# Dusk in the land of Fading Stars - Femerus' Story hour (updated 2-20-03)



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 4, 2002)

Prologue 

"A Father and His Children"

From His throne in the Great Hall of the Gods, the Father of Man was chief and ruler of all the gods, but as any father, He did not hold such title from a throne. He was father from his window far above the gilded forums and marble halls of the Great Hall. There He stood each night, long spear in hand, stirring from the ether great gems of unimaginable beauty, brightness, and heat. He called them stars, and like an artist upon a canvas immeasurable, He drew constellations above a planet of blue and green. It was a gift eternal, from a father immortal.

He was the Father of Man, and for Him these gems of fire, life, and light paled in comparison to his most cherished creation: man. Humanity and all its spirit was to him a milieu of shining lights and sublime colors and textures more grandiose than an eternity of myriad stars. He saw them as a reflection of Himself that stood not as a testament of some divine vanity, but rather as a creation made for no other purpose than to feel life in all its happiness and sadness. With hearts He shaped with His own heart, man lived to the brief yet infinitely mutable cadence of passion, compassion, and hope.

Night after night, the Father of Man would spend countless hours swirling stars into form and arranging them into patterns of hunters, farmers, kings, peasants, animals, and gods. As time passed, the gods themselves came to watch his creation, and while some marveled at his works and thanked him for their images in his sky, many grew envious of His children. He was to be a chief and father to them, not mortals of no great power or consequence, and the love that He gave to his mortals was love not given to them. Even when He finished his tapestry of stars and ether, they watched Him as He stood at His window for hours looking down upon His children with great affection.

In distant places beyond his sphere of stars and his planet of green and blue, the gods plotted against the Father of Man. Led by the Deceiver, Prince of the Gods, they stood in silent corridors of the Great Hall and allowed their hearts to fester with anger and deceit. The throne was empty, and the Deceiver whispered that if the Father of Man would not lead the gods, then only He could. In the names of duty, honor, and station He hissed in secret words and muted oaths that He would rule with a love devoted solely to the gods that obeyed Him- and these words were like ambrosia to the gods that had longed for love and leadership.

After nights of plotting deep and dark promises, the Deceiver strode into the chambers of the Father of Man. Fierce sword of shadow in hand, the Deceiver pointed to his chief, and bade him turn away from His children. Seeing the Prince armed for battle, the Father of Man called his spear, Starshaper, to His side. As it raced to his side, His anger grew. The Prince derided Him, and called Him a poor father and incompetent ruler. It took little more than these words to enrage the Father of Man, and He quickly leapt towards the Deceiver, his golden spear racing towards the dark heart that challenged Him.

A great battle ensued. For days and nights the Deceiver and the Father of Man clashed with steel and magic both great and terrible. The Deceiver’s sword was black and poisonous, but the Father's spear was true, and pierced the side of the lesser god. Dropping to his knees, the Deceiver watched with a shocked expression upon his dark brow as his even darker blood ran in flowing rivulets across the chamber tiles and into the shadows and cracks of the walls. His blood was the stuff of shadows, and it found its way beyond the window. It trickled outward and downward across the ether and into the creation made by the Father of Man.

The Deceiver, kneeling with his sword in hand, smiled and pointed to the earth of blue and green. "Look, look at your children Father." He said, "Look once more, and remember it well. Know that soon it shall be gone, for as you fought me, the gods have been gathering their powers to destroy all that you have made! Soon all that will remain of your creation will be ashes and darkness- and you will have nothing to love but us!"

The Father of Man quickly turned from his foe, and ran to the window in time to see the gods completing their final chants. Words of light and dark, brought together by corruption and envy, swirled in the void beyond the stars. Ancient hymns long forgotten stalked from the lips of the gods, and the Father of God knew fear for the first time.

Gathering His strength, the Father of Man poured His energy towards his earth of blue and green. With great sadness He locked from sight His children and stars. A great veil covered the ether just as the killing blow of the petty, lesser gods raced forth. The Father of Man wept bittersweet tears as the destructive hymn scattered across the void, for while He saved His children, He knew that for eternity they would be lost to Him.

He had one final hope. "Starshaper, my companion and protector, I am afraid that I must give you up as well this bitter night. You are the only thing in all of existence sharp enough to pierce my shield without destroying it. If I cannot be with my children- if I cannot see them- then I must find some solace in the hope that they can in some way see me as they look to the heavens and the stars I made for them.

"Go to them. Be their guide in the times to come, and give them strength and direction. Stand as a testament of faith for them, and be my final gift to them." With that said, He let Starshaper fly, and as it struck the veil, it pierced it and struck deep into the heart of the earth of blue and green.

From behind Him, the Father of Man heard laughter. Turning, he saw the Deceiver, clutching his wound in one hand and his sword of darkness and pain in the other. "And it seems you have given your life to your children as well, Father. Know this- my blood has fallen upon your earth of blue and green, and it will destroy it- veil or no. As you took from my heart darkness, so shall I give your children darkened hearts. And as the darkness enters the heart of Man, both they and your precious stars shall know death. And when the last star dies- so too will your children."

The Father of Man threw himself at the Deceiver in rage, and the dark god pierced the Father's heart as He ran. Stopped cold, His hands clutching the arms of the Prince of Lies, the Father of Man fell to His knees. Coughing, he looked to the Deceiver and spoke.

"You may take away the stars from my children, but know this. You will never take from them the ability to look upward... and forward. You will never take from them their hope, or mine," and with that, the Father of Man, Chief of the Gods, died.

Far below, under a veil of shadows and light, the spear rested in a valley of green. Humanity looked to it in reverence and humility. Along its golden hilt shone the runes crafted by loving hands, and as the first star of the Great Maker faded, they wept- as orphans of a loving Father.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 4, 2002)

*Player Character Descriptions*

Land of the Spire

This campaign is unique in that both of the original players began the campaign running two characters each (to better fill out the party quotient).  A few sessions later, a third player entered the game with one character.  Unfortunately, due to family issues, work issues, life issues, etc, several sessions of the game saw an incomplete group of players at the table, leading to a party which either 1.  could not function adequately or 2.  was really unfit for any type of large scale combat.  Consequently, all three players now run two characters each, with an NPC thrown in for good measure.  In order of appearance, they are:  

Kerim (Halfling Rogue)	Okay… he’s an archetype.  Treasure hunter/adventurer by profession, Kerim spelunks because he enjoys the process of exploring ruinous caverns more than the rewards that it often entails.  While obsessed with all things shiny, the actual possession of treasure is often not as important to Kerim as the acquisition of it.  Unfortunately, his eagerness often translates into carelessness; more often than not, Kerim uses the ‘step on the floorplate’ technique to locate traps.

Lucien (Human Wizard)	Lucien’s personality is indicative of the turbulence inherent in his life.  Having run away from an orphanage when he was barely 18, Lucien spent nearly two years performing minor parlor tricks on the street until his potential was noticed by a wandering mage.  A few years later, Lucien ran away again, this time from his befuddled master.  Adventuring quickly became a solution to many of Lucien’s problems, most notably money.  The accumulation of power was Lucien’s greatest goal for a long time… only now is he beginning to actually care for his companions and for the world around him.  

Saryna (Half-Elven Ranger/Fighter)	Saryna’s proficiency with a bow is only eclipsed by the enormous chip on her shoulder, a personality flaw that causes her moods to run from hot to cold faster than a beholder can blink.  Though usually a worthwhile companion, her cavalier, mercenary attitude often brings her into conflict with other members of the party.  There’s no one better to watch your back in a dungeon though.  Just be careful she isn’t deciding where to shoot you.

Merileene (Human Cleric of the Father of Man) Merileene’s single most pronounced trait is an overwhelming shyness, which in turn causes her to blush and stammer as easily as most people breathe.  Her deep rooted lack of self confidence has gotten her into trouble in many occasions.  When push comes to shove, however, she’s a dependable, if reticent ally.  Most importantly, she stands her ground even when facing nearly certain death, a trait which hints at a strong heart beating beneath her many layers of armor and self doubt.

Damek (Elven Wizard)	Damek is an incredibly easygoing elf with a charming manner and a totally unflappable attitude.  Angering Damek is thought to be well nigh impossible, though he fights effectively and cleverly despite his constantly cool demeanor.  If anything, Damek may be too easily distracted by the world around him, occasionally leading to momentary lapses in judgement.  Not one to dissemble, Damek eagerly pursues anything that catches his fancy, be it magical, logical, or female.

Tristan (Human Figher/Cleric)	Tristan is, how shall we say, a few legs short of a behir.  Despite being a valiant warrior, a competent cleric and an overall extremely nice guy, he’s rather literal minded.  Some would call him gullible, or naïve, but in reality he is neither of these things.  He simply doesn’t notice or doesn’t understand a certain percentage of what goes on around him in the world.  To Tristan, life is very simple.  Evil strives against good, and good must prevail over evil.  Tristan’s goal in life is to help eradicate the world’s evil through adventure.  His light-hearted, almost jovial attitude make him an invaluable companion when in danger, just don’t expect him to understand sarcasm.  

Dwarf (NPC Dwarven Fighter)	The Dwarf joined up with our band of heroes for one reason:  gold.  His continued stay with them is most likely dependant upon finding immense quantities of said gold, and his departure may be inevitable if the party continues on its current career path (i.e. starving adventurers).  He has yet to reveal his name to anyone in the party, resulting in several nicknames from Kerim.  His most common handle, however, is simply ‘The Dwarf.’

edit:  _over the course of the last few months, the party arrangement has altered yet again... but though tragedy and sacrifice have changed the composition of the party, their quest still remains the same_


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 4, 2002)

*Chapter 1:  Running, tripping and stumbling through the gauntlet*

The red spheroid gleamed briefly as its rotating surface caught the sun, muddled images reflecting incomprehensibly on its mottled surface. As it hurtled towards its destination, millions of different variables of wind, weight, humidity, velocity, trajectory and luck coalesced into one single arc of flight that eventually resulted in a violent impact upon its intended target. 

Kerim thought: “Oh… a tomato,” and casually plucked it out of the air before it splattered messily against his head. Well, he intended to pluck it at any rate.  Actually, the tomato was so horribly rotten that it effectively blew up in his hand, showering his body with countless bits stinking fruit flesh. The crowd cheered. Kerim, meanwhile, made a mental note to add a personal lesson to his journal.

Lesson 1: Commoners rarely throw fresh fruit

After cleaning himself up somewhat, Kerim jumped up and grabbed the bars above his head, straining to gain a better view of the crowd assembled in the stands around him. If they wanted a good show, he would give them one. 

Ten feet in front of Kerim was a door… the first of many obstacles in this “Thief’s Maze.” The rules were quite simple: “Astound your friends and colleagues!  Successfully navigate a personally designed gauntlet and win fabulous prizes!” All Kerim had to do was begin by getting past this doorway.

Kerim examined the locked door with an expert eye and set to work… within seconds the door was open and Kerim stepped through. 

*click*

As the floor shifted slightly beneath Kerim’s feet, he reacted instinctively and threw himself forward, narrowly avoiding the arrow that sprung out of the wall at chest height. The crowd’s noise continued unabated. 

Three doors, one pit and several hundred needles later, Kerim paused to remove sharp pins from his arms and legs before proceeding. Not only was he tired of the “Thief’s Maze” by this point, he was sure that his performance thus far wouldn’t go very far in securing him employment, which is of course why he agreed to enter this silly contest in the first place. 

As he rested against the wall, Kerim noticed that the wall opposite him in the corridor seemed… off. A more detailed search of the wall revealed a loose stone
that, when pushed, opened a sliding stone doorway that led into an adjacent tunnel. Also curious were what appeared to be two stone buttons cunningly hidden within the stonework of the wall itself. Kerim experimentally pushed the buttons, noting that only one could be depressed at once. Kerim left the buttons set in the ‘left depressed’ position and moved cautiously into the new tunnel. 

Outside, he crowd’s roar seemed to swell to epic proportions, and Kerim was all but certain that he had managed to find the hidden exit. As visions of shiny things danced in his head, Kerim reached the end of the tunnel. Instead of a door, there was what appeared to be a large stone sphere. It was at that point that Kerim began to get a tingly sensation throughout his body… wasn’t it interesting how this tunnel seemed to slope upwards somewhat? Only now did the crowd’s excitement begin to take on a new light to Kerim… one that he pondered as he hauled ass back the way he came. 

Sure enough, a grinding clicky sound behind him heralded the release of the large stone sphere, which obeyed the laws of physics and began to pursue Kerim down the long hallway. 

Kerim cursed loudly as his foot snagged on a razor sharp wire… an addition to the tunnel which hadn’t been obvious during his trip towards the boulder.  Glancing quickly behind himself, Kerim saw that the boulder was rapidly gaining on him, rolling straight down the middle of the hallway towards him. Hobbling, Kerim finally managed to reach the other hallway. As he cleared the doorframe, he quickly toggled the switch to the ‘right depressed’ position as he hurled himself with all his might towards the left side of the doorway. 

The rumbling increased to a deafening roar, totally drowning out the sounds of the jeering crowd above Kerim. Then the boulder reached the hallway. Luckily for Kerim, the boulder hit the opposite wall and careened off to the right, following the path laid out by Kerim’s prodigious (and totally arbitrary) use of the wall switch. 

Lesson 2: Better to be lucky than… well… dead.

Score update: Kerim 2, Maze 2

After bandaging his foot with a hanky and waving to the crowd, Kerim continued through the maze. Four more doors and a few unimpressive traps later, Kerim was back where he started. The maze was a loop.

“This isn’t much of a ‘maze,’” Kerim thought. For a minute or two he waited for an announcer or someone to come and give him bags of money for completing the
maze, but such a boon was not forthcoming. It took Kerim another minute or two to make the mental leap from “I’m not done yet” to “wonder what was behind that boulder?”

Sure enough, after Kerim made his way back to the boulder hallway, he found a doorway in the newly opened alcove. A few seconds later, it was open.

Sixty feet away was another door, located on a platform some thirty feet above the arena floor… a platform very similar to the one Kerim was currently standing on. Below the “Thief’s Maze,” on the arena floor, warriors battled each other with steel and wood, bringing death and glory and entertainment to the watching crowd, all for the cost of a gold piece.  Entertainment… cheap at any price.  Unfortunately for Kerim, the two platforms of the maze were connected only by 60 feet of very old, very ratty looking rope. 

About twenty feet from the other side, as Kerim was waving and showboating to the crowd, the rope snapped, sending Kerim plummeting down towards the arena floor…
to dangle mere feet above the head of an angry Ettin.  After climbing back up the remnants of the now worthless rope, Kerim entered the available door and
found himself still outside. In front of him was a large platform, a winch elevator and another person.  The robed human seemed preoccupied with the elevator, as though expecting something to come up at anytime.  Kerim, automatically assuming this human to be another challenge, snuck up behind him silently and readied his dagger. Only at the last second did Kerim recognize the showmanship of scaring the living crap out of this hapless individual instead of merely killing him. 

“Waiting for someone?” Kerim asked. The robed man jumped nearly a foot before spinning around with his staff in a battle ready stance. 

The man looked at Kerim for a moment, then relaxed.  “You can’t possibly be my challenge.” The man then resumed looking at the elevator.

Kerim was insulted. “Hey! Did it occur to you that you may be *my* challenge? We’re all alone up here, and I don’t see any way down except for that elevator. 
Now defend yourself!” Having said this, Kerim moved backwards, out of range of the staff, and drew a throwing dagger. 

The robed man sighed, stepped back and cast a spell.  A pinprick appeared in front of the caster and grew into a shining disk that hung in front of the man like a glowing shield. After he stopped chanting, the glow faded, though a slight ripple effect could still be seen when the man moved. 

Kerim, in the meantime, threw an experimental dagger at the man, hoping to end the battle quickly. To the robed mage’s utter astonishment, the knife’s trajectory was such that it completely avoided the transparent barrier, imbedding itself solidly in the
mage’s left shoulder. In anger, the mage lashed out with another spell, sending two shards of pure energy into Kerim and knocking him back a pace. 

Kerim launched another dagger, but this time it simply rebounded off the disk of force present in front of the mage. Then everything went dark… the eerie darkness of magic. Kerim, however, simply slinked along the wall’s edge until he was partially out of the sphere of darkness… he then moved quickly up to the midpoint between himself and the mage and lay caltrops around to delay the robed man’s crossing.  Just as Kerim was getting ready to start playing ‘pin the knife on the donkey,’ a godawful screeching noise heralded the activation of the elevator. It wasn’t until an ogre’s head appeared that Kerim began to think maybe he and the mage hadn’t been intended to fight after all. 

