding the vault. We've been here for weeks and have been unable to discover it. For instance, we call tell you with certainty that it's not down the privy there. You don't seem to frighten off too easy, so why don't we pool our resources?"

"Let me see Joshua, first."

She held up a finger. "Wait here." Then she took off around the corner.

"Joshua’s your buddy that went missing, right?" I asked. Blaine nodded his head. By now the rest of the group had joined us. We waited a few minutes, and then heard a door opening down the stairs where Barrick had been guarding. Too many gods'spittin' ways to get around in this house. Weapons ready, we prepared for a trick, an ambush. A young human, his eyes squinted from having just come from the dark basement, stumbled up the stairs. His hands were tied, and his stylish "adventuring" clothes were filthy and torn.

Blaine rushed up to him, threw his arms around his friend, and clapped him on the back. Then, holding him out at arm's length, he took a better look at him. "Are you alright? Did they treat you well?"

Joshua nodded. "Yeah, they fed me and stuff. Said they were going to let me go after they found what they were looking for."

While he was talking, Blaine took out a dagger and cut his bonds. Barrick shuffled past to once again keep watch on the stairwell. Away from the re-joined comrades, I overheard Marcus lean over and whisper to Father Al, "I'm not sure about him. What if he's working with the girl and this is all a ruse?" Father Al nodded in agreement.

Joshua explained that when he had gone to the greatroom during Blaine's first search of the mansion, he fell through a hole in the floor that had been covered by a tarp. We looked at each other puzzled, because we had seen no such hole when we checked the greatroom. Joshua said that next everything went black, and he couldn't find a way out of the hole. A few minutes later, there was light above him and a man's voice telling him to climb up. When he pulled himself up over the edge, he was in a completely different room, with stone walls and big support beams, but no windows. A middle-age man with a big scar across his neck forced him at sword point to move to the corner, then bent over and actually picked up the hole by it's edge, folded it up like a black picnic cloth, and stuffed it in his pocket. Then the scarred guy tied him up, and left through a door Joshua hadn't even seen until it was opened. The man and woman that captured him had been using that room as their living quarters pretty much the whole time he was down there.

"Think it's been an hour, yet?" Charlotte asked, subtly gesturing up across toward the library with a sideways glance.

Nodding in agreement, we moved down the hall into the dining room. As we moved to the staircase, the unnamed girl, who had been waiting around the corner, got our attention. "So, can we make a bargain?"

Blaine stepped out in front of us, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes. You're friend told us. You're Lord Blaine Malthus." She finished her address with a little mock curtsey.

"Then you know that everything in this house is rightfully mine. I am here to claim my inheritance, not give equal shares to pranksters and kidnappers."

She seemed about to protest, then furrowed her brow as she reconsidered. "Alright. All I ask is that we get the same share as the rest of your hired help there."

"From the vault," Charlotte quickly amended.

"Yes, from the vault. Of course," the girl agreed, seeming a little puzzled why Charlotte had made such an obvious statement. Charlotte glanced meaningfully at the bag Father Al carried, which contained the valuables we had found so far in the house. Those were now not part of the deal. I grinned. Hey, if ghost girl and her boyfriend, wherever he was, had wanted any of that stuff, they should have picked it up while they were haunting the place the past few weeks.

Maybe our little half-elf was thinking like a dwarf, after all.

"I am not making a deal with someone whose name I still don’t know," Blaine said.

"It’s Priscilla," she said, seeming resigned to forthrightness in order to secure our help.

"And the man who's with you? Where's he?"

“His name’s Brock,” Joshua said, keeping his eyes on Priscilla, letting her know he was not keeping any of her secrets. Maybe he sensed our suspicions and was trying to prove himself.

"He's still waiting,” she replied, a touch of annoyance edging into her voice, “safeguarding a few things that might be useful should you agree to work with us. Can't show you all our cards, can we?"

I think it might have been the gambling metaphor that made Father Al speak up next. "You have some sort of magical hole?"

"Yes, a portable hole. It’s proven quite handy."

"And it was you that frightened our donkey," the priest continued to press.