“Ahh… my challenge has arrived.” The mage, who had stepped out of his darkness sphere the moment the elevator began to rise, readied himself. “We can kill it if we work together, or die separately.” Kerim, ever the pragmatist, asked “Can I have my dagger back?” The mage looked at his shoulder in disgust and was about to reply when the Ogre stepped onto the platform, waving his giant club menacingly. 

The mage was ready for the beast, and two more shards of energy flew past Kerim’s head and impacted the Ogre in the chest. Kerim’s dagger followed quickly, but rebounded off of the Ogre’s tough hide. The Ogre advanced, confused by the large sphere of darkness that hid part of his enemies. The mage took advantage of this distraction and dropped a sphere of burning flame right into the Ogre’s face, burning him horribly. The stench of burnt giant was overwhelming, and Kerim thought he might vomit. Instead, he took the opportunity to tumble past the ogre so that he could plant a dagger firmly in the monster’s back.  Unfortunately, as the ogre was thrashing about in anger and pain from the sphere of fire, its club smashed into the tumbling Kerim, who fell into a crumpled heap behind the injured monster. The ogre,
having recovered somewhat from the flaming sphere, suddenly found a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest… he looked up just in time to see the mage disappear back into his sphere of darkness. Roaring in pain and rage, the ogre advanced towards the mage’s position, completely unaffected by the caltrops Kerim had set earlier. However, in his haste, the ogre ignored the seemingly unconscious Kerim. Kerim, on the other hand, quietly stood up from his faux death and plunged his dagger into the ogre’s back, striking a decisive blow. The ogre spun and tried to smash the halfling, but the Kerim nimbly dodged out of the way, avoiding the club by mere inches. 

Suddenly, the ogre screamed out in pain as the flaming sphere once again burnt a path of destruction down his back, just as a second crossbow bolt struck the
creature in the throat. The ogre only had time to make a wet gurgle before it fell to the ground, its combined injuries finally taking their toll.  As it fell, Kerim was forced to dodge out of the way again to avoid being crushed. Moments later, the darkness winked out of existence.

Kerim stood up and brushed himself off, good-naturedly acknowledging the roar of the crowd. The announcer ascended to the platform and amplified his voice magically for the benefit of the audience.

"You both have demonstrated remarkable skills today, some more commendable than others. Your tests, of Intelligence, Luck, Trust and Strength were all overcome, despite some close calls along the way. Here is your reward.” 

The announcer then handed Kerim a large bag full of coins.
5000 copper coins to be exact.

“Well… that was fun.” Kerim gathered up his caltrops before making his way over to the mage. “I’m Kerim, by the way. What’s yer name anyways?” Kerim stuck out his small hand to properly greet the man. 

“I’m Lucien. You look like hell.” 

Kerim then noticed that the wound on his foot had broken open again and was caked in dried blood, while a smear of bloody footprints followed in his wake. He could also feel a couple of broken ribs, from where the ogre had landed a lucky blow. His hair was matted, his hands filthy with dirt and blood and his daggers were crusted with the yellowish/red ichor that only giants possess. Furthermore, he smelled like rotten tomatoes. Kerim waved to the crowd cheerfully and then turned to Lucien. 

“Nice to meetcha Lucien… can I have my dagger back now, please?”


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 9, 2002)

*more to come!*

I've gotten enough material together for the next installment, so now I'm looking for style pointers.

What do you story hour addicts look for in a good thread?  Lots of dialogue, copious descriptions, broad narrative or rapid fire reparte?  

I want this story to be as appealing as possible for the board (trying to give something back don'tcha know) but as a fairly new poster, I find it difficult to court replies.

As such, any and all comments are welcome and appreciated.  With any luck,  the next chapter will be up by the end of the week.

-Femerus


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 10, 2002)

*Chapter 2:  The Coming Storm*

Chapter 2:  The Coming Storm

A couple of weeks later and several hundred miles to the west, we find ourselves among the narrow streets of Darumont, a trade city on the outskirts of human explored lands, beyond the area known as the Fringe.  

Horsecarts wobble over uneven cobblestones and merchants hock their wares on the blessedly clean streets, the filth having been washed away by the morning’s rains.  This morning, however, the gentle rhythm of Darumont is disturbed by the forceful strides of Saryna the half elf, as she walks purposefully through the twisting roads of the city in search of an inn.

Finally settling on the Seven Stars Tavern, Saryna enters and orders her morning ale.  After sipping her ale in silence for a moment, Saryna turns and surveys the sparsely populated common room.  The only thing of interest is a rather heated discussion between two of the bar patrons: a robed man and a halfling.  Hoping for a barfight, Saryna moves to a closer table and begins to eavesdrop.

“You didn’t have to throw that dagger so hard you know.”

“Hey!  For all I knew, I was supposed to kill you.  It’s not my fault that your super protective mumbo magic crap didn’t do anything except look pretty.”

The man pales a bit, as though embarrassed.  “…I’d rather not talk about that.  You should just be thankful that I didn’t fry you on the spot”

The halfing’s eyes open wide, and he begins to stammer.  “I’M LUCKY!?  You… I just… you… I kicked that ogre’s ass!

In the background, Saryna chuckles softly, earning a sharp glance from the robed man.

“It’s considered rude to eavesdrop.”

The halfling chimes in.  “Maybe she finds you interesting, Lucien… that’d be a first!”  Kerim chuckles at his own joke.

“You two weren’t exactly being circumspect,” Saryna replies.  “If you didn’t want it known that this little one nearly stuck you in the ass with a knife, then don’t talk so loudly in taverns.”

Lucien’s frown deepens, the lines in his face tightening into a mask of irritation.  “There was nothing ‘nearly’ about it… and it was in the shoulder, thank you.”

Saryna sips her ale slowly and moves over to Lucien and Kerim’s table.  “Whatever.  To tell the truth, I was hoping to find a job in this town, but since I’ve been here I’ve seen little more than rabble and rubbish.  At the moment, you two are the closest thing to amusement that I’ve found in nary three weeks.  You’re not looking for a guardian, are you?  Have a shipment ya need watched or anything like that, hmm?

“No… in fact we happen to be looking for work as well.  I thought perhaps running the gauntlet in Saridor would endear me to a potential employer, but no such luck.”

Kerim comes back to the table with a pitcher of ale and a glass of wine for Lucien.  “That’s because you sat around and let me deal with the ogre for ya.  You really need to learn to take responsibility for your own problems, Lucien.” Kerim turns to Saryna, seeing the interest in her eyes.  “That’s where we met by the way… where I stuck him.  It wasn’t that interesting really… too linear.  Plus it’s in a town a few hundred miles east, so don’t getcher hopes up… um… what’s your name anyways?”  

“Saryna,” she replied.  “And you are Lucien and…”

“I’m Kerim.  The broody one is Lucien.  Nicetameetcha.”

Saryna turns to Kerim.  “Where are you headed if you can’t find work in Darumont, Kerim?”

“I hadn’t thought about it actually… I figure work’ll appear.  There’s always a call for freelancers, anyways.

Lucien snorts.  “Freelance?  Why not just be honest and call it mercenary work?”

“There’s nothing wrong with mercenary work,” Saryna replies.

“No… but I see no reason to dissemble about it either.”

“What, you too good to get yer hands dirty?”

Lucien laughs derisively.  “What kind of work do you think I’m looking for, gardening?”

The verbal sparring continues for some minutes, and Kerim tires of it quickly.  While Saryn and Lucien bicker, Kerim approaches the bartender… time to get proactive about this whole ‘job’ thing!

“Excuse me… bartender?”

The bartender looks out over the bar, convinced that his lucky magical mug, Rupert, has finally decided to talk to him.  Kerim climbs up on a stool.

“Oh… what can I do for you, lad?”

“Where might some freelance adventurers find work in this town?”

“Freelance adventurers… hmm.  I’m not quite… sure really.”

Kerim looks at him askance.  “I’m sure you must have some idea.”

The bartender looks at Kerim shrewdly.  “There’s something on the tip of my tongue but I just… I can’t seem to quite remember it sir.”

Kerim looks at the bartender for a second and begins to catch on.  “Ah… I understand that feeling… Oh!  I seemed to have dropped a couple of coins here on the bar… how clumsy of me...”

The bartender vanishes the coins from the bar before they even stop moving.  “Oh, aye… that reminds me.  Well, freelancers usually set up shop so to speak, get their name known and people come to them.  You might think about doing that for starters.  Or, well… there’s the Sweeps.  They’re a well known vigilante service in Southend.  You’ll do well with them, good to work on the reputation if you catch my drift.  Coh… what was their address again?  Ah… I’ve gone and forgotten it.”

Kerim pulls out three pieces of silver and begins to juggle them with marvelous dexterity.

The bartender’s eyes gleam.  “Oh… it’s coming back to me.”

Kerim palms one piece and starts juggling two with one hand.

“Coh… I’m losing it again.”

Kerim puts the third coin back in the mix.

“Oh… oh… on the tip of me tongue…”

Kerim takes out a fourth coin and starts juggling two alternating circles.  By this point, several patrons are chuckling openly.

The bartender smiles.  “Ah… I remember now.  They’re on the corner of Sullyset and Renshad.”  Kerim grabs the coins out of midair and stacks them neatly on the bar.  Once again, they vanish before they lose the heat from Kerim’s hand.

“Thank you, sir,” the bartender says.

Kerim looks at him with amusement.  “No… thank you.”

Saryna looks at Kerim appraisingly, having just gained a great deal of respect for his straightforwardness.  “Seems we may have a place to work after all.  Do you mind if I travel with you to that part of town?”

Kerim and Lucien exchange a quick glance… neither of them objects to having a new companion, even if she is somewhat… abrasive at times.

Lucien stands up.  “It’s not raining yet… we should leave as soon as possible to avoid the storm.”

Smirking, Saryna stands.  “After you, Master Lucien.”

_To be continued..._ 

_Coming up next post:  Gainful employment!  A new friend!  And.... Pin: the magical bird_


----------



## Torillan (Jul 11, 2002)

Very nice!!  I really enjoyed the intro "Creation Myth".  I will be looking forward to updates!!  

You may not be proud, but you certainly should be!  Keep up the good work.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 11, 2002)

Chapter 2, Continued

After heading west for the better part of an hour, Saryna, Kerim and Lucien come to a crowded crossroads.  Dozens of people mill about minding their own business.  A dirty town crier rehashes last week’s news with a grating voice, while street vendors wave their ‘lizard on a stick’ at anyone who ventures too close.

As the party moves through the throng, a young woman in a cleric’s garb comes barreling through the crowd, looking intently at the feet of as many people as possible.  At the last second, Lucien darts aside to avoid being trampled.

As she passes, Lucien manages to grab her arm.  

“Excuse me!”  

As soon as Lucien sees her face, however, he regrets having snapped at her.  The girl seems possessed by an almost manic energy… her face is pale, as though frightened, and the tracks of recent tears stand out on her cheeks, reflecting iridescently in the morning’s light.

The girl stops dead in her tracks and begins to tremble slightly.  “Oh… my apologies sir.  I… um… I’m sorry.”  The blushes appearing on the girl’s cheeks contrast sharply with her pale, frightened complexion.  

“You seem to be in somewhat of a rush… you could have easily trampled… my short friend, here,” Lucien says as he gestures to Kerim.  Kerim looks up at the girl’s face and is immediately struck by her fragility.

The young cleric’s agitation only seems to increase.  “I’m trying to find somebody, but all I have to go on is their shoes… it is no easy task.”  As she talks, the girl continues to scan the feet of the passers-by.  

“What’s so special about the shoes?” asks Kerim.  The girl bites her lip, and speaks without even looking at him.  

“They’re red… with a black eagle on the sides… I… I need to find them.”

As Kerim begins to aid the girl in scanning the crowd’s feet, Lucien takes a step away and closes his eyes as though concentrating.  The crowd seems to avoid him without even realizing it.  

_Pin…be my eyes.  Do you see any pedestrians about with red shoes on?

No… not in the bustle.  Why?

Just curious… this… woman is looking for someone with them on.  Do you think you could get a better angle on the crowd and keep looking?

Sure._

Meanwhile, Saryna is becoming impatient with what she dismisses as a minor distraction.  “I thought we were out here to go job hunting, not shoe hunting.”  The cleric is startled out of her search by the owner of this new voice, whom she had not noticed previously.

The girl bows as she sees Saryna for the first time.  “I am sorry to disturb you… madame.”

Saryna’s eyes widen in shock at this totally unexpected display of respect.  Laughter bubbles out of her mouth without her consent.

“Ha!  I’m no ‘madame.’  Why is it so important that you find this person anyways?”  

The young cleric’s face, if possible, becomes even paler.  

“They came into the temple… they destroyed… the Book.  Then they killed… murdered…” The young girl chokes back a sob.  

“I have to find them.  I must!  They must pay for this sacrilege… in the name of the Father of Man.”  As she mentions the Father, the girl genuflects and makes a gesture with her hand.

Lucien continues to concentrate.

_Pin… progress?  

Nothing.  What’s going on?  Should I be looking for someone milling about, looking suspicious?

Someone in a hurry… they just murdered someone.  Red shoes with an eagle icon.

Nice of them to wear such rare footware, then.

I know… but it’s all we have to go on.

I’m not seeing anyone… Whomever it is, I can’t see his feet, or he’s smart enough not to be walking around outside.

I’m sure you did your best.  Keep an eye out though._

Saryna glances about haphazardly.  “I don’t think they’d still be out in a crowd at this point.  Cities like this always have sewers and other ways to get around without being seen.”  

Lucien seems to come out of his trance.  “If he’s outside, he’s keeping an extremely low profile.  I don’t suppose you know what his tracks look like?”

The girl’s forehead crinkles in concentration.  “They were boots… like yours I suppose.  I… I’m not sure what the track looks like.  I… I’m sorry.”

Kerim pats the girl’s hand consolingly.  “How is it that you only saw this person’s shoes, anyway?  Did he come up and clock you on the head while you were kneeling?”

The girl looks at Kerim, tears welling up in her eyes.  Her voice trembles as she speaks.

“…I hid.  Father of Man forgive me.”  The girl genuflects again, nearly falling as her shaking knees give way beneath her.  “He would have killed me… he had a long knife.”  

Kerim continues to hold onto her hand.  “Hey, it’s okay.  Everyone gets scared now and again.  And just think… if you had died, who’d be left to avenge everybody?”

The girl looks at Kerim strangely and nods, trying to look fierce.  “I… I expect retribution, and it will be dealt by my hand!”

Saryna laughs.  “What do you know of fighting?  You’re but a child, and a cleric to boot.  You’re next to useless with your temple-bred ways and your unworldly views… ‘people are born, people die.’  Bah!”

Tears begin to leak from the young cleric’s eyes, despite her best efforts to keep them back.  “I… I…”

Kerim’s steely glance sets Saryna back a pace.  “Hey!  It’s called tact, why don’t you try it sometime?  There’s no reason to give her a hard time here.  She’s the one who’s suffered.  Unlike some of us here, this girl’s sad story is actually sad!  So LAY OFF!”

The cleric’s relief is evident, though she didn’t expect a display of gallantry from such an unimposing figure.  “Thank you.  I… can I travel with you for a while?  I can pay you… buy you rations or something.”  The girl takes out a shiny piece of gold and holds it towards Kerim.

Saryna’s eyes light up at the thought of being paid by the young girl, but Kerim waves away the gold.  The girl returns it to her pouch, confused.

“So will you help me?”  

Kerim smiles.  “It just so happens that we’re free at the moment, so I don’t see why not.  You’re welcome to travel with us for the time being.”

Sulking, Saryna mutters under her breath.  “Well I’m not free… but I’ll come along anyway.”

Before Saryna has even finished her sentence, the cleric has a piece of gold in her hand again.  Kerim slaps away Saryna’s hand before she can take it.

“Would you stop that?  We won’t accept your gold.”

The girl looks confused, taking the gold piece out again.  “But she wants this…”

Kerim glares at Saryna for a moment before responding.  “You’ll attract footpads, now put that away, please.”

Saryna glares at Kerim as the girl returns the gold to her pouch.  “Fine, then.  Let’s get moving.  Your eagle boots are long gone.”

As the sun rises to its zenith, breaking through the haze of dark clouds, the group makes its way from northern residential Darumont to Southend: a district of commerce, trade and questionable goings-on.  During the trip, the group learns that the girl’s name is Merileene and that she is, or was, a novice cleric at one of the local temples of The Father before it was destroyed.  The Book in question turns out to have been the records and histories of the final destruction of the Father of Man.  Any motive for such a desecration is not forthcoming.   

Before long, the pungent smell of commerce heralds their arrival in Southend; even more disreputable merchants and vendors attempt to woo the group with their impressive arrays of shiny, multicolored trash.  

The Sweeps building itself is very well maintained, two stories tall with a very sturdy looking oak door in front with the word “Sweeps” written above it in gilt lettering.

Lucien pauses for a moment before he opens the Sweeps’ door.  “I hope none of you are afraid of birds.”  Mere moments after Lucien finishes speaking, a small hawk swoops out of the air and lands gracefully on the crooked end of Lucien’s staff, which in hindsight looks a bit like a perch.

Lucien smiles at the bird.  “This is Pin… my familiar.  Pin, meet Saryna and Merileene.  You know the short one already.”  Pin looks at the women, makes a ‘wark!’ noise and starts preening.  Merileene is entranced.

“Is she your friend?” she asks.

Lucien glances fondly at the bird.  “My familiar,” he corrects.  Then, seeing the confused look on Meri’s face, he continues.  “A familiar is a wizard’s magical animal companion.”

Meri’s enthusiasm drops sharply out of misunderstanding.  “Oh… she isn’t a real bird?”

Lucien laughs.  “Oh… Pin is real alright.  She’s just extremely intelligent and resourceful.  Had there been any red boots in the area, Pin would have seen them.  I had her searching for them mere seconds after you mentioned them to us.”

“Oh… I’m very sorry,” Meri stammers, afraid she’s somehow offended Lucien.  Lucien doesn’t notice.

Kerim impatiently opens the door and motions for everyone else to follow.  “Let’s go!  Meaningful employment awaits!”

Upon entering the Sweeps building, everyone notices a marked contrast between the interior of the building and the dirty marketplace outside.  The Sweeps reception area is quite large, with several comfortable plush chairs, a fireplace and a few doors leading to other parts of the office.  Kerim quickly makes the rounds… looking for a service bell, trying out all the chairs, warming his feet by the fire and picking up an introductory “About the Sweeps” brochure.  Finally seeing the sign that reads “please be seated,” Kerim returns to the most comfortable of the plush chairs and sits down to read the pamphlet.  Saryna notices that nearer the ceiling are trophies of the hunt… heads of monsters and beasts slain by the organization, named weapons and so forth.  The portraits are what catch Lucien’s eye… pictures of very impressive looking men and women with their notable accomplishments listed on a plaque underneath.  

After a few minutes, a well-dressed man comes through one of the rear doors and approaches the group.

“Hello, welcome to the Sweeps.  How may we be of assistance?”

Kerim jumps off his chair and shakes the man’s hand before invited to do so.  “Actually, we were hoping that _we_ could be of assistance to _you_.”

The man gives everyone an appraising glance before responding.  “Oh… I see.  Aspiring members then?  Please come with me.  We can discuss this in my office.”

After everyone is settled in the office, the man begins his speech.  “To become a part of our organization, you must first understand what it is that we do.  We like to call ourselves ‘Troubleshooters.’  In greater detail, we cover the entire range of possible problems that people may bring to us.  If a person has lost something, we find it.  We will accept any problem within the limits of our capabilities.  Consequently, we refuse to be members of any military support groups… we simply lack the resources to become an effective mercenary provider.  In addition, we will refuse outright any job or task that would endanger our position here in Darumont as an upstanding organization.  Any questions?  No?  Then tell me about yourselves.”

Kerim begins.  “Well, I’m a freelance adventurer and finder of lost items myself… I have a good amount of experience working on solo projects, but I recognize how a team dynamic could be helpful.”

Lucien goes next.  “I’m a mage.  I seek the betterment of myself and my power through any available avenue, so long as it doesn’t interfere with the natural order of things.”

“I’m a freelancer as well,” adds Saryna, daring Lucien to disparage the term.  “Though I’m quite good with a sword, I excel at marksmanship.  I work well alone or in a team.”

Merileene, still in the process of coming to terms with mercenary work, mutters something about being a healer and their importance in battles.  The man behind the desk however, hardly notices.  Favorably impressed by the group’s diversity as well as their refreshing straightforwardness, he makes a decision.  

“It sounds as though you’re a very well rounded group.  Very well… I suppose it couldn’t hurt to give you a trial run.  Simply put, if you don’t bungle, you’ll be welcome to join the Sweeps as initiates.  Now, however, we talk business.”

For the next half hour, the man details the Sweeps rules and payment policy.  When he’s done, he gives the details of the assignment.  

“There is a warehouse on the docks… recently a shipment arrived from several Amari carracks.  I’m assuming it’s weaponry to be sold on the market, but that’s unimportant.  They have a rather large contingent of guards there, but they want a few more hands, and you could handle this easily with so many people there.  Just don’t fall asleep.”  The man hands Lucien a slip of paper.  “This slip has my sigil on it.  Present it to anyone that asks who you are, and identify yourselves as Sweeps.  Please be at the docks within an hour.”

Thank you’s are exchanged, hands are shaken, and the intrepid adventurers set forth on their first joint venture… guard duty.

Sigh…

_To be continued…

Next post:  Fight! Fight! Fight! …and Pin takes a nap._


----------



## Trevalon Moonleirion (Jul 12, 2002)

Great story hour!  Your style certainly kept me involved with the story, and the story itself is very entertaining.  The creation myth at the beginning of the thread was really original, and gives some nice background into the campaign world.  

I'm looking forward to more--I can't really say how to improve anything at all!


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem (Jul 12, 2002)

> What do you story hour addicts look for in a good thread? Lots of dialogue, copious descriptions, broad narrative or rapid fire reparte?




You don't need any advice. Your style is your style, and from what I've read, its all good.

In particular, I loved the thieve's maze thing and the Sweeps HQ. The thieves maze thing was just well written (even though a little cliche - but hey, just call it classic) and I got a quick grip of the Kerim character. Sweeps just made me laugh when you mentioned the brochure. 

Looking forward to the next installment!


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 15, 2002)

*Chapter 2 goes the way of the dodo*

Chapter 2, concluded

After an uneventful trip to the docks, the team takes time to explore their surroundings somewhat in the hours before dusk.  The docks are crowded at this time of day… at least a dozen ships of varying sizes float lazily in the river, resting as though from a hard journey.  The setting sun reflects brightly in the river until it falls beneath the canopy of the forests on the west bank… birds fly swiftly from tree to tree, finishing up their daily business before settling in for the night.  As the sun sinks lower and the workmen depart, the only audible sounds are the farewell chirpings of the birds and the lapping of the river’s water against the piers.  

Night falls, and with it comes the strange, distorted mirror world of evening.  The pale moon rises, in mockery of the yellow sun, while hundreds of bats flitter noiselessly through the sky in imitation of their feathered brethren.  The lingering storm clouds refuse to allow starlight through their dark shroud, and a light river’s fog begins to seep over the area.  

It’s a perfect night for a robbery.

The party has been instructed to guard the west wall of the warehouse, which they’re doing in shifts.  The warehouse itself is an elegant design (for a warehouse) with a second level open-air catwalk extending around the entire building, so that stationed guards can watch the inside and the outside of the warehouse with equal ease.  

During the third shift, the night is beginning to turn an ashen shade of gray, as the inevitable sun threatens to shatter the night’s peace as it does every morning.  Dawn is still three hours away.  

Kerim and Merileene (and Pin, ostensibly) are awake for this shift… they huddle close to their cloaks in a futile attempt to keep the dark morning’s chill from penetrating their bones.  Nary a sound can be heard, save for the muffled movement of the unsleeping river against the docks.  Until, that is… they hear what sounds like a strangled cry, followed closely by a muffled thump.

Kerim and Meri look nervously at each other, neither of them exactly sure what they should do.  

Kerim whispers “Wake the others.”  As Meri moves to comply, she notices several figures sneaking across the lower wall.  Below them, one of the female guards is lying on the ground… from this distance it’s impossible to tell if she’s alive or dead.

The figures footpad silently across the wall, jumping down to the floor without a sound.  Two of the four head towards the hapless inner warehouse guards while the other two make for the warehouse’s lower east gate.  

“Let’s brighten things up, shall we?” asks Lucien as he begins to cast.  Magical streaks of energy shoot forth from his fingertips, striking two of the thieves in the back, but not before they manage to drop another one of the guards.  Everyone is awake by this point… Saryna strings her bow as she prepares to shoot, while Kerim judges the distance from the catwalk to the ground below.  Lucien, bringing another spell to mind, opens a mental link with Pin for reconnaissance.

_Pin… keep a watch on the gate and let me know if anyone manages to leave the building.

Wha?!?  Go away… sleeping._

Meanwhile, the remaining guard, beset by two foes at once, drops to the ground, her body cruelly pierced by one of the thief’s swords.  Lucien angrily releases another spell, this time aimed at the thief by the gate.  Bolts of pure force slam into the thief’s back, but he begins to open the gate.  

Merileene, horrified by the death she is witnessing, decides to act.  Running as fast as her legs will carry her, she makes for the nearest stairway, fully intending to charge at the murderous thieves as soon as she arrives at the bottom floor.  Kerim, on the other hand, decides to eschew stairs altogether.  Taking a deep breath, he makes a running leap from the catwalk and lands on the ground in a perfect summersault, his momentum carrying him to his feet.  Seconds later, he’s running full tilt towards the thieves.  Stealth be damned!  

Having strung her bow and nocked an arrow, Saryna takes aim at the thief opening the gate.  Though his companions have gathered around him to shield him from the wizard’s magic, they can’t keep a perfectly placed arrow from imbedding itself deep within the man’s thigh.  He cries out in pain, but continues to winch open the gate.  Suddenly, several figures slip into the warehouse from the opening he has made.  

_(author’s note:  this is simply the first of many encounters where we refused to admit, or even notice that we were outnumbered and outclassed.  I’m still amazed we survived)_

On his way to the gate, Kerim is intercepted by one of the thieves, who manages to slice a deep gash along Kerim’s arm with a rapier.  Before Kerim can react, another thief bends down to the remaining guard slices his rapier across her body in a rapid arc… blood sprays from her neck and she goes limp.  

In a loud voice, Lucien calls forth the power for another spell.  Arcane energies coalesce into a sphere of fire, which Lucien then mentally ‘rolls’ at the thieves clustered around the gate.  They avoid it easily.  Merileene, in the meantime, clanks noisily down the stairs, finally arriving on the field of battle… totally out of breath.  

Suddenly, a crooked grin splitting his face, one of the thieves by the gate approaches Kerim, drawing a greatsword as he moves in for the attack.  

_(author’s note: How did he manage to sneak over the wall with that behemoth weighing him down?)_

His muscles flex impressively as he brings the greatsword down at Kerim, who easily dodges out of its path.  Kerim’s dagger shoots out like lightning, but is in turn deflected by the first man’s lightning quick rapier.

“Enough of this,” mutters Saryna, nocking another arrow.  Seconds after she lets it fly, Kerim nearly faints as it whizzes past his head to spout unceremoniously from the chest of the greatsword wielding maniac.  He staggers, clutching his chest… but does not fall.  

Suddenly, a war cry is heard from beyond the gate, and several armed guards enter the fray.  They quickly engage the enemy thieves in a desperate life or death struggle.  Two of the thieves hold back though.  One begins to chant as he casts what can only be a healing spell for the badly wounded thief by the gate.  The second smirks as he points to the catwalk and speaks a word of magic.  Lucien swears vividly as the inky black of a magical darkness spell surrounds him.  Saryna’s cursing indicates that she is trapped within the sphere as well.  Unbeknownst to Lucien and Saryna, however, mere seconds after opening the door to the ground level, Meri is stopped a surely as if someone had glued her feet to the floor… blinded.  

One brutally effective spell later, Kerim finds himself facing six thieves, with only two hapless guards to support him.  

This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.  

In fact, it doesn’t.  Lucien uses his last mental image of the battle’s layout to bring his flaming sphere 30 ft towards him, mowing down one of the thieves in the process.  Then, taking a cue from Kerim, Lucien hangs down from catwalk by his hands and drops to the ground perfectly, rolling up into *A Dramatic Pose of Righteous Fury and Magical Impressiveness!* 

Unfortunately, the one athletic moment in Lucien’s life goes unseen by all, as he is still within the sphere of darkness.  However… Lucien quickly takes advantage of this situation and casts a spell, making himself invisible.  Like a good chess player, Lucien is already several moves ahead of his opponents.  All his friends have to do now is live until he can act.

Merileene, in the meantime, has yet to lay smack to jack, having wasted time using the stairs only to suddenly find herself caught in the darkness spell.  She moves towards the sound of battle in front of her until her head is barely poking out from the black sphere of magic and surveys the scene.

Her heart freezes as she sees the chaos in front of her… and she does nothing.

Kerim, beset by two thieves at once, is barely managing to hold his own.  His agility is just barely keeping him alive… it is obvious that he won’t be able to keep up this pace much longer.  The two guards on the other hand, each engaged in battle with one thief each, are obviously outclassed.  Rapiers flick out like the tongues of twin snakes, turning aside swords and inflicting deep wounds with equal proficiency.  Meanwhile, the two remaining thieves, though badly injured, are still strong enough to carry out their mission.  Crate after crate of boxes find themselves loaded on an empty wagon by the gate.

In frustration, Saryna begins to curse in a strange amalgamation of common and Elven.  Hoping to find her way out of the darkness, she begins to inch her way along the catwalk.  

The air ripples slightly as Lucien pierces the cover of the darkness spell and surveys the situation.  Two thieves are still busily packing up the wagon while the other four are engaged in battle with two guards and the halfling.  Lucien smiles as he positions himself behind the four thieves, who have unwittingly played right into Lucien’s hands.  Placing his hands in a double fan-like position, Lucien begins to chant the eerie words of magic.  Great jets of flame billow from his hands as he winks back into visibility.  

The thieves don’t know what hit them.  Two of the thieves die instantly… the heat from the flames searing their lungs, stealing what little breath remained in their bodies.  Kerim and the guards, untouched by the flames, suddenly realize that the tide has been turned.  Again.  

Merileene, shocked into action by the surprise immolation, rushes forward and swings her mace in a heavy blow, intending to cave in the skull of the nearest n’er do well.  

*whiff*

Kerim, relieved to have support, quickly runs between the legs of his remaining opponent, shoving his knife upwards as he moves.  The man drops, mercifully dead.  As the two guards overpower their enemy, Lucien sees the final two thieves loading the final crate onto the wagon… 80 feet away.  They’re a mess.  One of them has an arrow sticking out of his leg and energy burns on his back.  The second has several knife wounds and what looks like a line of burnt flesh from his ankles to his blackened head.  Unfortunately, by the time anyone gets to the gate, they’ll be long gone.  

Suddenly, the two men fall to the ground, dead… an arrow protruding from each of their backs.  

Glancing upwards, the team can just make out Saryna in the darkness, grinning like a cat with canary feathers in her mouth.  

By dawn, the crates had been returned to the warehouse, the bodies of the thieves picked clean _(by the rare scavenger known as the ‘adventurer bird’)_ and the slain guards lain out in a row of honor, their swords clasped in their hands.  Merileene, having already healed everyone’s wounds, sits in the corner, recovering from the chaotic emotions of her first real battle.  

By nine o’clock, the team has been paid, thanked and sent on their merry way.  Kerim is quick to point out that they’ve already missed at least two good breakfasts, and hightails it back to the inn where everyone takes the opportunity to eat, sleep and heal.  In the interim, Lucien takes time to sift through their newly acquired inventory.  He is pleased to find several scrolls and potions as well as a half full wand of “Burning Hands.”  The thieves, it seems, were very well equipped… their armor and weaponry is of extremely high quality.  They must have been hired by someone very well funded.  But who?

_To be continued…

Next post:  A pompous new friend!  A mysterious, creepy-ass stranger!  Kerim and Lucien oversleep… and Saryna finds out why the rogue should always take point._


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem (Jul 15, 2002)

> Then, taking a cue from Kerim, Lucien hangs down from catwalk by his hands and drops to the ground perfectly, rolling up into A Dramatic Pose of Righteous Fury and Magical Impressiveness!




At last. I'm assured that stuff like this doesn't just happen in my games.

And now you can honestly stop doing the self-deprecation thing. We know you're a good writer.

P.S - is my avatar working? do you see a portrait of some guy or a spider or what? I think I've messed this up somewhere.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 16, 2002)

I actually was using the self-deprecation thing as a kind of 'pity card' to try and get people to actually read the story and respond.  As it is, I'm doing pretty well... most of the story hours seem to have a post to respond ratio of 10:1 or there abouts, which is just about right for mine.  