"Yes, yes... but finally we decided it might be better to work with you since you obviously weren't buying the whole haunted house routine."

"I wouldn't say that," Barrick started, but I gave him a quick poke in his armor with my urgrosh. Catching on, Marcus asked Priscilla to sit at the dining table and wait, as we still needed to discuss a little more in private. She complied, and we continued on our way up to the library. When we started to enter, Marcus asked if Joshua and Barrick could stand outside and keep an eye on the girl from the balcony.

"Why can't he just watch her?" Barrick asked, following us in the room.

Marcus bent down and whispered in his ear, "Because I still think he might be working with her."

"Oh. Right. I'll just be outside and keep watch, then."

The library appeared empty. After a moment, two of the triplets slowly faded into view.

"Rebecca?" Father Al asked.

"Yes?" Her voice was the same as Reveri's, but there seemed to be a weariness to it greater than her sister's.

"I suppose your sister has explained why we're here."

"She told me you might be able to help us rest. I'm so tired. I just want to rest."

Father Al straightened up a little, as if he realized he might have taken this aspect of our little treasure hunt a bit for granted. With a bit more purpose behind his tone, he replied, "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. Can you tell me what you remember, what happened to you?"

The girl's brow furrowed, as she tried to recall events long past, then relaxed again as that weary expression settled back into her face. "We fought, Regine and I. In my room. I had come in and she was standing there, writing something on the wall. I don't remember what it said, because I saw she was writing it in her own blood, from a cut across her hand. In the other hand, she had a small knife. I ran in to take it away, to stop her from hurting herself, but she swung the knife at me. Put a cut in my nice dress." Rebecca absently fingered a sliced opening on the shoulder of her ghostly clothing. "When she tried to attack me again, I fell back against the window, and it broke. I fell outside onto the ground. I don't remember much after that."

I thought of the old blood we found on the window glass in the second floor bedroom.

"Yes, I heard that, the window." Reveri picked up her sister's story now. "I went to your room to see if you were alright, and Regine stabbed me. I ran and hid in Aunt Jocasta's closet." And died there, I mentally finished for her.

Father Al absorbed all of this, quietly thinking for a moment. "Well, I guess we need to figure out what exactly happened to Regine, then. But to do that, we need you to help us, if you can. First, the man and woman who've been pretending to haunt this place. Do you know where they've been spending most of their time?"

"No. Somewhere in the basement. We don't wander down there much."

"What does the man look like?" Marcus interjected.

"Older, like my father. He has an old cut across his throat." She swiped her hand below her own chin to demonstrate. Satisfied that she was talking about someone other that Joshua, Marcus let the priest continue.

"Then, do you know where your father's vault is?"

"No, I don't know that either." She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Once, on our birthday, father told me he had a surprise, that he would let me wear one of my grandmother's best necklaces at the party. He went upstairs to get it. It was gorgeous, with sapphires. After the party, he told me he had to lock it up again, and took it back upstairs with him."

"It's got to be that mirror," Blaine muttered. "Perhaps there's a password."

"Tinkerpaws!" Charlotte exclaimed. We all stared at her blankly. "The poem, framed in his study. Tinkerpaws!"

"Oh, yes!" Reveri almost squealed as she clapped her hands together. "I had forgotten about that poem! Father kept it in his study? How sweet."

Realization spread through the rest of the group. "So," Marcus jumped in, "if we're able to have Blaine open the mirror with the password, we won't need the help of Priscilla or her friend. Or have to split anything with them."

Everyone nodded in agreement. First, we had to devise a route through the house from the library back to the bedroom with the magical mirror, without letting our guest in the dining room see us.


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Nov 14, 2005)

I found this storyhour a couple of days ago and have spent too long while I should have been working reading through it. Now I'm caught up, I must say I'me very impressed, Sir Brennen. It's an excellent read - and I think the Dwarvish "voice" of the narration is very plausible. Well done.

Plus it has one of the best storyhour lines ever:



> But I wonder: are the treasures of a family that hide their secret vault in the toilet worth having?




So now I'm just looking forward to more ... [hint, hint]


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