Lucien's jump off the catwalk was indeed a classic moment... 10 strength, no ranks in jump OR tumble.  30 ft off the ground, Lucien rolls a 20 on his jump check and nobody sees it happen.  Sigh...

As for the avatar... I see a rather impressive looking chap dressed in red and black.  That what you were going for?

-Femerus


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem (Jul 16, 2002)

> As for the avatar... I see a rather impressive looking chap dressed in red and black. That what you were going for?





Good, you can see him. He's a character from my Story Hour (although he hasn't shown up quite yet), and when I found the picture on the internet it was a perfect fit for him.

Edit: Arse. The avatars have disappeared.


Anyway, back to Dusk in the Land of Fading Stars.... I think the self-deprecation worked. Got me reading!


----------



## Krellic (Jul 19, 2002)

Nothing wrong with the writing style here, though several more updates wouldn't hurt


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 21, 2002)

*in lieu of a *proper* update...*

So... chapter 3 is coming along, but unfortunately is stuck on my work computer at the moment.  I'll finish it up and post it at some point next week. 

In the meantime, however, I've decided to give all of my loyal readers (I _do_ hope I have more than 1) an example of some of the pre-game character stuff that our DM had us do.  

Without further ado, here is Kerim's personal statement!

Kerim Lightedge

“If there is a more honorable motivator than curiosity, I don’t know what it is.  Well, except maybe treasure… or a good pot roast for that matter… and a nice, plump, short woman… with HUGE *ahem*… AND a good pot roast.  Wait… my personal mantra statement seems to have meandered a bit.  Can I start over?  Hello?”

I was born in the empire, or at least that’s what it says on the maps.  Well, it doesn’t exactly say “Kerim was born HERE,”  rather, it says that my birthplace is part of the empire, despite evidence to the contrary… Damn.  I’m wandering again.

Ahem…!

Far to the south of the spire lies the city of Greendon, named after a local mountain of the same name.  It’s not a very tall mountain, but the inhabitants of Greendon figured that if the Empire can annex Greendon and call it an imperial holding without ever having seen it, then Greendon Hill can damn well become a mountain.  And that’s just what happened, much to the confusion of the Imperial cartographer’s guild.  

At any rate, I was born there in a little house in the eastern part of town, where most of the halflings lived.  My mother was there (shocker!) and my two sisters, eager to strangle me out of jealousy once I cleared what I now refer to as my ‘first dungeon.’  That is, my sisters were ready to strangle me, not my mother.  

From birth, I was obsessed with small, tight openings and shiny things.  Fortunately, I was more than willing to share my shiny things with others, which led to a great deal of exploration into more small, tight openings.  Finally, after a few years of unadulterated spelunking, I decided to merge all of my interests together into a freelance career of dungeon crawling and the gathering of shiny things.  

I soon learned that I was a great deal smaller and faster than most others who have taken up the same profession, which allowed me to get ahead early.  All in all, I’ve been very lucky not to get my head separated from my body thus far.  Or swallowed… or impaled… or crushed…

Why do I do this again?  

Ooo… shiny…


_Next post... The story hour continues with Chapter 3, part 1!_


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 23, 2002)

Chapter 3:  The Thlot Pickens! (probably needs more water)

The sun beats down oppressively on the heads of the townsfolk as they go about their daily lives in the crowded streets of Darumont.  Complete strangers exchange withering glances at one another before going their separate ways, while cutpurses and ruffians keep a sharp eye out for an easy mark, like lions picking the elderly and sick gazelles out of a herd.  

Totally oblivious to it all, Damek the Elf wanders aimlessly through town seeking distraction.  His thin frame effortlessly parts the sea of people, all of whom seem to be walking in the opposite direction as the tall Elf.  Casting his gaze about at random, Damek’s eyes fall on the Seven Stars Tavern… and he is immediately smitten by its rustic old world charm.  Or so he tells himself as he enters, his eyes never once leaving the red haired half-Elven beauty sitting near one of the front windows.  Her red hair cascades down to her shoulders; coy strands occasionally falling in front of her face to her obvious irritation.  At her side is an unstrung bow and an oversized sword, as much a testament to her profession as the well developed muscles in her arms and the shapely contour of her legs.  Her green eyes flash as she meets his gaze… with a bemused expression on her face, she turns to speak softly to her companions.  Damek grins as her companions glance at him curiously.  No doubt she is flattered by his attention.  If only he could hear what she was saying…

“Why in the Father’s name is there a frickin’ pasty Elf staring at me from across the damn bar?” mutters Saryna.  Meri and Lucien turn slowly and look at the newcomer, eager for a distraction from Kerim’s constant pratter.  Kerim, on the other hand, contentedly blathers on about his cousins while he juggles three salt-cellars, pausing only occasionally to throw a pinch of spilled salt over his left shoulder to ward off bad luck.  There is already quite a pile on the floor behind him.

Lucien’s eyes narrow as he examines Damek, noting the scroll case, book satchel, several small pouches, flowing robes and small dagger that mark the Elf as a magic user.  Merileene, on the other hand, sees little more than his smooth, ageless features.  Never having before seen an Elf, Meri is somewhat disconcerted by the intelligence that sparkles in his gray eyes, unaware that Damek is most likely over three times her age.  

Damek, in the meantime, begins walking slowly towards the table, eager to acquaint himself with the flame-tressed warrior who is so pointedly… ignoring him?  Damek’s steady pace falters a bit as he realizes that he may have misjudged the situation.  Before he arrives at the table, the robed human stands up and blocks his path.

The sounds that emit from Lucien’s mouth are eerily disturbing… at once reminiscent of the language of magic and the hissing of snakes.  “That’s far enough.  We’ve already been here long enough to become wary of strangers… what business do you have this far west?  Elves are rarely seen around these parts, mages even less so.” 

Damek, naturally, understands Lucien perfectly.  He answers in the same language, albeit with an Elven accent.  “I left the Elves because they feared my power… I came west because I had never been here before.  Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce myself to the ladies.”

Lucien sighs, obviously unimpressed, and steps aside.  “Knock yourself out,” he says, switching back to common.  “I’ll be upstairs studying.  Try not to let your power hit you in the butt on the way out.”  

At this point, Kerim makes his excuses and goes upstairs to nap, his three breakfasts having finally caught up with him.  Damek takes the ‘no other men in the vicinity’ opportunity to approach the table and introduce himself to the women who have caught his eye.  

Ironically, Merileene is the first to speak, blushing prettily as she does so.  “Hello.  I am Merileene, this is Saryna… pleased to meet you.”  Damek bows low and kisses her hand gallantly.

“The pleasure is mine, m’lady.  My name is Damek… finest wizard in these parts.”  At this, Saryna snorts and barks a coarse laugh, causing more cracks to form in Damek’s pre-conceived notion of her.  

“No traces of humility in you, are there Damek?” Saryna asks sardonically.  Damek, for his part, smiles charmingly.  

“None that I am aware of.”

“Well,” Saryna continues, “you’ll need to use some with Merileene there… she’s the traveling morals of the party if you take my meaning.  A cleric of some such.”

Meri looks at Saryna sharply.  “The Father of Man… and you should be more respectful.”  Looking back and forth between the two women, Damek laughs lightly.  

“Well, I shall try not to disrespect either of you, m’lady Saryna.  In fact, I’ll wager that I can eventually bring you around to the side of the angels … maybe smooth some of your rough edges and soften that chip on your shoulder.”  Merileene, nodding in agreement with Damek’s intuitive _second_ impression of Saryna, cuts in.  

“Saryna isn’t really as bad as she likes to come off… there is good in her, I’m sure of it.”

Damek smiles at Merileene.  “Yes… with a careful search, I’m sure we’ll be able to find it!”  Merileene blushes prettily.

Saryna, in the meantime, sits forward in her chair, furious about being talked about as if she weren’t there.  Under the table, her hand clutches convulsively on a knife hilt, and her eyes flash dangerously in the late morning light.  As she speaks, it is obvious that her restraint is slowly leaking out of the cracks in her composure.

“I DON’T need _‘saving’_ and I *certainly* don’t need either of you trying to find some glimmer of _faith_ in me.  Neither of you really know anything about me, and I find that arrangement totally acceptable!”

Damek’s gray eyes sparkle with barely-disguised mirth.  “I don’t believe that is a wise point of view to take m’lady… if there’s one thing in this world you can count on, it is knowledge.  Knowing another’s opinion of you is a form of knowledge, and gives you an advantage over them.”

Smiling politely, Merileene excuses herself to partake of her daily prayers, leaving a suddenly friendless Saryna to deal with the none-to-subtle advances of Damek the Elf.

Changing tactics, Damek begins to question Saryna about something she obviously loves… battle.  “So… what brings you to Darumont?  You look as though you expect trouble, what with all those weapons scattered around.”

Saryna sighs, humoring his curiosity.  “In a manner of speaking.  We’re mercenaries for an organization called the Sweeps, located here in town.  Two days ago we successfully defended a warehouse from a group of bandits.”  Saryna smiles sarcastically.  “What about you, O wizard of great power… why are you here?  What brought you this far west, and what could _possibly_ be keeping you here?”

Damek’s sardonic smile is a perfect imitation of Saryna’s own.  “Why… my thirst for knowledge, of course.  You intrigue me.  You and your companions, that is.  Besides… the most unexpected of places can yield startling amounts of information at times.”

“What knowledge could you possibly hope to gain by coming here?  Are you sure you don’t have another motivation?  Money, perhaps?  Or power?  That’s usually the way of it.”

Damek shakes his head defiantly.  “It’s not money m’lady… but I would be lying if I told you I completely lacked a desire for power.”

Suddenly, a tall, golden skinned man strides into the tavern, his body moving gracefully beneath a deep red velvet cloak.  Saryna can barely make out a black vest underneath… his voice seems to cascade across the tavern like a rolling thunderclap.  

“Nobody lacks a desire for power.”

Saryna eyes the new partron warily.  “Indeed?”

The man’s eyes narrow slightly at her presumption.  “Nobody.”  

Saryna gasps as she looks into his piercing green eyes… startled by the golden flecks she sees within.  

“We all desire it in one form or another… whatever form that power takes simply defines the ambitions of the individual.”  His attention shifts solely to Saryna.  “You… you appear to be a warrior.  Have you taken a life before?”

Saryna grins like a cat, still wary.  “Oh… have I ever.”  The man continues.

“Then you know what it is to kill… that is power.  If you’ve spared a life you know power as well.”

Intrigued by his speech, Saryna studies him intently.  “Perhaps, but I don’t tend to think of ‘power’ while battling for my life.  I just do what’s needed at the time.”

“Just so… neither do you think of breathing to stay alive, though that too is a goal of yours no doubt.” 

Though the man’s grin chills her blood, Saryna stands and defiantly addresses the newcomer.  Damek, in the meantime, sits at the table, immobile… very impressed with how Saryna is handling herself.  He can feel power rolling off of the man in waves.

“Who are you and what are you about?”

“My name is Dagron, and I’m here on a business matter.  I saw how you and your friends slaughtered those would-be thieves and decided I would introduce myself.”

“You were there?  I didn’t see you.  Were you in the warehouse?  Were those your crates we were protecting?”  

Dagron smiles… and the temperature in the air seems to drop.  No discernible emotion touches his cold, bespeckled eyes.  “You see me only when I choose.  If it were otherwise, I would not be a man of business.  As for your other question… to me it matters little whom those crates belong to.  It is you and your friends that interest me.  It has been a long time since I have seen freelancers fight with such tenacity and almost rhythmic, natural fighting styles.  Almost every time I see a battle begin, supposed hirelings flee at the first sign of danger… yet you and your companions threw yourselves into a fray where you were outnumbered almost two to one.”  

He pauses before continuing, taking in Saryna’s reaction.  “Bravery is valuable to me.  It can lead to death, but facing death is what forges bravery to begin with.  That too is a form of power.  So many people walk along in their pathetic lives of drudgery… only a few ever dare to seize power when it is offered.  Fewer still are able to control it.”    

Saryna shakes her head as though casting off the lull of the man’s powerful voice.  “What is it that you’re offering, then?”

Dagron laughs.  “Very good!  As I said, I am a businessman.  I want you to perform a task for me.”  He raises his right hand, quickly twisting it in a flowing circle.  When it rights itself, a large star ruby sits glowing in the middle of his palm.

“I offer this.  I offer *power*.  I offer more than any fool organization in this pathetic community can dare hope to attain.”

Saryna’s eyebrow rises at the sight of the flawless stone.  “And the cost of failure?”

Dagron carelessly tosses the ruby to Saryna, who catches it easily.  When she opens her hand, she finds a large black spider with a red mark on its back staring at her from several sets of iridescent eyes.  

“Failure to me is no different than any of the other dangers you court when you live a life of conflict and battle.”

The spider drops from Saryna’s hand and scurries along the floor towards Dagron.

Saryna, maintaining an incredible air of self-confidence despite a growing lump of fear in her throat, manages to choke out a few more words.  “I… I thought as much.  I will have to discuss this with my companions, as I can’t speak for them in this matter.”

Dagron nods.  “Very well.  I will return on the morrow.”  As Dagron turns to leave, the black spider finds his foot, crawls up his leg and disappears.  The tavern’s door opens of its own volition and Dagron steps into the doorframe… turning around just as Saryna and Damek begin to relax.

“Know that I do not take… rejection… well.”  Dagron’s intimidating smile stays with them for several minutes after he is gone.  

Several minutes later, Merileene returns from her prayers to find a highly perturbed Saryna and Damek discussing their encounter with the strange man.  It takes several minutes of rabid jabbering before Merileene can even begin to piece together what took place.  Eventually, they decide to undertake the task, believing the rewards to outweigh the possible consequences of challenging this strangely imposing man.  Damek insists on coming along as well, motivated by curiosity as much as by a desire to learn more about  Saryna.  After checking their supplies and otherwise preparing themselves for their upcoming task, the party retires to a fitful sleep, nervous about their impending meeting.  

It is only as Saryna slips into unconsciousness that she realizes they never thought to ask Dagron exactly what their task entails.

The next day’s meeting with Dagron is nearly as unsettling as the first.  His voice and demeanor are as unsettling as before, this time punctuated by his veiled threat should they refuse to aid him.  

The task itself seems relatively straightforward:  several miles to the north is a small settlement underneath which lies an ancient burial crypt.  Inside this crypt is rumored to be an ancient tome of immeasurable value… an item that Dagron wishes to acquire in his ‘search for power.’  The party is to find the crypt, retrieve the tome and return with it.

Simple.  

It takes nearly an entire day for the party (sans Kerim and Lucien, who have managed to oversleep) to reach the small settlement.  On the surface, the small village appears to be a simple, peaceful hamlet overlooking a seemingly endless sea of blue.  Soft ocean waves ripple, peacefully breaking against the rocky shores far below… even the harsh keening of the seagulls sounds like a sweet harmony, undulating rhythmically as the happy birds float gently on the warm air currents.  

In other words, there is no crypt in sight… neither is there a graveyard, a temple or even a shrine.  In fact, the closest thing to a crumbling ruin is an unfinished house being built nearly half a mile away.  

Simple.

A bit more investigation yields one small tidbit of information.  Apparently when the settlement was first established, all the stone in the area went towards making walls for the houses.  Though perhaps some of the stones looked a bit old to the settlers, they paid it no mind.  Uprooting the stone turned up no foundations or tunnels of any kind, just more stone.  In fact, the only interesting feature in the area seems to be some natural tunnels in the cliff walls, located nearly forty feet down the sheer cliff face.  

Faced with little alternative, the party secures a rope and methodically climbs down the cliff towards the cave, reasoning that the tunnel has a better chance of reaching an underground crypt than a shovel.  

Within moments, everyone is securely inside the cave.  The coolness of the cave belies the temperature outside… water drips from a dozen shimmering stalactites to collect in small rock pools on the cave floor.  Noises echo eerily along the cave’s length, returning to the party sounding distorted and frightening.  

Lighting a torch, Saryna leads the way into the cave, her Elven sight granting her a greater range of vision than Merileene could hope to accomplish.  Damek, despite his superior full Elven sight, stays towards the rear, still shaken from the harrowing climb down to the cave.

_(author’s note:  harrowing for an Elven mage at least!)_

The cave twists and turns chaotically… within minutes the party has lost their bearings as to which direction is north, but that matters little as Saryna leads everyone deeper into the dank cave.  Darkness seems to crowd in around the adventurers, the light from the cave entrance having long since vanished.  The air has become stale and unmoving, the ground dry.  Dangling from the roof of the cave are plant roots, like tentacles, their shadows casting ominous shadows across the walls of the silent cavern.  

Ahead of Saryna, the cavern opens into small chamber, from which another cavern branches off to the right.  Very little distinguishes this section of the cave from any other, save for the bleached skeleton at the mouth of the other cavern.  The party stares blankly at the bones for a few moments, puzzled.  Saryna is the first to act.

“Well?  Does he have the book?”

Meri and Damek examine the skeleton, finding nothing save that he apparently died of a horrid head wound.  He doesn’t have the book.  As Meri prays for the man’s soul, Saryna pushes her way past Damek and into the second cavern, eager to find the book and get back out into the open air.  

In her rush, she doesn’t even see the blade detach itself from the wall, cutting brutally through hair… and skin… and bone.

As the spray of blood spatters across Damek’s upturned face, he casts his mind back to the previous day, when Saryna’s hair shone brightly against the sun, as though challenging its brilliance.

Now all he sees is the muted reflection of wet blood, reflecting sickly in the light of the fire as the torch falls from Saryna’s nerveless grasp.  

_To be continued...

Next post... what happened to Saryna?  Is she alright?  Did Kerim and Lucien ever wake up?  and most importantly... DID ANYONE REMEMBER TO BRING A SHOVEL!?!?!_


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 29, 2002)

I'm thinking of going through and rewriting the existing posts in past tense... thoughts, opinions?  Present tense is beginning to wear a little thin in spots methinks.  

Meanwhile, the rest of chapter 3 is in the process of being written... bear with me.  The next  two updates or so will be speeding through a  great deal of in game content at a quick pace, so keep up!  I want to get the story hour up to date with the current pace of the campaign... plus I really want to get the plot-filled goodness up on the boards.

Rest assured... things will begin to get more intriguing relatively soon.  Yum!

Thanks for reading,

Femerus


----------



## Killashan (Aug 1, 2002)

Looking forward to seeing more of your story.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Sep 6, 2002)

Okay... this has been a long time in coming, mostly because of real life issues.

The next few updates should be pretty rapid fire... I REALLY want to get to the good stuff.

Without further ado, here's a bit more of chapter 3.

_...In her rush, she doesn’t even see the blade detach itself from the wall, cutting brutally through hair… and skin… and bone.

As the spray of blood spatters across Damek’s upturned face, he casts his mind back to the previous day, when Saryna’s hair shone brightly against the sun, as though challenging its brilliance.

Now all he sees is the muted reflection of wet blood, reflecting slickly in the light of the fire as the torch falls from Saryna’s nerveless fingers._ 

...As Damek stares, in shock, Merileene rushes to Saryna’s side.  Oblivious of the life’s blood pouring from Saryna’s split skull, Meri takes Sarya’s head in her arms and whispers a devout prayer to the Father.  Miraculously, the flow of blood from Saryna’s wound lessens… and the rent in her skull closes. 

As the icy chill of true healing burns through Saryna’s body, her body stiffens as if being stretched in myriad directions, only to go limp again as Meri finishes her prayer.  Saryna’s eyes open, her lids caked in dried blood.

Saryna glances briefly at the skeleton… the one with the massive head trauma.  “I think I’ve figured out how that guy died.”

***

Further above ground, Lucien and Kerim arrive at the sleepy mini-village, eager to scold the women for leaving without them.  Having left only half an hour or so behind the others (with only 1 breakfast!), it is not difficult to determine where they went.  Saryna’s physical description brings smiles and approving nods to the faces of the sailors by the cliff, and Pin spots the rope the others used to climb down to the hole.

Kerim, excited by the prospect of retrieving treasure from natural salt water caves, dives off the cliff like a lunatic, intending to grasp the rope on the way down.  About thirty-five  feet down, Kerim’s hands finally find a purchase on the rope, and he manages to slide to a stop right in front of the cave entrance, albeit with rather bloody palms.  Lucien, expecting to see Kerim’s broken body on the rocks below, is relieved to see Kerim waving at him from the bottom of the red-stained rope.  Taking his time, Lucien ascends to the cave entrance with little difficulty.  Pin, in the meantime, amuses himself by fishing the tiny deserted beach at the bottom of the cliff, some fifty feet below the cave entrance.

Kerim bandages his hands with a couple of rags and darts like a  peregrine deeper into the cave, intently hoping that he hasn’t missed anything.  The scene that greets him is… unusual.  Damek stands aloof in one part of a room, next to the remains of a very dead skeleton.  Saryna and Meri are on the other side of the room, on the floor, the latter holding a blood stained bandage to the former’s head.  Kerim’s wide smile seems oddly incongruous with the somber air in the room.

“Hey!  Did I miss anything?  Wow Saryna… looks like you set off the same trap as that dead guy.  Next time maybe you’ll wait for us before leaving.  Oh, hey Damek.  I didn’t know you’d joined up with us officially.  Still trying to score with Saryna?  You might want to wait until her head wound heals.”

Damek turns, startled by the halfling’s presence, while Meri gives Kerim a look that could wither an oak tree.  Saryna merely moans and clutches her head.

Lucien, hearing the halfling’s animated voice from the entrance of the cavern, sighs and delves deeper into the inky blackness.  When visibility is no longer possible, a small pebble from one of Lucien’s pouches is produced, glowing with the power of Lucien’s magic.

After regrouping, the party decides to forego assigning blame and let Kerim do what he’s supposedly quite good at doing, namely disarming traps.

Two nasty cuts on the head later, the party decides to avoid the trap altogether by simply jumping over the pressure plate.  

Another monumental task overcome by our intrepid heroes.

Further down the tunnel, the party encounters a cave-in and a suspicious pile of dirt.  Only Kerim’s size allows him to fit through the small gaps in the cave in, but it isn’t until Damek searches the dirt pile that they determine the nature of the cave-in.  Underneath the dirt is a scroll, apparently intended for another visitor to the cave complex.  The dead man from the last room perhaps?  The question is never answered.

"We've abandoned plans to set up a base here.. nice location, but we dug to something that's giving us the creeps. Decided to plug it up, and move on."

While the party argues over the next course of action, Kerim’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he wanders on down the cave.  As he approaches what looks to be a grooved wall, Kerim shivers involuntarily.  He can understand why the criminals opted to leave… something about the wall makes him uneasy.  

Later, after several hours of backbreaking labor, the party arrives en masse at Kerim’s oddly grooved wall of creepiness.  Upon closer examination, the grooves look to be the marks of a shovel blade being slammed against the wall several times.  

Lucien can barely distinguish the different bricks from each other in the poor light, but he can see well enough to determine that this is a man-made wall… likely the outer wall of the very temple they’re seeking.  There is no door.

Luckily, Kerim… quite possibly the most resourceful halfling ever, digs deep into his bag of backup plans and produces the most brilliant idea ever.

“Right.  Let’s bash it down.”

Damek looks at Kerim as though he’s a madman.  “Bash what down?”

“The bricks!  Bash! Bash! Bash!”  Kerim stands back and looks at the wall for a moment, then at the others.  “Okay.  Get to it!”

Unfortunately, nobody brought a shovel. Or a pick.  Or a hammer.  The only things capable of battering down the wall are Meri’s stout shield and the large rocks from the cave-in.  

Later, after several *more* hours of backbreaking labor, the party finally succeeds in penetrating the outer wall of what they *hope* is the temple.   

Another monumental task overcome by our intrepid heroes.


----------



## Krellic (Sep 7, 2002)

Femerus the Gnecro said:
			
		

> *Another monumental task overcome by our intrepid heroes. *




God help them when they actually meet any monsters...


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Sep 8, 2002)

The temple itself is ancient and dry… the stale air tastes like a cross between dead grass and dust.  Kerim enters first, torch in hand, and makes a survey of what he can see.  Off to the left there are a number of small rooms, an altar and what appear to be sarcophagi.  To the right…

Kerim gives a start, surprised as what he sees.  “Wow.  That was easy.  I think I may have found it!”

To the right is a pedestal upon which sits a massive, ancient tome.  Arranged around the pedestal are half disintegrated sitting cushions that fall to dust when Kerim attempts to pick them up.

The book itself is enormous… easily three feet tall and two feet wide, and about four inches thick.  It is covered in heavy, ornate gilding, and the pages appear to have been made of vellum.  

Hearing Kerim’s exclamation, the others enter the ancient temple and begin to choke on the foul air.  Lucien and Merileene move to examine the book… Lucien can barely make out the title:  “The Teachings of the True Father.”  After careful consideration, the dialect is judged to be nearly half a millennia old… though the temple itself defies categorization.  

As the others discuss the importance of the book and the information contained therein, Kerim goes off and wanders the rest of the rooms.  There are myriad statues and tombs, some of which sport intricate statues of important men and women, whom Kerim immediately decides are ancient kings and priests.  Beyond that, the temple is rather unremarkable. 

A brief glance at the book, which is nearly impossible to decipher, yields little other than some interesting pictures and an odd pictograph of a crescent tipped sword, with the proclamation that “One twice not man shall come.”  Any insightful speculation as to its meaning is subsequently squashed by a cascade of clueless looks and shrugged shoulders, though Kerim suggests that the book is referring to Man’s second cousin, or perhaps Man’s first cousin once removed.

Some time later, having secured the book securely to Saryna’s back, the group returns to the surface, unaware that it is nearly dusk. 

After nearly a day’s worth of toil, their task has been accomplished.  They are dirty and exhausted, some still slightly wounded despite Meri’s best efforts.  It hasn’t been a particularly empowering day.  

Lucien can feel Pin approaching from the beach… and a feeling of contentment begins to replace his previous aire of resigned irritation.  Pin’s clarion call shines in his mind.

“I’m back, and I’ve brought dinner!”  The hawk lands on the crooked end of Lucien’s staff and begins to tear into the still wriggling fish he brought with him, spraying fish guts over many of the party.

That moment, as if in sympathy of Kerim’s growling stomach, a peal of thunder roars overhead, and a single drop of rain splatters down onto the ground.  

The collective sigh is overwhelming.

Before the book is ruined by the rain, shelter is found and the party gratefully passes out for the night, eager to return to Darumont in the morning.  

***


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Sep 11, 2002)

By nightfall the next day, Darumont again looms before the party, looking much the same as it has in days past.  But darker.  

Having walked for most of the day, everyone is rather weary of traveling, more than ready to curl up by a warm fire and enjoy some well earned dinner (or, in Kerim’s case, dinner(s)).

As they approach the Seven Stars Tavern, the wind begins to pick up, sending a fine sheet of dust up into the air.  Covering their eyes reflexively, the party tromps into the common room of the inn, and straight into Dagron, who has obviously been waiting for their arrival.

“Ah… I see you found the tome.  Excellent.”

Merileene looks at Dagron for a moment, and summoning up her courage, speaks to him directly.  “Before we give it to you, may I have an evening to study it?  It is full of such interesting knowledge… I would greatly appreciate having more time to look at it.”

As Meri speaks, Dagron’s eyes seem to flash warningly, the cheerful light of the fire reflecting angrily off of the golden flecks in his eyes that betray a life lived near the Spire.  “If you wish to know its contents… I will pay you half what I intended.  I am buying information from you… if I believe you have read anything of consequence, I will pay you accordingly.”

Even Saryna’s mocking grin seems to waver under his scrutiny, but still she speaks.  “What exactly prevented us from staying on the road an extra evening… and learning the books contents?”  Dagron seems to stiffen for a moment, and then relax.  His fierce stare darts from Saryna, whom he has met, to Lucien, who is sitting at the bar non-chalantly, listening intently while attempting to appear focused upon his dinner.  

“I would think carefully about the choices she is making, Wizard.  You are all treading on dangerous ground.”

Lucien swivels in his stool and stares defiantly in to Dagron’s cold, metallic eyes.  “If this information is as valuable as you claim, then why should we not simply read the tome and find another buyer?  One who is willing to pay as much, or more, than you?”  Lucien grins slightly, looking momentarily like Saryna.  “Hypothetically, of course.”

Dagron stands furiously… and an aura of menace washes over the party like a wave breaking upon a dangerously eroded beach.  “Because, if you were to betray me… but no.  There is no need for this.  The Book.”  Dagron holds out his hand to Saryna.  With a nearly imperceptible glance to Lucien for approval, Saryna slides the massive tome within reach of Dagron’s gold-tinged hand.  Meri involuntarily shudders as a crooked smile splits Dagron’s otherwise implacable face.  It does not touch his eyes.  

“Excellent.”  Dagron snaps his fingers, and two previously unnoticed men move from one of the nearby tables to their master.  “Take the book… I will join you shortly.”  With a dismissive nod, Dagron turns back to the party, taking them all in with one steely glance.  “I appreciate your desire for leverage in such situations, but know clearly that nothing you *ever* gain from crossing me will be worth it.  Understand?”

Muttered replies and nods seem to bubble forth from the mouths of the party, except for Lucien, who seems even more defiant than before.  

“Unless you’re paying double rates for threats, dispense with them.”

The only answer Lucien receives is a total lack of acknowledgement as Dagron produces a small box from a pocket in his cloak.  “Here… is your payment.  I hope you find it satisfactory.”  Dagron places the box on the table in front of Saryna.

Saryna glares at the box as though she expects it to grow fangs, or explode into a massive ball of flame.  “I… don’t be offended if I don’t rush to open it.”

In any other setting, Dagron’s shocked expression would be comical.  Kerim almost laughs despite himself, but cannot choke out the laughter, such is Dagron’s presence among them.  “Why… I am offended.  You are assets to me.  I do not harm assets.”

After determining that the box is not magical, both for Saryna’s peace of mind as well as his own, Lucien opens the box.

Inside is a fairly large gem, about the size of a chicken’s egg… a perfectly faceted corundum stone.  Deep within its shining crimson depths is a six pointed white star.

“I hope you see that working in my best interests is working in your best interests as well.  I shall contact you again soon.”  With that, Dagron walks out the door and into the night.

As the party discusses what to do with the gem, Lucien sends his mind once again to Pin.  
_
Pin… which way is Dagron heading?  

Who?

The man who just walked outside.  Tall, kind of creepy feel about him.

Oh… he’s going along the eastern path.  His men are towing a big book.  Hey… is that our book?

Yes… listen.  If you can keep it discreet, follow him for a bit, but don’t get out of range.  And be careful… he seems dangerous.

I will. 
_
After dinner, the party retires to their rooms for the night, but discussion of the gem does not cease until the small hours of the morning.  Pin returns after about half an hour, reporting that Dagron and his men never left the eastern path.  With little else to do, the party resolves to contact the Sweeps again the next morning and continue along their current path as novice freelance ‘problem solvers.’

_End of Chapter 3

Next chapter!  Events are set in motions that will greatly effect the world, and the future of the party.  Now's where it starts getting good. _


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Sep 11, 2002)

Killashan said:
			
		

> *Looking forward to seeing more of your story.
> 
> 
> *




Wow.  I just realized that you unlurked and made your first post to these boards to comment on *my* story hour.  

Thanks!  I'm actually very flattered.  I hope you're still reading 

-Femerus


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Sep 16, 2002)

Chapter 4, Part 1:  Tobias

Days pass, and Darumont continues along its daily routine.  Still in search of steady income, the team takes another freelance job from the Sweeps.  According to the sweeps, orc raiding parties have been sending into the area around Darumont for some time, though the city itself is too easily defended to be in any real danger.  Incongruously, the party chooses to police a local carnival rather than eliminating this orcish threat.  

Of course, as the saying goes… luck favors fools and small children.

The carnival is unremarkable, sporting a normal variety of typical carnival-ish accoutrements.  

For two or three days the party acts as guards:  breaking up fights, preventing cheats from gambling, chasing down pickpockets and making sure drunks are sent home without disrupting the festivities.  Everything progresses smoothly up until the last evening of the carnival, during the closing-time roundup.

*** 

There is very little light left… the torches are sputtering and the moon has barely risen above the treetops.  The carnival has ended, taking with it an inordinate amount of alcohol and worthless trinkets… the one helping to enhance the ‘value’ of the other.  Towards the southeastern corner of the fairgrounds, the party gratefully rests their tired feet, indulging in a late dinner after having spent an entire day involved in what Saryna refers to as “worthless, menial boredom.”

It doesn’t take long, however, for their relatively peaceful dinner to be interrupted by one of the carnival supervisors.

“Whatta ya sittin’ around for?  There’s still a drunk takin’ up space over by the bar.  Get him outta here… _then_ you can sit on your worthless butts and eat!”

Instead of merely clocking the offensive man, Saryna decides to work off her bad mood on the drunk, whom she expects to provide as satisfying a crunch as the smelly, fat supervisor.  The rest of the party decides to let her handle the situation herself, expecting some free entertainment from Saryna’s lack of tact.  They are not disappointed.

The first thing Saryna notices as she approaches the drunk man is that he’s armed . Though she doesn’t expect much resistance, she loosens her longsword in its sheath just in case he decides to try and attack her.  As she moves closer, she begins to hear mumbling, as though the man is talking to himself.

“*mumble*.. reporting for duty!  Life is… the empire.  MY life IS… the empire. *mumble* no… FOR the empire.  My life… for the empire.  Reporting… give me my duty.”

Saryna approaches cautiously.  “Excuse me, but the carnival is closed.  You have to leave now.”

The man gives Saryna a blank stare, and takes another chug from his empty mug before shouting at Saryna.  “No… I am… a solder… soldier!  A sssolider never leafs… his post.  I will offend my posht with my last *belch* breath… even if that means fffighting… all tree of you!  Now begone, bench!”

Uproarious laughter from her companions serves only to deepen Saryna’s dour mood, and her hand darts to her sword, though she does not draw it.  Lucien, seeing that Saryna is quickly losing her cool, forces the others to stop eating and assist her.  After all, a dead drunk might well keep them from getting paid.

As Lucien approaches with the others in tow, Saryna attempts to reason with the man.

“You can’t stay here.  If you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to remove you, and I don’t relish doing that… erm… much.”  The drunk growls at her.

“You… are not shupposed to be here.  Now go, and let me fulfill my doodie!  An offisher never leavsh his poscht!”  With that, the man slams his mug down on the table, sending up a fair amount of splinters.  Then, sitting up straight, he salutes, and almost falls backwards off of his bench.

Kerim, suppressing a giggle, walks up to the man.  “Excuse me… did you say that you were on duty?  Wouldn’t your post be back in the empire?”

“No!  My poast is right here!  I WILL NOT dessert it.”  As he speaks, the man points to a post at the edge of the fairgrounds.  “See?  My phost!”  The man settles back into his bench, quite pleased with himself.

Finally, Saryna’s temper bursts.  “I’ve had enough of this loon.  I say we lay him flat and carry him to the nearest inn.  Let him sleep it off in a barn.”  Without waiting for a consensus, Saryna draws he sword and approaches the man, intent on smacking him upside the head with the flat of the blade.  The man seems unaware.

As Saryna swings downwards, however, a short sword somehow intercepts the path of her blade, and a deft maneuver sends her longsword spinning off into the night.  The drunk man glares at Saryna, sword drawn.  Despite his stupor, the sword does not waver an inch.

“You schouldn’t have done that.”


----------



## Killashan (Sep 16, 2002)

Yes,  I am still reading and am anxiously awaiting more


----------



## clark411 (Oct 3, 2002)

Why schouldn't she have done that?
Who is this crazed loon and why is he guarding a posht at a carnival?
Will Damek and Saryna hit it off?

Roarrrrrrrrr Must know!


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Oct 20, 2002)

The two warriors circle each other warily, each seeking to probe the other’s weaknesses and gain an advantage.  After experimentally crossing swords two or three more times, Saryna begins to attack in earnest, intent on dropping this man for the indignity of disarming her while *drunk* of all things.  

Expertly, he blocks nearly all of her furious attacks, pausing only for a small moment to wipe blood from a small cut on his hand.  Then, approaching Saryna confidently yet wobbly, he begins his counterattack.  Some seconds later, Saryna is driven to her knees, her vaunted skill with a sword only serving to keep her head attached to her body.  Blood streams freely from several wounds, including one brutally deep gash across her stomach.  Her left hand keeps her guts from spilling out while her right hand holds up the shortsword in a defensive posture.  The drunk however, seems content to let her bleed to death, making no move to kill his obviously outmatched foe.

As Merileene rushes to Saryna’s aid, Damek angrily steps forward and begins to chant.  Burning seeds of energy shoot forth from his fingers, striking the drunk man squarely in the chest.  Surprised, he turns and for the first time sees Saryna’s companions, save for Kerim, who has taken the opportunity to sneak around behind the scene of battle, close to Saryna’s discarded sword.  

For a moment, the drunk man locks eyes with Lucien, who returns the stare.  Then, surprisingly, Lucien begins to cast as well.  

“Sleep.”

To Lucien’s shock, the man simply stares blankly at him, turning his attention back to Damek, who has begun calling to mind another spell.  Meanwhile, Merileene, with Saryna’s battered body cradled in her arms, pours the healing powers of the father into her wounded friend, closing the mortal wound and lessening the severity of several others.

As Saryna stands unsteadily to her feet, the drunk turns to her again, ready to defend himself.  His action leaves him unprepared for the attack that comes at him from behind however, and Kerim quite expertly plunges a dagger into his unarmored leg.  The stealthy halfling twists the knife brutally as he withdraws it, freeing copious amounts of blood from its corporal prison.

Lucien and Damek take the opportunity to advance further, bringing Damek within range of another spell.  A few arcane gestures later, the drunk finds himself beset upon by dazzling lights that threaten to overcome his senses.  

They fail.

The drunk, ignoring the mages for the moment, turns his attention to Kerim, but finds the small halfling too fast to hit.  Kerim, on the other hand knows exactly how close the man came to splitting his skull open.  In a flash of insight, he begins to realize exactly how outclassed they are by this pathetic, drunk man.  

Beset from all sides, the drunk man whirls around, eager to find a challenging opponent.  At this precise moment, Lucien steps forward and touches his hand to the man’s chest, sending violent arcs of electricity throughout his body.  The man’s anguished scream is echoed by Lucien, who suddenly finds a sword where his right lung used to be.  Wheezing and bleeding, Lucien slumps to the ground, unconscious.

Saryna, eager for an opening, attacks again, this time scoring a vicious hit along the man’s back.  Snarling, the man turns to her and bats her sword away with a deft maneuver before plunging his shortsword into her bowels.  Merileene gasps in horror as the sword point exits Saryna’s back.  The drunk man ignores the sword, and Saryna’s limp body falls to the ground like a sack of grain.  Drawing his longsword, the drunk stands motionless, awaiting another attack.  Using all her skill, Merileene rushes to keep her friends from death’s door, even going so far as to pull the sword *out* of Saryna’s body in the midst of a healing spell.  Lucien, after drinking a potion of healing, turns to confront the drunk man again.  However, before the battle can begin anew, a powerful voice rings out in the night, causing all present to flinch in recognition.

“Stop this nonsense at once!  Leel, drop your sword!”

Dagron’s commanding tone cannot be ignored even by the drunk man, who drops his sword as if magically compelled to do so.  Seeming to regain some composure, the drunk man approaches Dagron, his head hung low in shame.  

“Leel, I thought better of you than this.  I never want to see you drinking again, for any reason.  Do you understand?”  Leel’s reply is soft, but clearly heard.

“Yes, Dagron.”  After retrieving his swords, Leel staggers off, eager to pass out in the comfort of his own bed.  

With incredulous looks on their faces, the conscious members of the party approach Dagron, whose ingratiating smile stings almost as much as Leel’s sword.  Unsurprisingly, Lucien speaks first.

“What are you doing here, Dagron?  Who was that man?”

Dagron chuckles softly and regards the party.  “You are always so full of questions… it surprises me almost as much as finding you guarding a petty carnival when there are reports of orcs about.  As for Leel… well, he is a complicated man.  Let’s just say that though he once served the Imperial Legions with dignity and honor, his current ‘assignment’ is more… taxing.”

To the surprise of everyone, Damek is the next to speak.  “Why are the orcs important?  From what I’ve heard, they’ve been attacking the city on and off for as long as anyone can remember.  What makes these new rumors any different?  For that matter, why do they keep bothering to attack a city that seems to be able to defend against them?”

Dagron regards Damek carefully, as though taking the elf’s measure.  Finally, he begins to speak.  “You ask searching questions, elf.  Continue to question with such insight and you’ll go far indeed.  As for the answers… yes.  The orcs have been attacking the city for many years, so it stands to reason that they’re seeking something.  Not even orcs are stupid enough to stage suicide attacks for years at a time.  However, if you seek to know more, I can think of no more direct route than by asking the orcs themselves.  I believe you can find them somewhere in the southern hills.   For now, however, I will be going.  I did not come here to subject myself to your inquiries.  In fact, I merely came for a drink with a friend.  Good evening to you all.”  

The incredulity with which the party regards Dagron as he walks past them to the closed   bar is almost tangible.  Torchlight flashes in their unblinking eyes for another few minutes until the carnival caretakers extinguish even those last remnants of illumination.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jan 31, 2003)

Chapter 4 part 2: The Barikbaree

Despite their total exhaustion, the party still finds it difficult to rest, never before having been so soundly beaten.  The next morning finds them somber and withdrawn, each of them dealing with their own individual demons.  

After several breakfasts (courtesy of Kerim) and a long debate, a decision is finally made.  Instead of simply taking Dagron at his word, the party instead decides to avail themselves of what limited resources the town can provide in terms of research, hoping to find out for themselves exactly what it is that the Orcs find so fascinating about Darumont.

Saryna, still dangerously close to death’s door, remains behind with Merileene, who is unwilling to leave her friend’s side until the danger has passed.  In the meantime, Lucien and Damek, to whom research is second nature, search out the few libraries and record suppositories located in the city.  Kerim, on the other hand, having little patience for books, decides to wander the streets of Darumont in the hopes that he will magically run into the ‘wise, all-knowing old person’ of Halfling myth, who wanders the world dispensing advice and knowledge on those who most desperately need it.

What he finds instead is a dilapidated shack in the southern slums of town with a sign above the door that spells, in flaking paint, “Madame Fizree’s Fortunes.”  Grinning from ear to ear ( and quite certain that he has stumbled upon his destiny), Kerim enters the shop with a song in his heart.  Inside are all manner of cheap trinkets:  snake heads, beads, bottles of viscous liquid, rugs, rotting tapestries and a small table covered in black cloth, upon which perches a small silver bell.  Kerim rings the bell and waits.  A large crash sounds from the back of the shop… moments later a woman appears who could only be Madame Fizz.  Her massive fake eyelashes flutter excitedly at the prospect of new sucker… er… business.  In her hands is a large crystal ball, smeared with makeup.  As she sits she readjusts her hastily-donned wig.

“What may Madam Fizz, seer of seers, do for you today, my child?”

Kerim chuckles despite himself, having quickly realized that he won’t be seeing into his own future as easily as he thought.  “Actually, I was hoping to find someone old… someone who knows the town well and could tell me about the Orc attacks.”

Madame Fizz’s eyes burn for a moment at being called ‘old,’ but she quickly calms down as she sees the bulging purse on Kerim’s belt.  “I have lived here since I was a child, my child.  All that I know is yours.  The Orcs have been attacking for over a century now… I do not know why.  Would you care to know your fortune?”

Kerim laughs.  “Sure, why not?  Good for a laugh if nothing else.”  Madame Fizz’s eyes dart quickly to a sign on the wall:  “Fortunes – 3 gold.”  Kerim pulls out three shiny gold coins and places them on the table before her.  Before the moisture from Kerim’s hand has even evaporated, Madame Fizz has the coins off the table and into a small pouch.  

“Let us begin.”


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Jan 31, 2003)

Meanwhile, Damek and Lucien sit in the town library, such as it is, poring over as many books as they can scrounge on the history of Darumont.  Thus far, their findings have been of a more general nature.  It is only after several hours of dedicated searching that Lucien finally begins to learn about the Orcs.  

“Originally, the people settled here because of its good position at the end of a great river, where the fishing was plentiful.  Though the original settlers had to fend off Orcs in great numbers, the attacks lessened in intensity after a certain period.  Until, that is about fifty years ago.  Apparently a group of adventurers actually penetrated Orc territory and stole something from them, after slaying the Orc Chieftain in single combat.  The attacks have been steadily intensifying ever since.”

“What did they steal?”

After flipping for another few pages, Lucien responds to Damek’s inquiry.  “Apparently it was something called the ‘Barikbaree.’  The group’s leader, Diaro L. claimed it for his own after slaying the Orc chieftain.  They then returned to Darumont with it, despite being hounted by the clan’s best hunters for several days.  Oh, and here’s a description of the item.  ‘it was decorated with black feathers, and had a sharp spike on the end of it that was cold to the touch even on a summer's day.’”  Damek is suitably impressed.  

***

Madame Fizz’s crystal ball begins to glow faintly with a flickering light as she waves her hand over it.  As it grows brighter and brighter, her eyes roll up into the back of her head and she begins to chant.

“muh-muhhhmuhumhhmmmmhmhjmm OooooH muhmhumumum mumhmummmmmm!!”

Kerim bites his lip to keep from laughing aloud.  He’s quite impressed by the eye trick though, and sits back to enjoy the rest of the show.  

“Youuu... will be a child.. of change. Conflict will follow in your path- and your path will decide where conflict goes...  I see.. the north.. and I see before that- the southern orcs. You wish to join them?  Kill them?”

Kerim gives a start, not having expected a question and answer session.  “Uh… neither at the moment.  I’m just curious about their motives.”  Madame Fizz turns towards Kerim, her rolled up eyes shining whitely from the crystal ball’s flickering light.  Despite her lack of pupils, she still seems to be staring right into Kerim’s soul.  

“I can see into *their* future if you wish.”  Kerim nods, and for the briefest second Madame Fizz’s eyes unroll, just long enough to dart towards the sign on the wall before rolling back up into her head.  Kerim’s gold again disappears as soon as it hits the table.

“The orcs... hm.. *she waves her hands across the ball* I see them leaving our town in safety... you are there.. and others too. I see humans and orcs standing side by side in brotherhood:  united. The orc chief is raising his hand aloft - in it is a spear tipped in iron as black as a raven's wings... and that is all I know… it branches from there in many ways.”  With that, the light in Madame Fizz’s crystal ball winks out, and her eyes return to their normal position.  After a few more questions, Kerim exits the shop out onto the cold street, and begins to search for the library.  

Hours later, after having compared notes with each other, Kerim, Lucien and Damek come up with two possible scenarios:  

1.	find the orcs and ask them pointedly why they’ve been attacking like raving madmen for the last half century
2.	seek out the Orc spear and try to determine its importance to the Orcs

It is also suggested that perhaps finding the spear and returning it to the Orcs might lessen their ferocity towards them town, or convince them to, as Kerim put it, “piss off.”  However, given that they have absolutely *no* information regarding the spear and that Darumont is hardly a nexus of arcane might, their only viable option is to seek out the Orcs and confront them in a manner which hopefully will not get everyone involve killed.

Proof, once again, that being intelligent does not make you smart.

So the group (minus Saryna and Merileene) heads South, towards the Southern hills (imagine that).  However, while leaving Southgate, they manage to overhear a conversation between a man and what appears to be a rather sturdy dwarf with a massive axe slung over his shoulder.  He is speaking to one of the guardsmen.

“So, let me get this right. You pay fifty gold, and I go kill that orc patrol wot's out there?”

The guardsman nods.  “Aye- simple as that.”

Smiling, the Dwarf grins.  “Done.  I go.”  As the dwarf swivels and starts plodding southwards, Lucien looks expectantly at Kerim.

“A fighter might be useful, in case the Orcs decide to reject our parley.”  Kerim just looks at Lucien, uncomprehendingly.  

“Well, go on, Kerim!  Friendliness is your thing!”  Kerim simply sighs and runs to catch up with the dwarf, where he falls into step with the thick man.  The dwarf continues walking.

“Wot do you want?”

Kerim turns on the charm and begins his pitch.  “Well... I overheard that you were going out after the orcs… and it just so happens that we're heading in more or less the same direction.  Though we're not exactly bent on slaughter... but at any rate, if they DO try to kill us, my friend, the tall one over there, thought that someone of your obvious skills might come in handy in case we get into a pickle. Us and the orcs that is, not you and me.  Also... since we're probably going to find them before you do anyways, it'd be easier for you if you were to stick with us rather than going off solo.”

The last sentence stops the Dwarf’s steady plod.  He turns to glare at Kerim.  “Have you been hired to kill the orc patrols too eh?”  Kerim quickly nods his head, much to the Dwarf’s confusion.  

”Actually we were kind of hoping to talk to them… well, at least damek was going to talk to them.  None of the rest of us speak Orc. Oh!  My name's Kerim by the way... pleasedtameetcha.”  

The Dwarf’s eyes widen as he begins to consider the possibility that he is being followed by three dangerously insane inviduals.  “Talk to orcs?  Why?  Wait, nevermind, I don’t rightly care to hear it.  You’re not allied with the damned things, are you?” 

Kerim’s deep intake of breath is the only warning the Dwarf gets before he is subjected to the Halfling’s rapid-fire recounting of the last two days.

“Actually we’re trying to determine why they've been attacking the town. You see, we've recently discovered that their attacks have increased a great deal over the last fifty years, right after a group of adventurers stole a spear from the Orcs called the oochei bootchie or something like that and the spear, which was probably very important to the Orcs, was taken to the town and since that time the Orcs have been attacking the town more and we figure that if we can find the spear the Orcs might stop attacking the town but before we do that we'd like to make sure that the Orcs are after the spear and not virgins or stuff like that.”  As Kerim pauses for breath, the Dwarf takes the opportunity to start walking south again, at a faster pace than before.  After about twenty feet, he pauses.

“The guards said they'd pay 300 gold to any who could stop the Orcs from attacking.. do think talking would do it?  Getting the spear or whatever?”

Kerim clears his throat.  “Well… it might.  And it’s certainly more practical than trying to wipe out an entire nation of Orcs a half dozen at a time.”  Lucien and Damek arrive in time to clearly hear the last exchange.  Lucien takes advantage of the Dwarf’s momentary pause.

“What it boils down to is this... the orcs will likely never stop attacking totally.  This was originally their land and it was stolen from them by the people of Darumont.   However, the frequency and ferocity of attacks might very well be greatly diminished if our theories prove correct.”

Suddenly, the Dwarf turns and faces Lucien, with a glimmer in his eye.  “At least long enough palm the reward!”  With that, the Dwarf turns and begins plodding southward again, this time accompanied by three new companions.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Feb 3, 2003)

The trip to the Southern Hills is largely uneventful, taking only about five or six hours by foot.

More then enough time for Kerim to get on the Dwarf’s nerves.

It began with the question of names… namely the Dwarf’s lack of one.  Just ‘Dwarf’ didn’t sit well with Kerim, so he decided to pester the Dwarf until a name was forthcoming.  

“So… what’s your name?”  Kerim’s question seemed innocent enough, except for the fact that it had already been asked about forty times.  The Dwarf’s only reply was a succinct ‘sniff.’  

“Wow... I've never heard a name like that. Is that Dwarven for something neat? Like Hammer Fist Smash Smash or something?”  The continued silence on the Dwarf’s part was only punctuated by the steady plodding of his iron-shod boots, and the clanking of his axe against a shoulder pad.  Kerim, however, was unfazed.  

“Oh come on.  I know you can talk.  I’ve heard you!  Here, I’ll get you started.  ‘Hi, my name is Kerim, this is Damek, and the other guy is Lucien.  And your name is…”  

The Dwarf’s icy glare bounces right off of Kerim’s cheerful grin, only serving to irritate the Dwarf even more than before.  

The Dwarf’s sigh was profound:  “*Sigh*… Halflings.”

After several more minutes of the conversation, in which Kerim, thrilled at the Dwarf’s name, ‘Halflings’ (We’re practically cousins!) prattled on, two things became readily apparent.  First… the Dwarf was not about to give out his name, regardless of Kerim’s new nicknames (Sniffgrunt, Snafgrat and Snefgrot to name a few).  Secondly, the Dwarf was becoming at *least* as dangerous to the party as the Orcs, having been driven nearly to the point of ritual suicide by Kerim’s constant prattatattatatta.  Perhaps it was this need for violence that inspired the Dwarf’s rather original plan to find the Orcs.

With dusk approaching, the party finds themselves on a hilltop in the middle of undisputed Orc-controlled territory.  Countless unseen dangers doubtlessly lurk in the darkness, waiting to pounce upon any perceived weakness.  Following the Dwarf’s lead, the party takes advantage of the situation in the most logical manner imaginable.

They build a bonfire atop the hill and wait for the Orcs to come to them.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Feb 4, 2003)

Nearly six hours after dusk, much of the ambient noise from the surrounding countryside suddenly ceases.  The party is just about to investigate when several axes imbed themselves in the ground, making an obvious perimeter around the party.  Only the Dwarf can see the vast number of Orcs surrounding the hill, but he neglects to mention it to the party, fearing that they would be overwhelmed by fear.  Before Damek can even begin to speak, a contingent of Orcs moves up to surround the party, attacking from all directions at once.  Only Kerim’s preternatural agility keeps his head attached to his shoulders, while the Dwarf handily blocks the attacks of no less than four orcs intent on destroying one of their hated blood-foes.

Before the battle can degenerate into an all-out melee, however, Damek stands up and shouts an Orcish phrase into the night, as loud as his Elven voice will allow.  

“Hail orcs! We mean you no harm. We come to speak to you about the Barikbaree!”

Surprisingly, the Orcs stop themselves mid-swing, ending the attack as quickly as it had begun.  One Orc approaches from outside the fire’s light, his rough hide armor adorned with all manner of skulls, feathers and teeth.  

“What you know about Barikbaree, _Elf_?”

Damek goes on to explain to the Orc that he may be in a position to retrieve it and return it to its rightful caretakers.  After a small amount of debate, the party is taken to a meeting with the Orc chief, where they are instructed in the ways of Orc etiquette.

“You will call him Lord. You will pay him homage. If you do not each give him gifts, he will be offended, and will order you to die most likely.  You do not know our ways, so be careful of your actions. If you look at the ground, do not look at him. If you look at him, do not look at the ground.  He will see all of you as either subordinates or peers.  If you attempt to be both, _he will have you killed and eat your heart.”_

The hall of the Orc chief is much as one would expect.  The hall is lit with torches, and is lined with furs and the bounty of raids.  At the center of the hall, an Orc who seems to have seen many battles sits upon a large stone chair. Several goblins are running back and forth getting him things to look at from the pile of treasures.  When he sees the party, he bears his teeth and leans forward, as if ready to pounce on potential prey.

"You have five minutes of my time, bloodfoes."

Damek approaches the Orclord and begins to speak, acting as courteous and obsequious as he would in any Elven court.  This show of respect seems to greatly amuse the Chief, and he relaxes a bit.  They discuss the Barikbaree at length, finally agreeing that if the party returns it to the Orcs, they will cease their attacks upon the city of Darumont.  

“Take it from the human city and return here with it.  Barikbaree would not be far from the hands of those who stole it long ago- or their children.”

***

By dawn, the party has once again reached the outskirts of Darumont.  Despite the early hour, summer’s oppressive heat already beats heavily atop their heads, a feeling made all the worse by the everpresent humidity inherent in this dusty, coastal city.  Weary, dirty and hungry, Lucien opens the door to the Seven Stars Tavern, which has only just recently opened for the day.  The innkeep, startled at this sudden influx of dawn business, does a double-take upon seeing Kerim.

“Oy… you Kerim?”

Kerim turns to the innkeeper, startled.  “Uh… yeah, that’s me.”

The innkeeper then produces a small wooden box.  “The chap that dropped this off said not to open it in public, and erm… oh yes, ‘use it if you have to, to secure your dealings.’  That was it."  Kerim pockets it without thinking, far more eager to eat some breakfast than to deal with new mysteries.  Lucien, on the other hand, is more curious. 

“Excuse me... what did the courier look like?”  The innkeeper thinks for a moment before giving a description.

“Just like any other bloke... he had dark hair.  Oh... but he did have Spire Eyes, for sure."  Lucien thanks him and digs into his own breakfast with nearly as much gusto as Kerim.  

_(author’s note:  ‘Spire Eyes’ is a term to describe a peculiar physical trait that tends to develop among people who live near the Spire for long periods of time.  Shining gold flecks tend to appear in their eyes, and remain until death.  Theologians believe it may be an aftereffect of drinking the water from the lake at the base of the Spire.  Given the Spire’s mythological origins, this hypothesis seems as likely as any other)_

After a hearty meal, the party retires back to their rooms, Damek checking on Merileene and Saryna before he gets some much needed rest.  Saryna, it seems, is doing much better, though Merileene has all but exhausted herself caring for her.  Not surprisingly, the two are both asleep, though Saryna’s color has regained much of its former hue.  

Before dropping into bed, Kerim decides to examine the mysterious box, cautiously checking it for traps (via the ‘shake it a bit’ method).  Damek casts _Detect Magic_ on it, but senses no aura.  Kerim finally opens the box to reveal a small velvet bag.  As Kerim holds it, a dagger of some black substance slides out. Even a passing glance betrays its apparent value; the hilt is composed of entwined snakes, gilded in gold- their eyes small rubies, their fangs ivory.  The blade itself does not look to be composed of metal.  Instead, it looks and feels as though it were made of some type of smoky crystal.  Out of curiosity, Lucien casts _Detect Magic_ at the blade again, and this time it radiates a strong aura of Necromancy.  A cursory search of the box reveals a thin layer of lead, just thick enough to block most divination spells.  However, physical exhaustion wins out over Halfling curiosity, and after getting Lucien to agree to Identify the dagger after a nice nap, Kerim and the rest of the party quickly drop off into a deep, dreamless sleep.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Feb 6, 2003)

The next morning, after having slept for over two days, Saryna awakens to find her wounds mostly healed and her friends all sprawled out on their beds, fully clothed and smelling of Orc.  In exasperation, she awakens Merileene and, out of a rare sense of gratitude, buys her breakfast.  Then, either out of a sense of kindness or a sense of ironic humor (the latter being far more likely), Saryna drags Merileene out into the town to ‘scope out the menfolk,’ much to Merileene’s embarrassment.  

Meanwhile, at around noon, everyone else wakes up.  Lucien immediately begins to _Identify_ the dagger, making it quite clear that any interruptions during the next 8 hours would be greatly unappreciated.  Damek, understanding Lucien’s need for solitude, takes Kerim out into the town, hoping to scrounge up some clue about the spear’s whereabouts.  Their first method of deduction fails mightily.

“Okay… if you were an ancient Orcish spear, and you were in Darumont, where would *you* be?”  

“I don’t know.  I’m an Elf, not a spear.”

“Damn.”

Obviously, a different tactic is needed.  Luckily, Damek has a flash of insight (better known to those ‘in the know’ as memory).  

“Hmmm.. I seem to recall some name in the text we read earlier. However the name escapes me.”  Kerim thinks long and hard, finally remembering a clue as well.

 “Wait... Lucien mentioned it! Sounded like ‘el diablo’ or something.”  Damek’s confused look nearly makes Kerim laugh out loud.

“Uh… El Diablo?  Somehow that doesn’t sound right.”  After sounding it out a dozen more times, Kerim finally arrives at the true name… ‘L. Diario’ or ‘Diario L.’  

Another flash of insight motivates our heroes to seek out the town doctor, hypothesizing that as an adventurer, Diario L. would have had frequent need for his services.  Though Diario’s escapades with the Orcs occurred nearly fifty years ago, small remote towns such as Darumont tend to keep professions rather linear and thus, might have records about him.  

This time, their theory proves to be correct.

Kerim takes the lead, posing as an author.  The doctor, after his requisite offer of head drilling, bleeding and exorcism, is quite willing to speak about his famous patients, and those of his medical trainer.  As it turns out, Diario Leel was one of his medical trainer’s most frequent patients, often complaining of sleeplessness and headaches.  

At the mention of the name ‘Leel’ Kerim blanches, and Damek turns a somewhat paler shade of Elf.  They recover their composure quickly however, and manage to get Leel’s address out of the doctor before leaving.  

Kerim is the first to speak.  “LEEL!?  The same guy who nearly killed Saryna at the carnival?”  Damek nods his head, not particularly pleased by this turn of events.  

“His son at any rate.  At least he probably feels bad for cutting us up as badly as he did.  Maybe he’d give us the spear out of guilt?”  Damek looks hopeful, but Kerim’s snort shatters his illusions of simplicity.  

“Not likely.  I’m sure he’s a nice enough guy when he’s sober, but I doubt he’ll just give the spear up.  I bet if we convince him that he could save the town from Orc attacks that he’d be more willing.”  

After a few more blocks, they arrive at 34 Fatte street, an address which apparently reminds Kerim of his sister.  After steeling themselves for the worst possible scenario, Damek knocks on the door of the man who very nearly killed them all a scant two nights ago.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Feb 7, 2003)

Between updates, I thought I'd post a map of the area surrounding Darumont.  After all, everyone loves maps.  Enjoy!

-F


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Feb 7, 2003)

The door opens, and the man who stands before them is hardly recognizable as the drunk, pathetic wretch who so severely thrashed them at the carnival.  This man is tall, clean-shaven and powerful, holding himself with an air of calm self-confidence.  Though he does not appear to be carrying any weapons, his presence nevertheless instills a sense of awe upon the two adventurers standing outside his door.  Tobias studies them for a moment, a glimmer of recognition finally showing in his eyes.

“What can I do for you gentl… Oh!  It’s you!  Please, come in.”  The two men enter Tobias’ home and take a seat on the proffered couch, sitting across from their host.  Kerim, still a bit nervous, jumps straight to the point.

“Should we go through the whole pleasantry bit, or should we just skip to the part where we start talking about what we came here for?”  Kerim speaks so quickly that Tobias spends a few moments blinking before he answers.  His voice takes on a more cautious tone than before.

“What did you come for?”

“Well... we think we can stop the Orcs from attacking the city, and we think that you can help us.  Assuming, that is, that you're the son of Diario Leel?”

Tobias’ eyes narrow slightly, but neither of his guests notice.  “I am.”  After Tobias’ confirmation, Kerim continues, far more relaxed.

“Then you are probably familiar with his escapades against he Orcs about... fifty years ago?”

Tobias nods slowly.  “I am well aware of his actions.  What can I do for you gentlemen?”  Kerim, finally picking up on the ever-growing tone of menace from Tobias, blanches a bit, but continues.

“Okay... then you probably know the location of the spear of... uh... *help me out here damek*”  Damek looks at Kerim and rolls his eyes.

“Barikbaree.”  Kerim nods.

“That’s right.  Bark-bark Tree.”

Tobias sighs softly, as though expecting the conversation to turn in this direction.  “I know of the spear.  Why do you ask?”

“Well... it just so happens that we've discovered that the increase in orc hostilities over the last 50 years is directly related to the taking of the spear by your father, and we have good reason to believe that if the spear is returned, the Orcs will stop attacking the city in vain attempts to retrieve it.”  Kerim looks at Tobias intently, as though expecting him to pull out the spear and give it to them.

Tobias sits back in his chair and remains silent for some time, as though contemplating something.  After a while, he speaks.  “That would not surprise me.  However, the Orcs cannot have their spear back.”  The trio sits for a few minutes in silence, Damek playing with his spell component pouches while Kerim picks at his fingernails intently.  Tobias does not move, save to blink.  Finally, Kerim breaks the silence.

“Uh… just out of curiosity… why not!?”  Tobias regards him passively and speaks, as though out of rote.  

“My father was instructed to take it from their leader, and he did. He was instructed to keep it safe here, and he has. He instructed me to guard it, and I have.”  Damek begins to speak before Tobias is even finished.

“Instructed?  By whom?  And to what purpose?”  Tobias shakes his head.

“I was never told this.”

Kerim, looking flustered and feeling powerless, jumps back into the conversation.  “And your father's dying wish, the reasons for which you were not even informed, is more important than the safety of this entire town?”

Leel locks gazes with Kerim for a moment before speaking, speaking volumes with his eyes alone.

“Yes.” 

“But… you don’t even know why?”

“I do not need to know why.  You do not need to know why you live to do so… I do not need to know why I guard. I simply do so.  It is my birthright.  My father swore to guard it till his dying day, and I swore to him I would guard it to mine. My children will guard it to the grave as well.”

“Is it by any chance a spear with a raven black iron head?” asks Kerim, suddenly remembering his conversation with the nutball psychic lady.  For a moment, Tobias’ composure cracks a bit as his quickly glances at Kerim, but then he relaxes again.

“Yes, that is a fair description of it.  Would you care for something?  May I serve you some tea, or food?”  At the mention of food, Kerim’s eyes brighten somewhat.  Damek, however, is still in ‘interrogation’ mode.

“And this Barikbaree… you keep it safe within this building?”  For a brief moment, Tobias voice grows cold… as cold as it was during their encounter at the carnival, albeit less slurred.

“We have spoken enough of the spear, sir.”

As Tobias goes into the kitchen to prepare some refreshment for his guests, Kerim switches to Elven and whispers softly to Damek.

“Damek!  I just had a disturbing thought.  You remember that dagger that was delivered to me last night?  I think the sender intended for me to use it on Tobias!  It’s all beginning to make sense… the necromantic aura of the blade, the message from the courier, our constant manipulations.  Someone wants us to take this spear from Tobias, and they don’t care how we do it!”

As Tobias returns with a tray of biscuits and boiling water, Kerim fingers the strange dagger in his pouch absently, wondering if its power was enough to bring down a man such as Tobias Leel in one hit.  The thought gives him an exhilaration, as though a rush of power imbued his arm with the power of death… at the same time, however, a sick feeling comes over Kerim at the thought of taking an innocent life, and he removes his hand from the pouch as Tobias begins to brew the tea.


----------



## clark411 (Feb 12, 2003)

_Hello, Femerus is letting me work to also update the Story Hour.  As DM for the campaign, I may present things a little differently- if there are any questions or comments, please do reply.  Cheers!_

“My thanks, Mr. Leel.” Kerim said graciously as Tobias Leel placed the silver tray of food and tea on the small, wooden table before them.  If there was anything halflings knew, regardless of their place and status in the world or the company they kept, it was how to act when tea and biscuits was before them.  Thinking back, Kerim fancied that his brief encounter with the orcs could have gone far more smoothly if a tea set was involved.

Damek, on the other hand, was at a loss.  Tea was something an enigma to elven kind, their’s was a land where rain water came from the sky cold, and stayed cold in the rivers, no doubt for good reason.  The metal of the frail kettle’s handle felt awkward in his hand, which was accustomed to carrying canes and grasping large mugs of crude ale from time to time; for the humans who were watching, of course.  As he was over-careful in pouring the tea, Damek voice cracked as his fingers shook slightly from the pressure of such ceremony, “So, Mr. Tobias—have you any family here in Darumont?”

Glad to be speaking of things other than the burden of his father, himself, and eventually that of his children, Tobias’ face relaxed slightly.  “No, no family here.  I do have two sons however, both in the Legion.  My eldest Rastand turns 29 in several months; he’s a lieutenant, and my youngest is Severin.  He shall be a fine Captain one day.  They make me proud.”

Kerim chimed in “Oh, I have heard of the Legion.  While I was traveling through Illuvia proper a good three years back I watched a parade.  They were quite impressive; all shiny in the summer sun—I bet it must have been dreadful hot for them.”

“The Imperial uniforms do get incredibly hot, that I will most definitely agree to.”

“They didn’t seem to mind it a bit though.  All trained and proper soldiers walking in tune.  I think my sister wanted to join once.”  Kerim smiled.

“Did she?” Damek asked.

“No, apparently the food is horrible.” Replied the halfling.

“Ah, makes sense.”  Damek paused, looking in the dark tea he had been holding before his face for a good minute now.  “Mr. Leel, you were in the Legion, were you not?”

Tobias looked down a bit, remembering vaguely his confrontation with the firebrand at the fair.  “Yes, yes I was—but that was long ago.”

With his eye for people, Kerim almost immediately saw an chance for the spear. “It seems like you miss it, sir.  At the fair you mentioned taking your post.”

“Oh I do, Mr. Kerim.  The Legion is an excellent way to see the world.  We would march from one side of Anaroth to the other and back again.  I have seen the shining snows of Sarminor, felt the sea breezes of Brinbane across my face.  My love was a maiden from Velormiar, who lived in a great manor on a green hill surrounded by a waving sea of stunning lilacs.  The world my friend, is an amazing thing.  Even with my view obscured by a helm and with my mind filled at times with nothing but duty, the chance,” he paused “the mere chance to see the world and find my place in it was incredible.”

Kerim’s eyes were wide and even a little bit moist.  He blinked a bit and nodded “I understand you completely Mr. Leel.  Did you find your place?”

“Perhaps.  Ultimately, it is unimportant.”

“Forgive me for bringing this up again, but aren’t you upset that your distinguished career and journeys took you to this?” he looked around the somewhat unkept walls that surrounded the worn chairs and rather smallish table at the center of the room.  “I mean you no disrespect, but it must rankle you that your duties were cut short by your father’s need of you.  Does it concern you that one day you’ll cut one of your son’s careers short by asking that he take on your position here as guardian?  Guardian of a spear that may doom this town as the orc raids continue?  Guardian of an orcish spear you know nothing about?”

It pained Kerim to see his words cutting deep into Tobias.  “When I left the Legions to guard the spear I was ready,” he said slowly, his words wavering.  The room was silent again for a moment, and at this point Damek decided that the tea was cool enough to drink.

Water that tasted like leaves.  “How novel.” He said to himself.

“Have either of you considered joining the Legions?” Tobias asked, pushing the conversation away from sons, loves, and distant lands.

“Oh, I don’t think we halflings fit in well to the regimented life of a soldier.  We don’t fit into the uniforms and armor either.”

“I doubt they would welcome one of my kind.  It is unlikely that they would appreciate my talents as a weaver of magic either.”

Tobias slowly shook his head in disagreement.  “War mages are extremely rare and highly valued.  However, I can see both of your points.  The Legion is perhaps not for everyone.”

Kerim nodded, “We value our freedom a great deal.  I guess it is what makes us content in the long run.  After all, it is contentment and happiness that you want to pass on to your children at the end of the day.  Not that I’m anywhere near the end of my wanderings!”

Tobias gave him a slight smile and nodded to the sentiment.  The three drank tea for another hour, and shared stories both true and fanciful.  As Kerimleft, he had a new found appreciation for Tobias, his home, and his hospitality.  As Tobias closed his door, he found in himself a deep and true desire to see the world again—to walk down the street as the youthful Kerim and far-seeing Damek did.  And as for Damek, despite himself he had a new appreciation for tea.

For elves, tea is an intoxicant.


----------



## clark411 (Feb 12, 2003)

Kerim and Damek walked and very nearly stumbled, respectively, into the common room of the tavern.  Quickly spotting Lucien, Merileene, and Saryna at one of the tables, Kerim hopped up onto one of the seats, his hand darting up to indicate “one of whatever you think I want you to get me to drink with your incredible mind reading skills” to the nearest passing waitress, who huffed slightly passing this information onto the barmaid who was actually responsible for the group’s table.  After a few minutes, a flagon of ale arrived and Kerim was half way through the replay of his conversation with Tobias.  Damek, who was somewhat being put on the sidelines of the story by the halfing’s bravado, seemed to care little—instead running through his mind the possibility of this tavern serving tea.  By the time Kerim had finished the story, he had also finished his ale, and Merileene was softly laughing at the look on Damek’s face as the only dainty cup in the entire tavern was placed infront of the elf with steaming hot tea in it.  Damek mumbled under his breath and softly moved his fingers over his tea—little lines of light flowing softly behind.  The prestidigitation went off without a hitch, cooling the tea to tolerable levels.  He smiled.

Unlike Damek, Lucien seemed to be all business.  “So, you walked away with little more than giving his heart a few jabs.  I suppose that’s beneficial.”

“Well, they were the only types of jabs I could bring myself to give him.  Anyways, I doubt we could have taken the Barik Baree by force if we wanted to.”

“Indeed.  Perhaps we could sneak in there when he is out getting himself as drunk as Damek.”  Lucien eyed the elf, who was quite rosy in the cheeks with a rather empty cup before him.

“Drunk?  From tea?”  Saryna began to laugh, drawing a few looks from the rest of the crowd.  

Damek muttered “You should try it, milady.”

Merileene smiled, and then returned to the issue at hand.  “Well, I for one do not like the idea of stealing this spear.  We don’t know enough to take it by force or stealth.  If anything, we should be working to put all the pieces of this curious situation together.  Why did Tobias’ father take the spear and what is so important about it that he keeps it?  What happened to the other members of the group that helped him get the spear? Maybe they would have some insight.”

The rest of the group looked at each other and then back to the usually silent Merileene.  “I’m not one to often say this to priests, Meri—but you really should pipe up more often!”  Lucien said.  Before Merileene could so much as blush and thank him, the rest of the group was up and walking out of the tavern towards the Doctor’s office again—all except for Damek.  Merileene slowly helped him up and they followed the others.

The doctor welcomed them into his office again and barely had time to offer Lucien a hole in his head to help the evil spirits and bad humors escape when Kerim interjected “The others!  What do you know about them?”

“What others?” the doctor asked, quite confused.

“Those who Tobias’ father Diario traveled with.  We need any information you could provide.”

Somewhat flustered, the doctor replied “Well, Diario traveled with a four companions.  One of them apparently died to an arrow on their final journey into the orcish lands.  Sadly the could not recover his body as the orcs chased them.  None of them even saw it.  Then there was Jerik, the woodsman.  He retired to the east, and I believe he lives now in the forest.  The other two, one was an elven woman and the other I can hardly remember at all.  The elven woman refused all of my treatments as barbarism, I remember that much.  The man, I think his name was Davion, Davion Tir. He never seemed to need any of my healing anyway.  The others would tell me stories about how nothing bothered him, no combat alarmed him, and how he was always as smooth as a morning pond in quiet weather.  Then there was Meiir-- he was quite shifty it seemed; nothing ever got past that boy.  He was a goodly fellow though, wouldn't hurt a fly even if he seemed rather terse at times.  The only one around here though is Jerik.  Davion returned to the city of Shard, the elven woman vanished, and Meiir died on their last adventure.”

“Right, right.  So Jerik the woodsman lives in the forest to the east.” Kerim said hurriedly.

“Yes.”  The doctor nodded.  With a quick thanks and a handshake or two, the halfling and the others were out the door again.  An hour later, they were packing their things despite the dwarf’s grumblings.

“We’re leaving half an hour before supper to find some ancient woodsman in Salacero Forest?  Tonight’s special is mutton!  Kerim talk sense into them!”

“Sorry Master Dwarf, tonight all we’re eating is trail rations.”

“Blast it all!”  the Dwarf stomped a foot in a manner nearly childlike.  


By nightfall, the party was standing before the gates of Eastwater, a town of modest proportions and extravagant wooden fortifications.  Nestled in a misty, forested valley, the people had exactly two things in excess: superstitions, and enough wood to guard themselves against any of them that possibly were real.  One of the guards atop the gates ordered them to halt, and then tossed down one of the arrows from his quiver to them.  “Pick it up, and hold it against your skin for us to see.  Aye, that’s it—put a torch up to it so we can see aye?”

Each of them did as told, and the dwarf asked curiously: “Why do they use silver arrow heads?”

Lucien smirked a bit “I think these folk fear myths of things that pray upon men in the night.  Werewolves perhaps.  Quaint.”

They were allowed in town, and found their way to the nearest tavern, hoping to ask people where Jerik the woodsman lived.  The Tavern itself, called The Grinning Goblin, welcomed them warily.  Passing under cloves upon cloves of garlic, and past several posts upon which flasks labled “holy water” were hanging, they sat down at the bar and began the methodical task of pressing the bartender for questions.  When they were pleased, they inquired about some ale, dinner, and rooms.  The dwarf was content, as a plate of mutton was placed before him.

“Fancy the luck!” he smiled broadly beneath his beard.

Morning came, and armed with the information they heard the previous night, they were off heading to the south and west several miles into the forest, searching for a small cabin.  After several hours of searching, they found the house.  Cautiously approaching, they found it quite empty.  They searched the small home and found that it had been ravaged by time and perhaps by several forest animals.  The door had scratches on it, the windows were glittering shards on the creaking floor boards.  

Damek paced back and forth across the room considering the possibilities of the woodsman’s whereabouts when he noticed that his pacing was creating an odd rhythm.  Creaking, then no creaking, then creaking again.  He stopped where the creaking did, and upon close inspection found that there was an well concealed trapdoor.  Kerim was able to get it open by sliding two pins along the lines of the door, undoing the latch that locked it.  They traveled down the earthen stairs to the cellar, which seemed to be made with little more than a shovel.

Before them was an empty bow rack, a cabinet, and a desk.  The cabinet was empty, but the desk was not.  Within it was a journal, which Lucien began to carefully flip through, his eyes slowing only to turn the pages with care.  Saryna, left to her devices, casually looked at the empty bow rack, her slender fingers slowly moving across the wooden holders.  At the lowest set of holders however, she felt something—despite not seeing anything, she felt a wooden bow there.  Slowly, she picked it up with both hands, amazed that she was grasping something that, to all senses but touch, was not there.  She grasped as though she were in combat, and suddenly it appeared before her—a beautiful composite longbow of ancient oak.  Beautiful elven runes ran in rivulets down the sides of the bow towards her hands, and as her hand held it those runes felt the elven blood flowing through her fingers.  They glowed a fey green.

Lucien closed the book.  “Well, this is what I have gathered.  Jerik the woodsman did indeed live here until a month or two ago when the journal ends.  Sadly this tells us little of the party, as it begins little over two years ago, but it does give an indication as to his possible current whereabouts.  In his time here, it seems he guarded Eastwater and ventured there monthly.  While there, he heard stories of some people being lost in the forest, and then accounts of a dark monster killing animals in the night.  Hunting dogs were lost on occasion as well.  He found a cave, and his last entry stated that he would, despite his fears, enter it and attempt to do battle with the beast. 

“If the beast be intelligent, perhaps he is alive.  If he killed it, perhaps the trail will continue on from there.  If he is dead, well—perhaps he will have on his person something that will help us rid Tobias of his duties.”  He finished.

“Righto.  Sounds like a plan to me.”  Kerim nodded, looking around the room.  “Hey, where is Saryna?”

They all looked around.  Saryna, standing in plain sight with the bow, was somewhat perturbed, especially as she was holding a bow that was glowing green.  “I’m right here.” She said.

They looked at the bow rack.

“I didn’t know you had such skills in ventriloquism!”  Kerim seemed overjoyed, tip-toe-ing towards the closed cabinet.

“I’m not in the cabinet Kerim.”

“My, apparently you can see through wood now as well!?”  he grinned, trying to move even quieter.

Realizing her situation, armed with a bow that apparently was making her invisible, Saryna could do little but grin at the possibilities.  This could make me a tidy sum, she thought.


----------



## Femerus the Gnecro (Feb 21, 2003)

Saryna’s mental revelry was rudely cut short by Kerim, whose unbridled curiosity culminated in a head-on collision with Saryna’s invisible form.  Stopping suddenly, Kerim felt the air in front of him, unsure whether he was going blind, or whether Saryna was, in fact, invisible.  A gasp of indignation from Saryna, accompanied by a full-bodied slap from an invisible hand led Kerim to conclude the latter.

“Saryna!  You’re invisible?”  With the heads of her companions turning towards her, Saryna slung the bow behind her, ending its magic.  As the glowing runes faded, Saryna winked back into existence.  

“Apparently.”

Lucien slammed the journal onto the desk with a crash, a look of irritation upon his face.  

“We have no time for frivolities.  Unless you all would like to spend the night in these woods, I suggest we return to the issue at hand.”

Saryna snorted, and Kerim turned to look at Lucien with a pained look on his face.  Saryna was the first to speak.

“I can find the cave… just give me an an hour.”

Less than an hour later, Saryna’s word proved to be true.  A cave loomed before them, the product of thousands of years of erosion and tectonic shifts.  The rocks at the entrance, slick with moisture, led downwards… disappearing into the darkness after only a few feet.

The Dwarf was the first to approach, stepping to the mouth of the cave to use his Dwarven sight on the impenetrable darkness below.  

“Looks like quite a fall… I’m not su…WHOA!”  The Dwarf’s monologue was cut short as a stone beneath his foot broke loose… sending him sliding down into the damp darkness of the cave.  For a moment, the rest of the party stood staring in shock… almost bemused by the Dwarf’s predicament.  Then, as if in afterthought, Kerim dove after the Dwarf, sliding nimbly down the stones into the darkness.  Even before he landed, Kerim could hear the muted curses of the others as they found themselves sliding down the rocks with even less control than the Dwarf.  

Moments later, the party found themselves enshrouded in darkness, piled on top of each other, knee deep in water.  Only the Dwarf had a chance of seeing anything, and he was at the bottom of the pile.  With a grunt, the Dwarf stood, throwing his companions in several directions.

The sounds of the caves were echoed tenfold… the dripping of water, the breathing of the party, the rocks settling… and also an unidentifiable *click-clack-clack* sound, which seemed to echo from the very walls themselves.  With a curse, the Dwarf looked upwards and drew his axe, his muscles clenched in readiness for combat.  Before he can even shout a warning to the others… the party is attacked from all directions, stabbed, poisoned and slashed with the weapons of countless unseen foes.  

It took a few moments for Damek to gain his bearings, but finally he managed to loose a simple light spell, illuminating the mass of giant spiders crawling on and around the hapless group of adventurers.


----------

